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honeykaes · 10 months

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a renter's deal

pairing: renter!kaveh x afab!reader II 2.2k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no set pronouns, cunnilingus, fingering, reader had a previous crush on kaveh, unambiguous if kaveh knew, reader is a landlord, unedited

synopsis: your old college-friend (and crush) Kaveh hadn’t paid rent yet. Just as you draft an email to inform him of the consequences, you hear a knock at the door wish a kaveh desperate to pay you back in other ways.

Cicadas loud chirping echoing from outside as your a/c continuously blast to avoid the hot temperatures of the summer from creeping into your apartment complex. It was the end of the month as the next loomed over in a couple of days. As the landlord, this was one of your busiest times. From working on paperwork moving people out of apartments to finalizing paperwork and credit scores to move people into the apartment, you had your work cut out for you—especially when it came to residents paying their dues for their apartments.

A fan blew past you, causing your body to shiver as you shake your head trying to focus again on the laptop in front of you. An excel sheet on the screen greeted you back, tracking everyone’s payments. Apartment 125, Tighnari, paid in full. So did apartment 243, Aether and Lumine, before they moved out.

As you scrolled down, you noticed only a few people had not paid you for rent yet despite today being the last day of the month—including your old college friend, Kaveh.

You and Kaveh were once friends in college before losing contact after graduating. He was always very popular and friendly, a heart of gold that always managed to get hurt by one situation or another. He was now a pretty-well known architect trying to start his own firm.

You helped him through his breakups, his tests—his ups and downs, as he did the same for you. You wanted to reconnect when you first worked with him, moving in to his complex but things weren’t the same. The two of you aren’t the same 18, 19 year olds staying up late and going to a midnight movie showing before an exam like you used to—you both were in your late twenties, different responsibilities and interests pulling you.

And that scared you, so you gave him space.

Since the economy had slowed and businesses and organizations were interesting in building more projects anymore, Kaveh suffered immensely, scrapping anything he could to try to pay rent at the last minute to you. You felt bad but you didn’t want to pry either.

You let out a sigh, clicking on your emails as you began to draft. Since he was late on payment, a meeting needed to be scheduled and fees processed to strategize a plan. You didn’t want to evict the poor man; or anyone for that matter.

Just as you finished drafting the email, you turned your head hearing a knock at the door. Placing your laptop on your coffee table and rising from the couch, you expected a resident to inform you about something breaking or not working. Your lips parted in shock to see Kaveh at the door.

Kaveh seemed completely disheveled, long blond ombre hair, a mess unlike its usually tidy self. His clothes were wrinkled and unfastened as if he had just woken up and immediately ran here. He leans along the wall near your door, chest heaving loudly as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Kaveh?! Are you alright?!” you stammered out. Kaveh puts a finger out to signal to give him a second before he finally catches his breath.

“N-No. I’m so sorry I’m late on rent,” he groaned. “I am working with this school to create a playground but they won’t be able to pay me until next week. I’m a bit short with rent with my current funds.”

Your lips curled downwards before lifting your head to to nurse the headache threatening to form from the stress of the situation.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve been late, Kaveh. I can’t grant you a grace period. I really need that money in full,” you murmured. Kaveh turned to face you, scarlet eyes misty in desperation. Your heart withered seeing him in this state, but you feared bugging would put you on a tight spot with your boss.

“Please (Y/n)! You got to understand, I really tried this time. I can give you what I have and give you the remaining next week! Then I’ll be good to go for next month,” Kaveh yelled out.

“Kaveh, let’s continue this inside, okay? I’ll get you a glass of water or some tea to calm your nerves,” you beckoned, as your own anxiety began to creep in your stomach, you open your door beckoning Kaveh to come inside without a potential audience watching the two of you.

As he nervously entered, stifly sitting himself at the couch as you leave to enter your adjacent kitchen.

“I am only short 500 out of the 1500 dollars for rent and utilities. I can surely give that to you next week,” Kaveh called out as you prepare some glasses of water for you two. You sigh once more, leaning yourself against the fridge trying to figure out what to say without hurting your old friend’s feelings anymore.

“Kaveh, technically it wouldn’t be 500 but 1000. 100 for the late fee and 400 because this is the second time, along with the 500. I don’t make these policies, my bosses do,” you replied solemnly, guilt beginning to eat at you.

“Then what can I do to prevent the late fees from occurring!” he asked.

In college, whenever he was in a bad situation, to make him feel better you always started off with a ridiculous joke to catch him off guard before giving some sound advice with a smile. Oftentimes, he’d be smiling back, hopeful and taking your feedback and lighthearted jokes for the better.

Grabbing the glasses of water, you walked back into the living room placing the waters on the coffee table and closing your laptop.

“I don’t know, fuck me or something,” you idly murmured out before chuckling. Just as you were about to give him actual advice, Kaveh fell to his knees in front of you, wrapping his arms around your legs. You gasped, flustered, body shifting in embarrassment feeling his close contact.

“Kaveh! What are you doing! It was a joke! Y’know like I used to do in college!” you stammered out. Kaveh lifted his head up, eyebrows slightly furrowed in determination.

“Well, I’m not! I wouldn’t mind it at all. If this makes those pesky late fees go away, I’d be more than happy to do this and more!” Kaveh replied. You tried forming words from your quivering lips but your mind seemed to be malfunctioning, feeling his lips beginning to trail along your thighs, placing soft kisses along the skin.

“...Please (Y/n). For old times sake?” he whispered.

Your heart tugged remembering the big crush you had on him before and the drunken kisses you shared with him as you attending parties together leaving you longing for more—the memories were flooding you like a tidal wave.

“...Okay, Kaveh…”

With a small smile gracing his sun-kissed face, Kaveh hands trailed up as his fingers hook on their shorts and the waistband of your underwear and gilded them down. He leaned his face in, puffs of his hot breath causing your body to shiver from the sensation as your clit began throbbing in anticipation.

His face tilts closer, darting his tongue out as he trailed a long swipe between your folds. The muscles curled up to brush against your clit, jolts of pleasure rooting through you from the sudden touch. He swirled along the bud of nerves, hands squeezing at your thighs. Your hands reached over to his hair, playing with the soft curls and losing yourself to pleasure.

He flicked his tongue along the nub, feeling your hips beginning to rock along his face. A low groan emitted from you as you ground yourself against him, his lips circling around your clit before beginning to suck. He continued to switch from sucking to rapidly flicking and circling his tongue on your clit while his hand crept up to squeeze your ass so he could keep up with your movements.

As he continued, one hand eventually left the globe letting two of his fingers sink into your dribbling cunt, coated with your arousal and his saliva. He pumped them deliberately slowly, your legs shaking from his delicate touch, wanting more.

“Kaveh,” you whimpered out, hearing him slurp continuously as your slick graced his mouth. He nuzzled his face deeper into your cunt, as his fingers pumped inside your pulsating walls, curling and massaging themselves to get you closer to your high.

Shutting your eyes, your hands traveled to your chest and squeezed it tightly as your voice began to rise, feeling Kaveh’s tongue press harder against the button. You throw your head back, as your high finally reached you. Kaveh struggled to keep up with your movements as he continued to thrust his fingers inside of you, nursing your high before it fell down.

With slight jitters, Kaveh finally leaned away, lower mouth completely coated in your slick. His tongue was parted out, strings of your arousal still connecting the muscle with your cunt. Your tired eyes stared down in embarrassment, cheeks warm in shame as Kaveh wipes his mouth in content.

You could see the bulge poking out from his pants.

“W-Well! You’ve done your part! So—”

You're interrupted by Kaveh rising from his knees on the floor and connecting his lips with your own in a passionate kiss. You can’t help but moan, feeling his tongue, stained in your juices, roam inside your own mouth as he pulled you closer. He momentarily broke the kiss, both of you trying to catch your breaths, lips hovering by your own.

“I want to ensure that you don’t go back on your word though. So please, let me ensure your pleasure…” Kaveh breathlessly begged, claiming your lips once more. His hands wandered to your waist as pinned you against the wall—paintings knocking roughly from the sudden movement.

Breaking the kiss once more, he zipped his pants down, revealing his throbbing erection. His cock was flushed, shivering as he took a hold of it as precum budded at its tip, dripping down to the rest of his length. He pumped it a few times with a shaky moan erupting from his lips before using another hand to slightly light your leg up near his small waist.

Your lips trembled as the tip of his cock spread past your folds trying to find your entrance, gathering up the abundant slick drooling from you. As Kaveh lined himself up, he placed his lips by your ear and with a low groan, sank himself inside of you.

He grunted loudly when he finally bottomed out, cock nestled deep inside of you. He pecked at your neck before snapping his hips back, thrusting himself inside of you. The paintings hit the wall rowdily to the pace of his thrusts.

“I hope you’re enjoying my end of the d-deal…” Kaveh grunted out, pressing his lips against your ear so you could hear all of his little noises. You moaned in response as Kaveh reached over to press tight circles along your overstimulated clit.

“Y-You made me so sensitive,” you admitted, as you chirped, feeling Kaveh shifting his angle pistoning inside of you so he was not hitting that spot he desperately wanted to find.

“T-That’s the point. I want to make you cum so hard. I know you can…you're so close aren’t you, eshgham,” he whispered, nibbling on your neck. Kaveh could feel your walls beginning to cave in and spasm, signaling your end was close.

“K-Kav—” Kaveh captured your lips as you reached your second climax, your body shivering pinned against him. Hips sloppily faltered as he furrowed his eyebrows to try to control his own temptations and guide you down your high once more.

As glossy lips part from your own, Kaveh slipped his cock out, pumping it rapidly before a desperate groan emitted from his lips before biting down to try to be quieter. Ropes of cum shot from his tip, smearing themselves on your thighs.

He watched as his cum glided down the curves of your wobbling leg. He let your other leg down before supported your weight on your body with a small smile.

“Easy there…you’re probably very overstimulated. Let’s get you all cleaned up in your bathroom. Where is that,” he asked. You tiredly pointed into the direction of your bedroom as he guided you toward it. As he opened the door, he gently set you down on the rim of the porcelain bathtub before reaching to grab a rag on your towel rack.

“I’m sorry for going a little overboard. I just wanted to ensure I had done my part. Keeping my end of the deal is important to me,” he murmured, wetting the towel up with some soap before wiping it down to clean your legs. As he wiped over your cunt, you whined at the burn of overstimulation getting to you.

“...So, please, please please don’t go back on your word, (Y/n),” he begged, with large pleading eyes. You sighed once more, but to his surprise it was a lot lighter in tone than earlier.

“...You don’t have to pay rent at all for this month, okay? I’ll cover it…just focus on getting the money for the next month,” you whispered. Kaveh lit up as a grin curled on his face. He leaned in placing a tender kiss on your forehead as your cheeks fought against a blush.

“...I missed you Kaveh…” you admitted. Kaveh brushed part of your hair away.

“I missed you too.”

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #kaveh x reader #kaveh smut #kaveh imagines #kaveh scenarios

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etheries1015 · 1 year

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Communication Chaos pt2

Pt 1 (Tighnari):

INCLUDING: Isekei(kind of not really) reader X Al Haitham, Kaveh, Cyno, Wanderer (SEPARATE)

general warnings: Slight Kaveh favoritism, my bad. I can't help it, he's just so babygirl. Also Cyno is more of a crack fic than anything else, it's short and unserious, I'm sorry.

TW: None that I am aware of, however if I missed anything please let me know and I will update this section accordingly!

INTRO:

You wake up one day sitting on the bed of a small hut-looking building in Gandharva Ville after being found unconscious by the forest ranger known all around as Tighnari. The moment you opened your eyes and met the gaze of the multi-colored-eyed male, you felt a warm tingle of excitement and confusion fill your chest...however the moment he opened his mouth to greet you, your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach.

You can’t understand a single word he just said.

Despite the obvious language barrier, what caused these men to fall in love with you?

KAVEH

Your kindness, thoughtfulness, and hardworking nature saved him in many ways he never thought he could be saved.

Words have nothing to do with being kind, sometimes it’s the actions one takes that can steal the heart of another. Tighnari had brought you to the home of Alhaitham in order for him to attempt to decipher what language you spoke, However, what Tighnari did not put into play, was the fact that Alhaitham agreed to ONLY decipher the language, but not help you become more understanding of their own. The architect had taken pity upon you seeing as Alhaitham had left you to struggle, and brought it upon himself to assist you. How could he not? you seemed so lost and afraid, he could not leave another person to suffer alone. One fateful night enhanced his affection for you when you decided it was time you returned the favor.

You often got in the middle of the two arguing frequently, Alhaitham obviously speaking in monotone expressions and condescending notions that told you he wasn't truly giving Kaveh the light of day of understanding. Judging by the look of graciousness Kaveh gives you whenever you stand in between them, folding your arms to hint that you were not interested in being in listening to such bickering, you could only assume you were correct. In the end, Al Haitham leaves you both standing in the living room alone, to which Kaveh scoffs in disbelief. He was obviously upset at whatever it was, so you tried your best to comfort him with physical affirmations rather than words. Walking up to the blonde-haired man you gently patted his back and nodded, trying to tell him it'll be okay. He replied to this with a somber smile and a "thanks," before sighing and standing up straight, back into his normal bright smile and enthusiasm. "Well! Time for your lessons of the day, right?" He exclaimed, grabbing your hand before leading you to the table of books and notes he had laid out for you.

Kaveh wasn't the best teacher, not by far compared to Tighnari or Alhaitham. However that didn't stop him from earnestly trying his best to teach you, and he appreciated your ever-lasting patience and remarkable strength at picking things up quickly despite his poor lectures. Kaveh always found himself rather attracted to your intelligence and hardworking nature, the hours you spent at that table studying the notes he wrote and enhancing your linguistic skills.

He took the time out of his busy schedule to help you, whilst you were not truly aware of the agenda he had and the work he was behind on because of the lessons he had given you.

Night time arrived quickly, you got up thirsty from the spot on the couch they had given you to sleep and made your way to the kitchen to grab a glass. As you opened the fridge you heard a faint sound...something that seemed similar to crying. Curious, you snuck quietly to the hallway connecting the other bedrooms in the small home, where you determined the sound was coming from none other than Kavehs room. Pressing your ear against the door, you could make out muffled sobs and clanking of some sorts that sounded like tools and clanking. this was a sound you were rather familiar with, you had heard him doing something in his room that sounded like mechanical work, however you never had the words to inquire what it was he was working on. With a light knock, you heard all sounds halt, silence ringing for a few awkward seconds before knocking once more.

"Kaveh?" You asked in a low tone, careful to be respectful of the time of night.

"y-yes?" He called out, tone almost in a panic as you heard more rustling coming from inside before opening the door. He greeted you with a smile per usual, yet he couldn't hide the swollenness in the corner of his eyes and the redness of his nose from you. With a light sigh, you cocked your head in worry, "Are you okay?" You asked in his language (A phrase you learned over time). Looking slightly shocked, his gaze wavered and turned away slightly unable to meet your own, his smile obviously forced.

"Of course," He replied with a sad chuckle, "why- wait- hey! Don't just-" You interrupted him with an irritated look, pushing past him and into his room to see what he was trying so hard to block your vision from. Around the room, you saw what you can only describe as an... academic monstrosity. Books were scattered all over the floor, photos of designs and tools were everywhere, with the table covered in what you can make out to be notes and more artistic diagrams with mini models, tools, and mechanical parts sitting around. An architect, You thought grimacing, is this all the work he has been doing? Why is there so much here? you turned back to the red eyes, eyes that seemed to hold so much sorrow and pain. Folding your arms you gestured towards the atrocious amount of work, to which he replied by sighing exaggeratingly in defeat and slumping against his bed with his hands covering his face.

"as you can see," he grieved, "I'm obviously a failure who cannot seem to catch up on his work. The deadlines on multiple projects are coming up and I still have so much to do...Maybe I should just...give up..." His voice cracked, a shaky sigh escaping his lips. You weren't too certain of the full context of what he had said, but you could understand the gist with a few main words.

I see... Making your way towards the exhausted male, you placed your arms around his now-shaking body. He tried to hold back the tears for your sake, however, he now found himself grabbing onto your body with desperation the moment your arms wrapped around him. You ran your fingers through his long blonde locks, planting a gentle kiss on the top of his forehead whilst his tears stained your shirt.

"It's okay," You said in his language, "It... I... um.." You growled in light annoyance, frustrated that you were unable to find the words to comfort the overworked man who hugged you tightly. You wished you could convey how much you empathized with him. You wanted to tell him how amazing he was doing and how you didn't want him to give up, yet none of those words were in your vocabulary, much to your frustration. He hugged you almost desperately as his body trembled as if you would disappear when he let go, shaking his head and giving you an encouraging nod of understanding in your intentions. You gave up attempting to speak their language and began to speak on your own.

"I know you won't be able to understand what I'm saying right now...but I know it's hard. you have a big heart, Kaveh, and I know you'll achieve great things and figure it out for yourself..."

Even if he wasn't able to understand, he could tell by the tone of your voice and the way you gently rubbed his back lovingly that you had said nothing but kind and thoughtful words. This moment was the moment he had promised himself something, the moment he knew in his mind how he felt about you during the few months you had came into his life unexpectedly.

He would do anything to return the kindness you showed him, seeing how hard you had worked in a place so unfamiliar gave him motivation and strength to create a new resolve of his own work ethic, and he wanted to express his great gratitude to you for that one day. And...he wanted to believe that perhaps luck was finally acknowledging him, and you were the one who would one day pull him out of the darkness of his old scars.

ALHAITHAM:

your intelligence and resilience made him feel a lot of respect for you and captured his attention, Something not many people get the opportunity of experiencing.

Tighnari had brought you to Alhaitham in hopes Alhaitham would have an easier time deciphering the language you spoke. He looked far and wide for the answers, however, he had to admit defeat. He had never heard of your language, and couldn't determine its origins. Whilst you had managed to catch on rather quickly to Teyvats language, he too was becoming familiar with your own. You both took time to teach each other new things and managed to work together to somehow create flashcards with words and phrases in which you wrote your language on one side and he the flip side. He was rather astonished at the fact you were able to work with him on this with such diligence, to the point where he saw your presence more of a...comfort and excitement, less than a chore given to him by Tighnari. He found himself excited to go home after his work as a scribe, using a lot of his free time to work with you once again on speaking.

Alhaitham loved learning new things and would take any form as knowledge as important knowledge. He always found textbooks and facts much more interesting to learn rather than human emotions and how humanity works as a whole, and he couldn't put his finger on the moment in which his mind began to change since meeting you.

Ah... that was it.

It was perhaps a couple months into your arrival, you had learned the language at a remarkable pace, and Alhaitham had decided that he wanted to observe you going out in town and running a few errands for him. He provided you a sheet of paper with a picture of a specific set of groceries with their names attached and gave you a day to memorize and reiterate what he had written. Once you had memorized the list he had given you, Alhaitham nodded to you in approval as you walked out the door with enthusiasm. You waved and smiled, giving the scribe a thumbs up before skipping your way into town. It was such a simple gesture, however, his heart skipped a beat at such a small thing... he grimaced at the thought, shaking his head to rid the frustrating emotions.

Thus he began to follow you. As you made each round to the stalls in the market, you had successfully asked each of the stall owners for the fruit he had asked for. There was one specific owner that gave you a particularly hard time, however.

"You want what? I can't understand a single word you're saying. Try it again, but make sense this time," The old man scoffed in annoyance. This wasn't remotely true, even Alhaitham could tell you were speaking clearly, just with a slight accent. This man was just looking to provoke you. Looking to gauge your reaction, he noticed you not losing your cool, yet only taking out the money needed for the product and holding it up.

"I would like that Harra fruit, please." You simply said. You didn't allow the man to get to you, and Alhaitham found that...rather impressive. You didn't get emotional, you didn't yell, you didn't cry in frustration, and you ended up getting what you came for. The man rolled his eyes, aggressively grabbing the money out of your hand and practically throwing the fruit at you, to which you gave a smile and a "thank you!" Sighing, Alhaitham had decided to leave it at that. He could tell you had a strong head upon your shoulders, and he respected how no matter the times the stall owners or other strangers had given you strange looks and annoyed glances, you remained resilient and in your lane. You didn't need him there to watch over you, he could already tell you shared his same idea of "in and out", and would be able to handle yourself well enough on your own.

Alhaitham never thought he would find himself wanting to be involved with anything besides his books, studies, and research. He was never interested in other people and their emotions, Yet he couldn't help but be excited to come home and see your smiling face, ready to learn...a little bit more about you than just your language.

CYNO:

Your sense of justice and the way you always have surprises up your sleeves leaves him enthralled and always excited when he's around you.

He was there when Tighnari first took you in, he had been aware of your situation ever since it was brought up and he would frequently come back to the forest under the ruse of watching over you, he seemed to take your sudden appearance and amnesia somewhat his fault. He hadn't realized you were not conscious of your fall from what he thought was a tree, and fully expected you to catch yourself while he was dealing with some eremites nearby. That was...until you didn't stop, and you ultimately made a rough landing into a pile of bushes down below. It was only then that he realized two things;

you are an ordinary person (upon further examination, your clothing were no where near the eremites.)

You were indeed, passed out from the beginning of your fall.

The moment he really fell for you, however, was the moment he saw you barrel yourself into another person with your entire body.

You had joined him on a light stroll around the forest, around the area where you had fallen to try and jog your memory somehow. You weren't able to speak with him, however, he took this as an amazing opportunity to tell you all of his amazing corny jokes that he hadn't been able to use on anyone yet (despite not knowing the language, he just wanted someone to listen to his jokes.) Being comftorable in your silence while he spoke, you had both noticed out of the corner of your eyes that there was a rather tall man bothering a young woman.

Both of you stood by to watch as she pushed his chest away from him, in his response he grabbed her around the waist, her face twisting with pure fear and disgust. Before Cyno could open his mouth or interrupt the man, you had taken it upon yourself to sprint as fast you can, and barrel yourself right into the assailant. you tackled him to the ground, punching him right into the face. Both Cyno and the woman looked in shock at you, for you had just managed to make a grown man cry and flee in a frenzy. You simply stood up, dusted off your clothes, and gave the woman a nod and a smile, before skipping back to Cynos side.

Yeah. He knew you were the one.

WANDERER:

You reminded him of himself, causing him to feel as if he could be free around you. Or perhaps...he just likes to have a little toy to be around for his entertainment. He would never admit it either way.

Not wanting to become a burden to the forest watcher, you decided to leave the humble abode and safe haven that Tighnari had provided you with and explore the world you fell into. You knew much about Teyvat from your video game, however, that didn’t change the fact that there were many perils and dangers that had become very real. A certain wanderer stumbled across you yelling in a foreign tongue whilst using what seemed to be a makeshift sword in an attempt to do...whatever it was you were doing to that hilichurl. At first, it was pure amusement, however, he found himself far more intrigued by this human regardless of the fact he hadn’t a good way to communicate with you...

It was somewhere along a line of forestry where he found you swinging a sword that was rusted and obviously not well suited for a serious battle. If he hadn't saved you that time, you would have probably ended up stranded and injured. He had realized that you spoke a language he wasn't familiar with, yet kind of...preferred it this way. You weren't able to ask him about his past, who he was, or what he was after in this life. You didn't need to know about him, and he frankly had no desire to learn more about you. If anything, he was rather annoyed when you had decided to follow him around while he was traveling.

You foraged food and made meals for him, even tended to a wound on his knee (He had no way to tell you he was a puppet, so your worry was futile.) Over a small amount he would rant to you about his worries, his past, his troubles...knowing it had no repercussions or judgment for you were totally ignorant in everything he was saying. Yet...you continued to stare at him with...affection, understanding, and admiration. He enjoyed the fact that you couldn't commentate on his life stories, he could be free to speak how he would like around you, and even decided to reward you by showing you how to properly wield a sword. He used his hands to fix your stance and guide you where you needed to swing and found it entertaining whenever you would charge into a battle attempting to put together what you had learned from his lessons (when the only way to teach you was by showing.)

He once decided to leave you. Not leave you completely, but to leave you to your own devices, make it seem as if he had just up and left you. You woke up, looking around confused. You were not even able to call out his name, he never gave you one to call him by. He kept watching nearby in the forestry, seeing you just...sit there. At one point you curled yourself into a ball, sighing shakily before...crying. He knew he hadn't a heart, however, if he did have one, he could feel it tighten in his chest. You reminded him so much of himself, a lone little bird in the world, nobody to turn to. You couldn't speak the language, and you barely had the fighting skills to care for yourself. The moment he saw you alone and afraid, all he could see was flashbacks of his own past. He then realized what he had done. At that moment all he could think about were the people that abandoned him in his life, and he refused to be the one thing he hated the most.

"Stop wasting your tears. Hurry and grab your things, we're leaving." He said abruptly, walking past you, yet not making your gaze. You gasped slightly before greeting him with a bright smile, quickly standing up and quickly grabbing the little number of items you carried to catch up where he ran off to.

Yeah, he thinks he'll keep you around a little longer.

#Wandere X reader #Wanderer #Scaramouche #Scaramouche X reader #Genshin impact #Genshin impact X reader #Genshin X reader #genshin imagines #Genshin impact fanfiction #Cyno X reader #Cyno Genshin impact #Alhaitham X reader #Alhaitham genshin impact #kaveh #Kaveh Genshin impact #Kaveh X reader #Genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact headcannons #genshin fanfic

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sambhavami · 8 months

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Krishna: a character adored for over two thousand years, revered as one of the most significant political masterminds of the ancient world with his words forming the philosophical core of the country today. Concurrently, he is the god shrouded in inimitable domesticity- as a friend, a lover, and a child. No other deity in the Hindu pantheon has probably achieved as dear a position in the hearts of people as this flute-wielding cowherd of Gokula.

For generations, he has shined as the muse of countless poetfolk, of unfinished business, of unspoken desires and of repressed lovers' qualms. In Meera's longing for her marble beloved, and in Kothai's dulcet dreams of a celestial wedding, Krishna blossoms not as a warrior, but rather as a confidante of young women- the keeper of all secrets.

Curse, o ye, this wedding of devotion,

For I was better off unmarried,

Writes the lovestruck Nawab Sadiq Hilm,

I was well enough at my mother's;

Oh, why did I pine for him?!

Who am I, or what: go ask Rizwan, the gatekeeper

For heaven has been rejected by my forebearers!

He says, in a nostalgic ode to the cowmaids from old tales. To the ones that massage the dust off their feet on Krishna's fevered forehead to soothe his illness, even as the apparent disrespect dooms their afterlives.

Jayadeva notes a more rugged form of Krishna, one that is almost hungry for love. His Radha smiles down upon Radharaman Dutta's kalankini. Of course, she would accept even infamy if it was in relation to her Krishna. However, in time, this epithet has been reclaimed as a celebration of the meteoric, tempestuous love that this unseemly duo had carved out for themselves of the pages of a mostly unwilling history.

Tagore's Krishna is mysterious, eagerly anticipated but rarely seen. Rather, here Radha's pining is crushing and all-encompassing, inherited from Chandidas' virahini. Radha's guttural desire to transform Krishna into herself, subjecting him to the same suffering that she undergoes as a woman in love with a furious ideology more than a man, reverberates eerily against the lighthearted cross-dressing tale of Surdas'.

As often as bards favour the songs extolling the love of the cowherd and the wedded maiden, Krishna's wives are seldom accorded any thought outside of Vasudeva's family tree. Their silence speaks to the stringent rules of a typical patriarchal household. Some of them do speak, and hence Satyabhama becomes conceited and Kalindi wayward. However, the mere few lines that they are mercifully allotted in the text are enough to speak to their resilience. The lines inadvertently hold up a window to the million unspoken words and unexchanged glances. It speaks to the long years, happy and sad. It speaks to the nights of waiting for the beloved to return. It speaks to the quiet lunches in curtained rooms and taste tests in the kitchen.

Each of Krishna's eight wives has their own life, and their own equation with Krishna. Each of their distinct personalities, coupled with their unique introductions to the prince has the potential to bring a distinct flavour to the story of Krishna, the statesman. The understanding that Krishna's heart belonged first to Vrindavana and then to his ambition, must have weighed somewhat on their hearts and yet, the choice to patch up the battle-hardened cowherd, after every blow, sans complaint, and send him out into the world as the architect of history, must have demanded restraint.

The distinct turn of events that brings each of the chief eight queens to Krishna's is quite interesting. Rukmini, the first, demonstrates heart, even if it is born out of desperation. Seizing control of her life, she sends a message, relying solely on rumours of his compassion. Her gamble yields returns manifold as Krishna not only rescues her from an unwanted marriage, but instates her as his chief consort, elevating her, alongside himself, to a divine status. Far from the impulsiveness of her youth, Pandhari's Rakhumai, astute beside her beloved, proudly bears a conch-shell, calling for harmony and community. In life as well, Rukmini brings to Krishna much needed stability, and oversees the blossoming of the city of Dwarika as well as Krishna's growing household.

Jambavati and Satyabhama are given in marriage to the prince by their respective fathers and do not seem to have much of a voice at the time. Jambavati fulfills an ancient destiny, a forgotten promise, then going on to mother the child that ultimately brings about the demise of the Yadava clan. Satyabhama, though often maligned with unfair accusations, is self-reliant. Making no attempt to hide herself from the eye of society, takes her rightful place beside Krishna, not on a throne, but by his side in battlefields. Kalindi however, is an extremely interesting character in Krishna's story. Enmeshed between mortal and divine, she exists as neither. Chancing upon the prince, she unabashedly declares her intentions to be married, and yet she is uncharacteristically silent after her marriage. Lakshmana and Mitravinda, are both won in conquest. They might have been able to sympathize with Rukmini, given their kin had turned against them, on account of their choice of a life partner. Bhadra, on the other hand, has no fancy contests to boast of, or an adventurous rescue. She marries Krishna at the behest of her brother, the only highlight being the arduous journey she undertakes from Kekaya to Dwarika.

After their marriages, these women practically disappear from the narrative until their last moments. We can assume that they were all presumably content with a life outside the spotlight. One can only hope to be privy to their lives after marriage, to know their dreams, nightmares and daily chores. They enter Krishna's life at crucial junctions, and I choose to believe they each had a unique effect on Krishna's worldview, bringing with them a fresh outlook into the mostly stagnant golden city.

#krishna #radha #original writing #mahabharata #hindu mythology #rukmini #satyabhama #kalindi #desi tumblr #ehi murare #prologue #jambavati #mitravinda #lakshmana #bhadra #nagnajiti

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the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf · 10 months

Text

You're waiting for a train...(2)

To Build Cathedrals

Robert Fischer x reader, Arthur x reader (if you squint)

description - You leave your dad to go look for a new architect as you and Arthur set up the workspace. But your mind is plagued with dreams of its own.

word count - 2.7k (ooo we're getting bigger)

warnings - allusions to sexual assault, mentions of death, allusion to child abuse

a/n - This chapter looks more into how y/n's mind is shaped much like her father's and we also see a hint of Arthur and y/n's relationship (and yes it is weird that she sees him as her uncle). I've realised this is gonna be a slow burn for Robert x reader because of the chronology of the inception plot I'm trying to follow; I promise it'll be worth it!

Previous Part Series Master list Master list

If you want to be added to the taglist - here

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Dad and I stood as statues outside the university. It all felt so familiar from my youth but when I walked through, I felt as absent as a stranger.

“He’ll want to see you.”

“I’ll leave the conversation to you. He doesn’t want to see me.”

“That’s not true.”

“I know what he thinks of me. You didn’t have a choice, I did. In his eyes, I chose wrong.”

Dad let his arm rest on my shoulder in a silent act of comfort. I sucked back the tears, so he thought I was okay. The reality was I wanted nothing more than to run in there and jump into my grandads arms. But I couldn’t, in good fait,h knowing he thought of me as the girl who abandoned her siblings for no life at all.

I wiped away a rogue tear.

“Anyways, Arthur needs me to help him set up. But I’ll be waiting at the warehouse, okay. And I promise I won’t leave to go anywhere without Arthur.” I raised my hand to cup his cheek, so he felt the sincerity of my words. I went to leave my father to his search.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find someone as good as you were.”

Without turning back, I shouted. “Find someone better!”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*Cobb’s pov*

“You never did like your office.” Dad raised his head surprised to hear my voice, even more shocked to see my body.

“No space to think in that broom cupboard.” He quipped. “Is it safe for you to be here? Where’s y/n?”

“Extradition between France and the USA is a bureaucratic nightmare. Y/n is fine, she’s with Arthur.”

“I think they might find a way to make it work in your case.”

I made my way down and sat the meek gesture of toys on his desk.

“Look, y/n bought these, she thought the kids would like them. Saw them in Amsterdam.”

“It’s gonna take more than the occasional stuffed animal to remind those kids that they still have a father…and a sister. Y/n knows that.”

“She’s trying her best. She wants to make the best out of the situation she’s in.”

“The situation you put her in.” His voice became stern, and I cowered like a small boy.

“It was her choice. She said that she couldn’t let me go just like that.”

“She was your child; you shouldn’t have let her have the choice in the first place. The choice was life or death and you let her choose death just so you could imagine you still had a family and that it all hadn’t crumbled before you.”

“Yes. I am being selfish because I like that she’s still with me. I like having her here because without her I couldn’t cope.”

“You let her follow you into this life and it seems she suffers the consequences the most.”

“She told you?”

“She told grandma.”

“What the projections or the subjects do is unpredictable. Sometimes they respond to the presence put in front of them, in her case, a beautiful young girl.”

He looks down, ashamed of what he’s hearing.

“Look I’m just doing what I know. I’m doing what you taught me.”

“I never taught you to be a thief.”

“No, you taught me to navigate people’s minds. But after what happened, there weren’t a whole lot of legitimate ways to do that.”

He suddenly felt the meaning of my visit and retreated back into his chair. He punctuated the silence.

“What are you doing here, Dom?” I paused, wondering how to phrase this without inviting a lot of questions.

“I think we found a way home. It’s a job for some very very powerful people. People who I believe can fix my charges permanently. But I need your help.”

“You’re here to corrupt one of my best and brightest.” He taunted me by brandishing the end of his pen.

“You know what I’m offering, you have to let them decide for themselves.”

“Money.”

“Not just money. You remember, the chance to build cathedrals, entire cities, things that never existed. Things that couldn’t exist in the real world.”

“So, you want me to let someone else, follow you into your fantasy.”

“They won’t actually come into the dream. They just design the levels and teach them to the dreamers.”

“Design it yourself.”

“Mal won’t let me.” I saw his face droop at the mention of her. Already sighing at the sight of my delusion.

“What about y/n, she was always better than you were anyway.”

“She refuses. She’ll help with a maze or a paradox occasionally when she gets bored of our architects incompetence, but she won’t build herself anymore. I don’t know why. She won’t tell me.” He sat forward in his chair. Eyes pleading with me to bring y/n home.

“Come back to reality. Please.”

“Those kids are waiting for their father and sister to come home. That’s their reality. This job-this last job- that’s how we get there. I would not be standing here if I knew another way. I need an architect who is as good as I was.”

“I’ve got someone better.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

“Ariadne?” A perky petite girl runs to meet Miles’ inviting hand. “I’d like you to meet Mr Cobb.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“If you have a few moments, Mr Cobb has a job offer he’d like to discuss with you.”

“A work placement?”

“Not exactly.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*your pov*

I made it to the warehouse and walked in to see Arthur fiddling with different pieces of equipment.

“You look funny handling tech equipment in that suit.” I loudly teased to get his attention.

He turned towards me with a smile. “Thought you’d be with Cobb and the new recruit.”

“He can do it without me; besides I didn’t fancy the third degree from grandad.”

“He’s just protective. This job isn’t exactly made for you.”

“What? You don’t think I can handle myself?”

“Oh, don’t worry I know you can. The scar on my eye proves it.” We laughed together in a way we hadn’t done in a while. I’d always found comfort around Arthur. When I first left with my dad, I was young and innocent. I had no idea what I’d signed up for. So, once we started working with Arthur I began to loosen up a little as I felt I had someone I could truly trust. Yes, there were people like Eames who came around for the odd job and who I could rely on on the mission. But Arthur was different. I trusted him in a way that encapsulated my whole heart.

We began to unpack the equipment, preparing for when dad would be back to introduce the new recruit to dream-walking. I had just found some old deck chairs stuffed at the back that I dragged to the centre. They made a horrible squeak as the metal scraped on concrete.

“Are you okay?” Arthur pondered.

“Yeah why?”

“Just after Nash and that last job, I worried you would shut down.”

“This could be Dad’s chance to clear his name, I got no time to shut down.” I put on a confidence and winked his way before punching his arm as I passed for good measure.

“Anyways,” I spoke facing the window. “It’s not like I’ve not dealt with that before. It’s old news.”

“I know.” Arthur said solemnly, refusing to look my way. “But you shouldn’t.”

“Well, it happened, it happens, and it’s going to happen again.” I giggled through my tear-filled eyes. I felt Arthur’s presence behind me, bringing me into the lightest hug.

“You know I’m here for you. And if you don’t want to tell your dad when it happens, that’s fine but promise you’ll at least tell me. You know I love giving a guy a good punch, especially on your behalf.”

I turned around in his arms and found our noses almost touching.

“Thank you, Arthur. My knight in shining armour.” I could see the muscles in his neck strain as he very gently leaned in. I copied and moved until our lips softly grazed.

*SCREEEEECH*

We jumped back from each other, in a spook.

“That’ll be them I guess.” I quickly fled the scene and brushed my fingers against my lips. That was about to happen, wasn’t it?

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Ariadne gasped as she awoke. Her eyes were flamed, and her pupils darted around the room, trying to make sense of it all. The music bubbled throughout the room adding a flare of theatrics to the situation. This was her second time under, so I assumed her jerk meant she hadn’t woken up in the most pleasant way.

“You’re okay, you’re okay.” Arthur quickly reassured her. Calming her down through gentle caresses.

“Why didn’t I wake up?”

I answered whilst making sure Dad was okay. “Because there was still time on the clock, and you can’t wake up from a dream unless you die.”

“She’ll need a totem.” Dad announced, already leaving the room.

“Dad give her a minute, geez.”

“What? Dad? Wait what?” Ariadne was shaken and looked between Cobb, and I confused.

“A totem it’s a small, personal-“

“That’s some subconscious you’ve got on you, Cobb! She’s a real charmer.”

“Ah I see you met my mom.”

“She’s, his wife?” She asked breathlessly, looking up at me. I nodded sadly.

“So, a totem, you need a small object, potentially heavy, something you can have on you all the time.” Ariadne covered her eyes to mentally acknowledge what she had just been through. I knew none of Arthur’s words were registering. It was too soon. She needed to go away so she can see how addicting it feels. I remembered my first time. I was so scared, but it was a delicious fear. “Something that no one else knows.”

“Like a coin?”

“No, it needs to be more unique than that. Like this is a loaded die,” Arthur brought out his totem, similar to mine. “I can’t let you touch it, see that would defeat the purpose. Only I know the balance and the weight of this loaded die. That way when you look at your totem, you know that you’re not in someone else’s dream.” I stuck my hand in my pocket to feel my own. It was a picture of me, James, and Philippa but it has a small mistake on it. In the picture I have braces, when in reality I’ve never worn them.

I left Arthur and Ariadne to talk and went to check on my dad. He had the spinning top again. We both watched it spin out, helpless to do anything else. When it fell, he loudly exhaled. I knew he had to do it, I just didn’t know why.

We both re-joined Arthur to find that the girl had left. It was probably all too much for such little time. And any run in with Mal’s projection would make anyone uneasy.

“She’ll be back. I’ve never seen anyone pick it up that quickly before.”

“I’ll try not to be offended.” I said with a smirk. Dad kissed my forehead. “Of course, except you, sweetie.”

“Reality’s not gonna be enough for her now, I remember the feeling.”

“When she comes back, you’re gonna have her building mazes.”

“Where are you gonna be?”

“I gotta go visit Eames.” I quietly clapped and celebrated in the corner. Eames was my favourite person to work with and we’ve always had a great partnership since our first time when I was only 15. He was the one who taught me impersonation and forgery, much to my dad’s admiration. If Arthur was like my uncle, then Eames was my rebellious older brother, letting me get away with anything I wanted.

“Eames? No, he’s in Mombasa, it’s Cobol’s backyard.”

“It’s a necessary risk.”

“Well, there’s plenty of good thieves.”

“We don’t just need a thief. We need a forger.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Arthur had reluctantly gone home for the night. I promised him I would be fine sleeping in the warehouse since my dad was away. He didn’t trust me, but he knew he couldn’t argue with me. I mean I didn’t lie. I did want to sleep.

I got myself comfortable on the deck chair and let the sedative seep into my veins.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*your dream space*

I opened my eyes in the lobby of the hotel. Over the years I had fashioned my subconscious in this specifically navigable layout. I could bury things on different floors, and revisit things in different rooms.

It was empty. Just how I liked it. Projections of your mind are easier to get rid of than you think. I clipped my heels all the way down to the large metal elevator. I entered into the 1920s style tiled lift and looked at the numbers. -3, -2, -1, 0, 1, 2, 3.

My painted finger pressed harshly down into ‘1’.

The lift rung to life and pushed me up into the crevices of my mind. And as quickly as it started the doors were back open on to a brightly lit white corridor. The hall was as clean and perfect as I wanted to keep these memories. I opened up the door ‘101’.

Inside I saw James, Philippa and I dancing at the beach. As my projection pushes her feet through the sand, I curl my toes as I feel it soft beneath me. We are running about playing a game of tig as mom and dad look on from the picnic blanket laid out with food. The colours have faded like an old photograph, and I struggle to make out the different faces.

I decided to jump ahead a little and reach for room ‘111’.

I walk hand in hand down a beautifully decorated woodland path. Mom and dad flank me on either side. I stand tall, a child of 11, in the midst of my very own dream. That was the first time. Like the previous one it’s colours have all but gone.

I hurry back into the elevator and change the floor to number ‘2’.

This floor is harshly painted yellow, and its lights flicker incessantly. I trudge down the disgustingly patterned carpet to room ‘204’. My hand questions itself as it reaches for the handle. The door flies open into the living room of our house. I stand face to face with my mother in all her beauty. She is shouting.

“You are not my daughter; don’t you think I’d know if you were.”

My young voice shakes as it answers. “Mom, please, it’s me. You have to believe me.”

“You. Are. Not. Real.”

Her hand grasps the kitchen knife and raises it. I slam the door shut and hear the yelp of my self projection. I wait to calm my heavy breathing. I don’t want to remember her like this but it’s the only room she frequents now.

My limp body returns to the lift, and I finally reach for ‘3’. The box whirrs to life and almost gently raises me up into the final floor. This is my newest creation, where I store the unexplained and the prophetic.

I walk out onto the beautiful sage green corridor, adorned with expensive antique decorations. I make my way to room ‘301’. The door softly creaks open, and my eyes are blinded by a white light filtering in from an open window. The transparent net curtain hinders my eyeline. But in front of me I see the silhouette of a man. He is only wearing a pair of briefs and I am able to make out the lean but structured outline of his body. His hair is thick and luscious. A few chocolate strands have fallen to kiss his sharp cheekbones. I struggle to discern a face, yet I still feel stuck in this man’s gaze. Like his eyes have me in their grip. I push my way through the netting, but it works against me, rooting me to the spot. I struggle and I struggle. The constraint of the curtain becoming too much to bear. It’s difficult to breathe in my panic.

“Are you alright?” The strangers voice is the last thing I hear permeating the darkness before I’m woken up by the clock. The sedative wore off.

I sat there for a minute, gathering my breath. He was there. Again. He’s always there. No matter what I build, or where I hide, he finds a way through.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I wonder who that mysterious man could be ;)

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage

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idesofrevolution · 1 year

Text

The Architect

It was supposed to be my magnum opus. Ravenswood- my last creation and my forever home. For years I had suffered and degraded myself in firms filled with peons who wouldn't know architectural integrity if it hit them on the nose, and when I finally finished that last project, it took all of fifteen minutes for me to type up my resignation and slap it on the boss' desk. I'd gotten the severance I'd worked nearly 31 years for, and had built up the name Drake Astramore to a prominent name in the business. Finally, I was free. Free to create unrestricted by the trivial boundaries set by those beneath me.

Work was slow in the beginning, my modern designs never seemed to convey the right mood or tone which I was seeking. Completely dejected, I resorted to corresponding with a peer of my own caliber who specialized in Eastlake-Tradition Victorian revival: James Lafreniere. The man was perhaps in his late 80's, far past his prime, but I did value his insight purely to help spur some sort of creative spark. He insisted on a large, rambling estate on a large plot just outside the city. He envisioned towers, stained glass, mahogany... some vacuous opulence that did not speak to my taste whatsoever. I was unconvinced, I saw Victorian architecture as tasteless fluff and ornamentation. Though, as old Mr. Lafreniere pushed, I suppose I did cave in quite a bit. His design was based on some sort of "sacred geometry" he'd studied while in Haiti some time ago. The man was a dog with a bone, frantically trying to persuade me into confirming his "spiritualist" idea for the house. The more he pressed, the less I firmly stood my ground. After all, I was happy with the layout he'd drafted and with my final additions and perfections to his concept, I was satisfied.

Thus, on that foggy winters day, a mere week or two since old Lafreniere was dead and buried, the house was nearing completion after nearly 13 months. I was coming in to do a final inspection, specifically confirming the four crystal chandeliers that were to be placed in the ballroom. Reynolds, the contractor I had hired, went radio silent two days prior, and I was eager to give him a modicum of advice on professionalism. As I pulled up to the antique wrought iron gates, I was perturbed to see them still chained tightly with a large padlock. I had no key, and had no response from Reynolds. Just as I prepared to go to the local hardware store to purchase a pair of bolt cutters, I saw a bulldozer slowly meandering up the gravel driveway through the dense fog. Perhaps Reynolds hadn't abandoned me as I'd thought. Exiting the car, I stood behind the iron gates as the machine came to a halt just on the other side. The door opened and instead of the middle aged potbelly which I had hired, a young man with a peculiar look in his eye exited the vehicle and sat on the steps of the machine.

"Who are you?" The young man glibly chided from his perch.

"What the hell do you mean who am I? I am the owner of this property. Who are you?" He sat idly staring me up and down, some flippant smirk forming slowly on his face. He hopped down, his massive rubber boots landing in a puddle, splashing muddy water up and down his clothes.

"Mr. Astramore, I was wondering if I'd ever get to meet you in person." He sauntered over to the gates, unlocking the heavy padlock as the gates creaked open on their own. I hadn't recalled requesting hydraulic automation on the main gate, but I assumed incorrectly that it was part of the system I'd purchased. "The name is Jimmy. Reynolds proved to be... unreliable on the job. So the company sent me as a replacement. I'm surprised you hadn't heard."

"I most certainly have not heard. I should like to have known about staffing changes. He has completely ignored me for days now." The man looked down, chuckling under his breath.

"Yeah. The guy just up and left one day. Never called the company or anything. Just poof. Vanished." Contractors. The bane of every architect. Unreliable thieves, the lot of them. This young man certainly mimicked that aura of untrustworthiness, but as the job was nearly complete, I preferred at the time to simply allow him to finish. "The house is ready for you, sir. Take this, please let me know if you need anything from me, I'll be finishing the landscaping for the raingardens today." He pulled off a two-way radio from his belt, handing it to me. I could smell the putrid scent of hard labor wafting from him as I snatched the muddy radio from his sweaty hands.

"That will be fine, James." I huffed as I got back into my car, beginning the two minute trek up the driveway toward the house. As I passed him, I could see the filthy worker smile at me. There was something off about his presence, though at the time I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Again, I believe it was his eyes. So familiar, as if I'd known them myself for a time. As I left him behind in the dust of the gravel, I promised myself I would launch a complaint against these unprofessional ruffians the moment I could.

After weaving past the carefully planned and restored bayous, the white tower proudly peeked from above the tree canopy. The woodlands cleared and before me stood the massive edifice that was Ravenswood. It was primed white, awaiting the final paint job in dark greens and black which I had demanded. Yet another setback I was not looking forward to enduring. The elaborate trim graced the balconies and verandas which were perfectly calculated to receive the ideal amount of sun and shade during the hot Louisiana summers. Each glazed window was placed to maximize natural light in the house's otherwise dark confines. Perhaps Lafreniere was right- this was my masterpiece.

I put the car in park, and exited the vehicle. I stood and marveled at the house. On paper, it was grand and idyllic. In person, however, it took on a very different aura. Dark clouds and fog seemed to hang around the house, giving it a distinct sense of foreboding which I had not intended. Knowing funds were scarce as is, it was too late to change anything. This was to be my forever home, shortcomings and perfections alike. Pressing against the front doors, I entered the main hall, then aglow from the stained glass window and edison-bulb-illuminated chandelier. Lafreniere assured me that the house would be sufficiently lit, and that no dark corners would find their way into it's winding halls. I was disappointed beyond words to see that it was not the case.

The house seemed to breathe with a cold draft that whipped around the walls, just strong enough to notice, but not enough to disturb. While it was certainly built to my specifications, Ravenswood took on an identity of it's own before my eyes as it stood before me. Grumbling under my breath, I began my inspection.

Room by room, I went about with my clipboard and checklist. Bronze lightplates, check. Mahogany waiscotting, check. Brass and crystal chandeliers, check. From the library to the conservatory, the drawing room to the gallery; each room was just as I designed it, yet it seemed inundated with some indescribable weight which I had anticipated from the beginning. My modern, airy, open concept home which I had originally envisioned slowly simmered into flames before my own eyes. It was magnificent, yes. The house dripped character and ethereal essence from every nook and cranny. But was it an Astramore home? Certainly not.

Looking back, I should have left. I should have tossed the clipboard onto the dark herringbone parquet floors and stomped back to my car- back to the safety and comfort of my car. I should have driven away like a bat out of hell from this place and never returned. Yet, in my arrogance, I believed I could salvage it somehow. Thus, it was in that moment, as I was checking the finials on the grand staircase that I heard it. Groaning. Ever so quiet, yet echoing throughout the cavernous halls. I looked above me, my eyes tracking the noise further and further up the staircase onto the third floor. I assumed that it was emanating from the observatory in the main tower, though how I could have possibly known that I still do not know. I ascended the steps, slowly at first, toward the sound. Every creaking floorboard perturbed me, a new construction shouldn't behave as if it had stood for over a hundred years. This growing rage at the destruction of my vision translated directly into a quickening pace. My body seemingly did the work for me as I climbed faster, eventually skipping steps on my way to the high observatory.

Blinded by anger, I could not see the various shapes and figures which I had blown past on the landings, the dark shadows waiting in the corners and cornices. Every ounce of my being was focused entirely on releasing this pent up aggression, built within myself over decades, on whatever pathetic creature dared to whine within my walls. Arriving on the final landing, I burst through the door with the last of my strength.

The shutters in the observatory were drawn and shut, the unfinished plaster and floorboards were illuminated only by the dull light from the stairwell behind me. There, in the center of the room and crouched like a devious little gremlin was some degenerate young man. Tattoos sprawled across his lean body, and his greasy mop of hair obscured his line of sight. The man shielded his face from the gleaming light, as if burned by it's glow. His pants and shoes were weathered and well worn; scuffed, torn, and stained from what I can only assume was some ill-begotten lifestyle of antisocial youths.

"Get out!" I shouted at the boy, as he cowered on the sawdust-laden floor. His hand slowly retracted from his face, revealing what he was trying to conceal. Upon his inked face were two fully black eyes, which seemed to suck the remnants of light straight out of the room. They were empty, cold, and devious. This thing was not of this world, it was not of God, it was not of nature. I stood there, frozen in place as he stood up, easily a height of over 6 feet tall. My hairs stood on end, as he smiled down at me. I turned to run, but as I did, I was confronted by the grinning visage of Jimmy.

"Going somewhere, Astramore?" His eyes were black as night, just like the creature behind me. I couldn't speak, any word I tried to mutter was caught in my throat and merely exited as gasping utterances. Two icy cold hands slowly wrapped around my gut. I could only let out a whimper as I was sharply pulled back into the room as Jimmy leaned against the doorframe, his arms and ankles crossed comfortably as if nothing was out of place.

Tossed down onto the ground, my extremities pulled in every which direction as if bound by invisible leather straps. My clothes were ripped from my body, leaving me vulnerable and cold in the nude. The thing circled me like a predator observing it's prey. I thrashed against my constraints, spitting insults and threats with the last of my energy. I should have realized the intent of their misdeeds then and there. Blinded yet again, and for the last time by my own rage, I could not see... they were exhausting me. My strength depleted, my nerves shot, I was a mere shell of myself. This was their moment.

The thing stood above me, straddling my bony torso, as he slowly lowered himself atop me. With his cold fingers, nails black and skin dirty, he gripped the bottom of my chin, prying my mouth open. With a momentum far beyond the order of nature, his hand plowed directly into my open maw. It seemed to contract in on itself, as if he were not solid, but rather in a plasmic state of matter. As it squirmed deeper into my throat, the second hand fed itself into the orifice with ease. It felt as if I were drowning, yet could still breathe. It flowed like slime inside of me, pooling into my expanding stomach. I could hear myself gurgling and choking on him as his head squeezed into my mouth, the miasmic odor of unwashed manscent wafting from his acrid form. He slithered his entire form within me, my gut protruding more and more with his writhing shape beneath my stretching skin. As his lower half finally slid past my tongue, I could feel the rough texture of his denim pants scratch against my esophagus, I could taste the sweaty leather of his musky battered sneakers brush on my tongue until the last of the rubber sole slipped into my mouth; disappearing into my body.

Within me, I could feel him breathing. Expanding and contracting from beneath my skin. I could just barely cock my head down enough to see my grotesquely inflated midsection wriggling and pulsating. There was no pain, only tightness and fullness inside. From the doorway, Jimmy had lowered his coveralls down to his boots, pulled his rancid jockstrap to his knees, and was pleasuring himself with manic fervor. Whatever was happening to me was nothing short of pornography for him, he savored every moment with bated breath. Though I had no time to dwell on such displays of vulgarity and immorality. As quickly as the thing had entered me, it began to spread.

I cocked my head toward my arm, as I watched the protruding outline of the thing's hand slowly snake towards my own from under my skin. I could see it's added mass inflate my musculature as it slid effortlessly past my elbow and up my forearm. It's fingers pushed into mine like a hollow latex glove. His stature considerably larger than mine, I could see my entire arm stretch outward, and his own muscles falling into place within mine. In just a few seconds, my arm had grown, large biceps and colorful tattoos seeping up through my dermis until it was unrecognizable. I observed it in horror as I felt my second arm endure the same process, though my gaze was thoroughly cemented at the strong, youthful, virile arm which once was mine.

My legs soon followed suit, my thighs ballooning outward with firm slabs of muscle as the outline of the thing's massive feet barreled down toward my own. Hairs sprung up like weeds across my inflating calves and quadriceps, until I could feel the slimy pressure of his foot sliding into mine. My body again stretched to accommodate his frame, feeling the soles of my massive sweating feet slide across the hardwood floor until it was finally fully in place. My toes wriggled against my will. A stirring in my groin, and my worn hands pawing at my privates signaled his insertion there as well. Every slick sweaty pump of my member seemed to thrust his into mine further and further. It was quickly engorged, thick and dripping with pre as my balls swelled with his thick, unholy seed. The foreskin tightened around my tip, slick and dripping, and there was then only one part of me left that was untouched.

I could feel him pressing up my throat. It's head firmly making it's way up my esophagus, his face protruding from beneath my sweating skin. There was no fight left in me, all I could do was close my eyes and pray that oblivion was not as empty as I had assumed. With the very last of my strength giving way, there was no resistance as it's head shot up into my skull. Everything went dark almost immediately, there was no light, and an atonal ringing in my ears distorted the squelching and cracking noises I could faintly hear as it adjusted my face atop his. Feeling his plasmic form beneath mine, integrating itself into every possible crevice, nook, and space; it was maddening. I felt myself begin to drift away... disconnected from my corporeal tether. The last thing I could see before I finally wasted away into the unknown was my blurred reflection in the mirror, a face no longer my own, merely a shadow of who I once was. I bitterly accepted this fate. I let him have that sweaty, smelly, vulgar body... it was all his. The lights went out, and all was silent.

----

New Orleans Tribune, December 20th, 2022:

Local Architect Declared Dead After Week Long Search Efforts

Recent attempts to locate Drake Astramore (69) of Thibodaux have been called off by New Orleans authorities after a week of searching through the architect's sprawling estate. Neighbors to the gated complex reported faint screams coming from within the mansion, even from a 1/4 mile away, which led investigators to deliver a search warrant to the residence.

Upon arrival, authorities were met with the groundskeeper of the premises, James Lafreniere (25), who explained Astramore had disappeared during a routine inspection of the mansion, which was at the time nearing completion:

"He was only in there for a few hours. I wish I knew what could have happened to the guy. But I am so glad that his son has decided to take up the torch on the house. It wasn't all for nothing, then."

While Astramore had no family to speak of, the few who knew him personally described him as "difficult" and "degrading," often going to far lengths to place himself above others. In fact, a number of former coworkers at architecture firm Guillory, Darensbourg, & Combs alluded to mysterious dealings with an unidentified elderly man during the design phase of his home, described as having a "dark energy" about him. While there is no evidence to support foul play at this time, investigators have not ruled out furthering their analysis into these claims.

As for Ravenswood Estate, it has now fallen into the hands of the missing architect's son, Drake Astramore II (27). A self-proclaimed "spiritualist," the young man plans to give tours of the sprawling mansion dedicated to the mysterious and unusual process of design of Ravenswood. Joining with his partner in business and in life, James Lafreniere, the duo intend on opening a bed and breakfast type model for the horror inclined.

"I didn't know my pop all that much, he never really acknowledged me or anything. But I'm happy to show the world what he created. This place is special, it was designed to be special. There's an magnetism here that gathers together the essences of many, many of the dearly departed. If you don't believe me, come take a look. I'm happy to show you around. I guarantee you'll leave a completely changed person."

#male possession #male transformation #ghost possession #badass transformation #architect #original #gay transformation #gay possession #body horror #musky #punkification #male tf

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palestinian-fundraising · 15 days

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PLEASE READ AND REBLOG🇵🇸

Help "Jowan, Hani & Zaid" to live in peace

Message from the creator:

To know more about Naim Family

Hi, my name is Naim 35 years old, I am a Palestinian Architect from Gaza. There is my wife Hanadi and our kids Jowan , Hani and Zaid .

We had a thankful and a simple life in Gaza. A life that we worked so hard to build during the past 12 years and very hard working every day from morning to evening without rest or holidays due to reach our goals and dreams although the difficulties that we faced and unstable conditions that we live, but Now this life we dream for it it seems to become even impossible!

OUR STORY

It's painful to say that we lost everything. But yes we did! We lost our beautiful home with all its memories, we lost our business, and we lost our life and dreams. We evacuated our home with only a small bag of clothes before it got bombed and destroyed. So technically YES we lost EVERYTHING, from the biggest to the smallest little detail.

HOW WILL WE USE THE MONEY ?!

Your donations will give our family motivation to work hard for a new beginning.

We will use the money to reunite my family and evacuate temporarily to Egypt. My parents left Gaza for medical treatment in Gaza one day before the war. Your donations will help our family reunite with my parents (Jowan, Hani and Zaid’s grandparents), and evacuate all of us temporarily until we can return home to Gaza in the future. I wish to offer my family a decent life, after months of suffering and struggling in these inhuman situations.

Rebuilding two different destroyed belongings that we work for years, to build it a brick by brick. Our own apartment and our parents family home .

Our dear friends, this is not an obligation, no one is taking advantage of you emotionally for your support. We don't use our people to get your sympathy. We are just stating our own true personal story, hoping and believing in your support.

Naim, Hanadi, Jowan , Hani and Zaid.

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xsezzie · 11 months

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Under Threat

Oopsie... more Kavetham with inspiration from cute anon hehe~

Work is kicking my butt lately so I have had less creativity flowing through me when it comes to proper fics, I apologise!

Warnings: It’s a tickle fic???

______________________________________________________________

Summertime in Sumeru meant hot and humid temperatures. Most city dwellers would flock to the nearby lakes or Port Ormos to cool off. All except the Scribe, who was a serial napper and ‘I am going to stay indoors’ when it came to this type of weather. Though, his roommate Kaveh was also suffering due to the extreme temperatures, having shed most of his outfit off at this point and spread himself across the couch, his legs and feet invading Alhaitham’s personal space, who in retaliation also laid across from him and placed his own feet in Kaveh’s lap.

It was no secret to a select few in Sumeru that there was something more between them, but they are both too stubborn to admit it.

“This position is making me feel hotter… get your legs off me…” Kaveh whined, nudging at Alhaitham’s feet in his lap.

“I am just returning the favour, seeing as you sprawled yourself out over me first.”

“You are a pain…”

“A pain you continue to be affectionate with?” Alhaitham smirked as Kaveh gave him the middle finger lazily, covering his pink face with his other hand.

The Scribe chuckled to himself and gently squeezed Kaveh’s ankle, meaning for it to be a gentle gesture. That is until the blond shrieked and kicked his leg into Alhaitham’s chest.

“W-What was that for!? I… don’t do that!!” The architect sat up in a huff, his face now red as he pouted.

“Huh…? Is that… not supposed to be affectionate…? I… oh.” Alhaitham, having caught on, began to scribble his fingers slowly over Kaveh’s soft ankles.

“H-Hey! Aaaahhh!!! S-Stahahahahaap!!!” The blond’s reaction was immediate, throwing himself back onto the couch, squealing and giggling, trying to kick Alhaitham. “Y-You know better than t-to tihihickle meehehehehee!!!”

“Ah, but I have never tested this spot before… I know your feet are ticklish though.” Alhaitham teases, he gets a tighter grip on Kaveh’s ankle and traces his nails along the soft soles. The sound Kaveh made could have possibly shattered a window, and it certainly caused Mehrak to jump up from its spot by the door, making a little angry face at Alhaitham.

“Look your weird toolbox is mad, be quiet or the neighbours will hear us~”

“A-ALHAITHAAAHAHAHAHAM!!!!” Kaveh squirmed and kicked his legs as the assault on his soles and ankles continued, if he wasn’t already feeling the heat from the weather then he was definitely feeling it now. His face red with embarrassment and laughter, and his legs were in a firm trap, Alhaitham having wrapped his own around them to keep him in place.

“Whhhheeheheheeheheyyyyyyyy!!! MEHRAK HEHEHEHEELLLPP!!”

The poor toolbox was confused, looking back and forth between the two, eventually deciding that nothing was needed doing and it reverted back to its sleep-state. “Heh, looks like it doesn’t think you’re under any threat.” Alhaitham continued to spider his fingers along Kaveh’s soles.

“I AM UNDER THREAT! I AM UNDER THREEEAHAHAHAHAHT!!!”

Kaveh began jerking his entire body to try and escape the younger man's grip to no avail, picking up a pillow instead and smacking him with it while the ticklish sensations continued to travel up his legs from his feet. It was becoming too unbearable and he was getting desperate, why did his feet have to be so sensitive? Stupid Alhaitham with his stupid smirk on his face and his stupid strength because he secretly isn’t a feeble scholar…

Kaveh made a squeaking sound as Alhaitham focused on his arches, “NAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHEHEERREEE!!! F-Fuck off you ass!!” Through his tears of laughter the older genius finally realised he could start to tickle Alhaitham’s feet in return as they were right there wrapped around him.

“T-Take this!” Kaveh weakly began to scribble the scribe’s soles in return, earning a soft chuckle from the younger man.

“Quihit that~” Alhaitham’s feet weren’t as ticklish as Kaveh but he could feel his grip loosening on his senior.

“N-No! Stop tickling me and I-I will stop tickling you!” Kaveh huffed, weakly trying to retaliate. He then suddenly had a wonderful idea… “Mehrak! Mehrak I am under threat! Get Alhaitham for me!” Kaveh pleaded with his toolbox companion who was idle on the floor, it perked up upon hearing its name called and made a curious emote on its small screen. “Mehrak grab his hands!”

Alhaitham found himself quickly restrained by Mehrak’s telekinetic abilities, leaving him highly vulnerable, “K-Kaveh… What is this? Don’t… Don’t even think about it….”

“Don’t even think about what?”

“I am not falling for that… Do. Not. Tickle. Me.” Alhaitham tried to sound serious but his little smile was giving it away. Kaveh knows Alhaitham can be more ticklish when he is unable to stop it, so now was the perfect opportunity.

“Ah sorry my age must be affecting my hearing!” Kaveh teased before gently scritching the underside of Alhaitham’s toes. He immediately lets out a half covered snort and can’t help but kick his legs softly, “K-Kaveh! Pff- hnng- ugh stahap!” A soft squeak comes out as Alhaitham feels himself getting warmer, probably just from the hot summer day- definitely not the tickling. Kaveh’s nails were exploring other areas of his feet now and he couldn't hold it much longer, it also didn’t help that his arms were currently being restrained by his roommate's weird suitcase.

“K-Kaveheheh… s-stop that! Pff- Nohohoho!” The ticklish feeling on his arches now were becoming too much and a few soft squeaks escaped the younger man's mouth, he desperately tries to free his hands from Mehrak to cover his face but the telekinesis is strong.

“Nuh-uh Alhaitham~ No trying to escape now, not until I hear a proper laugh!” The blond softly rakes both of Alhaitham’s feet, the sensations traveling from his feet and through his whole body are too much and he finally gives in.

“Pfffff- NAHAHAHAAA STAHAHAAAP!! Heheheheheh! Quihihit ihihit K-Kaveehhehehh!!!” The Scribe can only throw his head back and let out a raspy laugh with the occasional squeak, much to his dismay and Kaveh’s delight, “Aw is my junior a bit sensitive? Tickle tickle tickle!” The architect teases as he continues his ticklish attack on Alhaitham’s feet.

“K-Kaveh I swear hahaha- Ahhh! D-Dohohohon’t!!” Alhaitham feels Kaveh’s fingers make their way up the back of his leg to his knees, “KAVEH Dooooon’t!!!!!”

“He finally gives in! I knew you loved it when I tickle you~”

“AHAHAHA! NOOOHHOHOHOO!”

“Ah-ha-hah- yes don’t you mean?” Kaveh smirks as he gets to see this softer and less restrained side of Alhaitham.

“AAAH!! OKAY OKAY!!! I GIVE I GIHIHIHIHIIIVE!!!”

Kaveh seems to snap back into the reality that it is a really hot day, not realising how red and sweaty the two of them have become on the couch. He lets the scribe go and commands Mehrak to release his arms, of which Alhaitham immediately brings down to wipe his bangs out of his face. Kaveh can’t help but blush and think how good Alhaitham looks when his hair isn’t covering his eyes…

“Ah… heh sorry, but it was nice to have the upper hand in a tickle fight for once~”

“You cheated… using your stupid toolbox…”

“Hey! Mehrak is not stupid! Don’t make me get it again so I can tickle you elsewhere!”

Alhaitham tossed one of the cushions at Kaveh’s head, “Not on a day like this… jeez I am sweating so much, I think a cold shower is in order… ugh.”

“Well, this is what you get for tickling me! You should have known better than to start this on a day like today…”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t be so ticklish.”

“Hey!”

#genshin impact tickling #kaveh #alhaitham #tickling #kavetham #haikaveh #genshin impact #tickle fic #lee!kaveh #lee!alhaitham #ler!kaveh #ler!alhaitham #and i guess mehrak counts as a ler in a way #what a sneaky suitcase

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ad-nai · 1 month

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#ＡＤ－ＮＡＩ is an independent, canon divergent & selective, hazbin hotel multimuse writing & roleplay blog. it features, in alphabetic order: adam, alastor, the architect (god), roo, rosie, sera & valentino. documented by your local degenerate polymath, romeo iscariot (xe/xem, mixed race, 25+, lgbtqia+)

vivienne medrano critical. established 2024. currently under construction

DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. (or do, i’m a roleplayer, not a cop). hazbin hotel & the lore from which is draws are rife with taboo material that i will not shy away from in my writing. therefore i ask that you do not interact if: you are a minor, are vulnerable to sensitive topics, or have difficulty differentiating between fiction & reality. please do not follow or interact with the intent to harass or self-harm. specific content warnings differ between characters & will be posted in their respective abouts. blog-wide warnings for: abuse (all kinds), mental illness, blasphemy, religious imagery, prejudice (all kinds), oppression, violence, gore, war, & sexual content.

affiliated with: @televanghell / @pridemaster, @voxxisms / @condemnedsouls

rules below.

001. blog abides by roland barthes’ literary theory the death of the author. meaning that as far as my interpretation goes, i only take what is shown into consideration. & only so far as it aligns with basic logic & storytelling. personal headcanons & theories will largely dictate my characterization. that being said, i am more than happy to meet my fellow roleplayers in the middle, particularly in regard to their own theories or canon divergence.

002. this blog is not to be taken as a condemnation of any religion or those that practice it. while christianity serves as a clear inspiration, i also take inspiration from classical literature, hellenism, judaism, history, pop-culture, folklore, & cosmic horror. much of my research on voodoo / voodou & hoodoo come from the works of professor charles porterfield, kenaz filan, & several modern & 1920s documentaries (the latter only used to measure public opinion). an important note is that alastor is no better a representation of hoodoo than he is of asexuality, in that he’s terrible for both.

003. inconsistent activity. i work full-time, volunteer part time, & suffer from chronic illness & autism. due to any combination of these factors, don’t expect me to respond in a “timely fashion”.

004. standard rp etiquette applies. please keep in mind that none of these characters are particularly easy to overpower. when engaging in altercation based threads, it’s wise to plot out the victor first. beyond that godmodding, infomodding, & other extreme power imbalances require prior consent. if you write with the architect or roo some amount of consent for infomodding is generally presumed. otherwise, harming or killing my characters is generally fine provided it: serves a plot purpose, is an appropriate narrative escalation, &/or is in line with the behavior clearly outlined for your character.

005. i don’t have any personal triggers in regard to writing. i ask, however, that you avoid discussing any persons real, ongoing delusions with me, politics & current events. (i work a job that requires me to be both politically active & informed, tumblr is where i go to to turn off). do not involve me or my muses in any discussion involving kinning, fictives, or endogenic systems. i also ask that you please do not call my alastor a w*ndigo in any context for cultural reasons. i tag any trigger i can think of, canon typical violence, cursing etc. won’t generally be tagged. please let me know if you need something tagged. i tag val specifically as “romeo’s val cw”. in addition to tagging, if a reply from me ever makes you uncomfortable (even if the boundary crossed was not pre-established), you can ask me to rewrite it & i will do so to the best of my ability.

006. ocs & crossovers are encouraged! i have a live-action fc, a human verse etc. for most of these characters. the same goes for duplicates! a gentle note on archangel ocs — they will be considered sera’s equals at best if not actively under her will. sera’s importance in the angelical hierarchy in heaven is emphasized repeatedly in the series & given the treatment of lucifer before he fell, i doubt that ‘archangel’ means much at all to her.

007. open to shipping, but it’s not the main focus. polyamorous ships may occur, but #ad-nai is multiship (ships take place in different verses/times unless specified). please approach me before involving my muse(s) in content involving non-canon actual or implied infidelity. i won’t generally ship val x velvet (i view his feelings towards her as paternal), i am unlikely to ship adam x charlie or adam x emily. my sera is aroace & is unlikely to be shipped with anyone. alastor asexual & is shipped extremely selectively. the architect’s relationship with those he has created is complicated & not inherently paternal, nor is it biological. while i understand that mormons view his relationship with lucifer as that of a father & a rebellious son, that was not how i was taught it nor is it how i perceive it. i generally default to them having been friends, lucifer created as an adult & for the purpose of being a companion & jester. i will default to my writing partner for how their relationship developed beyond that & abide it. but you will see them occasionally written romantically, or more accurately as sad, bitter, spurned exes on this blog.

008. i generally prefer to rp on tumblr over other platforms (i.e., discord), but i am willing to move threads over if a plot is deemed too triggering for dash or a mutual prefers writing nsft content in private. i write with rich, literate formatting but will send ‘clean’ (unformatted) versions of replies upon request. i prioritize threads over asks & plotted stories over spontaneous interactions.

my replies can get lengthy, so the matching length isn’t a big deal, but the matching of effort is. i don’t want to carry the interaction.

009. please do not steal / use / take significant inspiration from my content without getting permission. i actively run the gambit of being anti-fanon with my interpretations so I WILL KNOW if you do.

010. graphics & psd by me. additional resources from, kaledya_, ShoutinS, BlackLeah, Robin Z, snail-pngs.

like or let me know if you read!

#✎ ༘ * « ᴡʜᴇʀᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜᴏᴜ ʀᴏᴍᴇᴏ » ┆ 𝒲riter﹐OUT.

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caffernnn · 11 months

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Free! Anniversary Fic Recs 🦋🐋🐬🦈🐧 Can you share your fav fics from each year (2013-2023) Free! has been around?

This is a very fun ask!! Lemme root through my bookmarks and see what I can find 😅

2013 - A lot of the stories I have saved from this time are shorter lil one-shots like “Never Leave” by Shimegami (classic mh hug-it-out interlude fic) and “The Sound of Settling” by teke (feelings realization stuff), but one other one I liked was “The Ocean You Gave My Heart” by miaoujones. Smut warning for that one (if that’s not your thing), but something about desert-bound Makoto learning to swim and indulge in water with Haru, thinking upon meeting him that he’s a wonder whether he’s really a mermaid or not, that’s neat!!

2014 - starting to realize the ones I kept any note of from the early years are some of the popular mh fics probably already recommended 10 times over, but there’s a reason why people sing their praises. If you haven’t checked out fics from tide tothemoon like 2/13189000 (mhtokyo my beloved), their writing is *chef’s kiss* delightful. Another AU I haven’t been able to bring myself to revisit was orihime’s reincarnation stories from “I cannot be without you, matter of fact.” There are two different stories, one where Makoto remembers their past lives and a follow up where Haru remembers, and oh that made me ache dude.

2015 - Speaking of suffering, have y’all checked out Heart’s Departure yet? I think we’ve referenced and talked about that story enough for it to speak for itself 🥴 heartbreaking circumstances but still cosmic and so so beautiful. Then, once you’re done crying about that story, hop over to “Shake the Heavens” by Ad_Astra to break down over (what I described in my ao3 bookmark) Makoto and Haru’s “inherently cataclysmic devotion.” I guess 2015 was the year of shoving the boys into tragic AUs and seeing how much they were willing to give up to get back to each other. A whole vibe

2016 - let’s goooo gamers, more AUs!! “I’d Create Oceans For You” by trashness is a fun fantasy adventure that has both tender moments and interesting action (and some banger art from donguris omggg). If you want something more future-fish-flavored that shows that happily-ever-after doesn’t save you from your grief, “Sublimation” by RedScribbler was great. You can find more of my thoughts on that one if you scroll back a bit in my “fic recs” tag — one of y’all sent it in and yeeees it was so up my alley!

2017 - Alright fellas, there are so many to choose from, because now we’re getting into the macbetha years! Who would I be if I didn’t mention “Eyes Wide Open All The Time” tbh?? It’s a long one with its own hard-hitting involved lore and world-building, but Beth builds this unique story in a way that pulls from the characters we know and love so effectively. I’ve sung the praises for this story multiple times (and could so do it again bro don’t tempt me) but I’ll end off with saying that if you’re fascinated in watching deeply-wounded people who’ve been put through hell learn how to make a life in the aftermath, there’s something special for you here. Aaaand, if you want something about 1/10 the length and not as heavy, “159 (Architect/Interior Designer AU)” by intoxicatedcinnamon has some fun moments 😌 that’s another one where you can find more of my thoughts somewhere in the fic recs tag (love when y’all send me stories 💚💙)

2018 - “Coral and Bone” by Macbetha my beloved!!!! Wanna play mermaids and fight the gods? Maybe try to find that summer magic that makes you want to keep going and accidentally fall in love on the way? I am puuushing you toward this story bestie. Everyone’s here and everyone’s having fun! OH ALSO I’m throwing in “Night Changes” by SEMellark because I love stories where Makoto and Haru actually figure out how to talk to each other. (Side note — a lot of these are probably gonna be things I’ve rec’d in the past, so feel free to scroll my tag for more details and consider this list an extra endorsement 😅)

2019 - (drops basket full of love for mutuals) OOPS OOPS OOPS!!! Don’t mind me, just popping in with some “Let’s Get Married” by sagesprouts and “Anthropocene” by testosterogna, nothing to see here but some classic natsunao shenanigans and one of the sickest elemental bender AUs out there 😌✨ I also have some fics from Svana saved from this year, but I’ll be mentioning her again later so hold on okay!!

2020 - alright, now the list is getting longer with everyone jumping back in during the early pandemic days 🏃🏻‍♀️SO FIRST OFF “green eyes, you’re the one I wanted to find” by infinite_always is an absolute FLUFF FEST of a soulmate AU! Unbearably tender moments but who doesn’t love that every so often? OH AND we have another one of my all-time ultimate fic recs here!! “Reaching” by CupNoodles55 has shaped and reshaped how I look back at Eternal Summer in the way I’d want any great canon-compliant fic to. Big love for interlude scenes and extra bits that help recontextualize or deepen what a moment could’ve meant in the show. Gonna end off 2020 with “The Sea Aflame” by Dizzydodo because even though this urban fantasy story is unfinished, I was super drawn in by the prospects of dragon!Makoto and whatever god stuff was going on with Sousuke. An interesting universe I love thinking about again from time to time.

2021 - Starting off strong with “love on the water, love underwater (and so on)” by rudimentaryflair because we love introspection here!!! Lovely writing style with lines that make me want to scale the walls. This take on Makoto is so so special. Also gonna rec “To Clear Away Today” by suhmayzooka (omg hiiii) if you want to be thrown into another hard-hitting intricate AU with loads of potential. Love exploring what we’ve got to see of the world so far 💞 and OOOH IT’S TIME!! “Extraordinary” by Svana_Vrika is basically canon to me at this point. Svana has a lot of sweet shorter stories with Makoto and Haru (look here, look here), but this one is everythinggg my guy. Similar appeal to “Reaching” mentioned earlier: a story of interludes that bring the story we already know to life in a delightful new way. Required reading for mhtokyo fans forreal. ONE LAST ONE OKAY!! “Teacher” by VeloxVoid is a great future fic with teacher!Makoto and artist!Haru (and I’m not biased just bc it was a gift exchange for me with details fit to my specific tastes wdym🧍🏻). Domestic blisssss

2022 - Ooh we’ve almost caught up y’all ☺️ gonna start with “All This and Heaven Too” by SocksAreArgyle because sometimes the bestie crafts a smorgasbord of smut with a delicious throughline of character/relationship development baked in. If you want your choice of spicy makoharus or some character exploration, you’re SET with this one. Next is “I Let My Heart Go” by martincrieff because sometimes the bestie looks at poor pining Makoto and goes “you know what would be messed up?” AND I JUST !!! So full of love and now full of flower petals. Hanahaki!Makoto my dearest boy!! Aaaand ending off the year with some tender mh (to Ikuya’s detriment) in “The Night Train” by Lizzyboo. They’re so softtt with each other and UGH this story is so nice. Love watching people take the crumbs from FS/FS2 and make a meal 💜

2023 - The year is young! And old! So here’s some more, with who knows how many bangers yet to come 🎉 First going to throw in the Makoharu Week 2023 collection for your perusal because I saw some fantastic stories emerge from that event. If you have twitter, I’d recommend also seeing some of the threadfics posted over there from the event as well 💚💙 and I thiiink I’m gonna close off for now with “just like it was always meant to be” by tonfea because they’ve been putting out banger stories that deserve all the love. Haru introspection is one of those things that isn’t always done very well (which is especially hard to reckon with in older fics) but tonfea’s stories all have an intimate understanding about Haru’s mind and journey that just makes sense.

Alright hello we made it to the end!!! Might’ve thrown in more than expected but I hope makoharu enjoyers find something on this list that fits their fancy 🥲 (and if anyone wants to rec something or ramble about a story here that they loved I’m all ears)

#fic recs #makoharu #oops all makoharu #a wonderful stroll through the past decade #(also I didn’t tag people but quite a few of the people I mentioned are here so uhh hiiiiii)#thanks for sending <3 #anonymous

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ginnymoonbeam · 5 months

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Khai x Third

Oooh, a complicated one! So both these boys are a mess, in very college-typical ways. Third is the architect of a lot of his own suffering, in not holding any boundaries with Khai. Khai's shortcomings are... obvious. In terms of emotional maturity, they're pretty well matched, and their story takes them through enough agonies to work out their biggest issues. I like their story very much, I enjoy watching them figure themselves and each other out, and I'm thankful I don't know either of them in real life because I am too old for that shit.

Ask me any ship and I'll give you my thoughts!

#theory of love #khaithird

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quietbluejay · 1 month

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A Thousand Sons 6

-magnus, reading egyptian mythology and seeing horus mentioned: i've connected the dots magnus: i had a vision about something taking over horus, WHILE I WAS AT NIKAEA magnus: instead of telling the emperor about it, i rushed back to prospero, then spent the last 6 months or so trying to research it more magnus: now, i have to figure out how to stop it magnus: if i fail i'll tell the emperor

‘It must be done, Amon. Begin assembling the thralls,’ ordered Magnus. ‘Bind their power to mine and they will fuel my ascent.’ ‘Many will not survive such a ritual,’ said Ahriman, horrified at the casual disregard in which Magnus held their lives. ‘To burn out so many thralls will cost us greatly.’ ‘How much greater the cost if we do nothing, Ahzek?’ said Magnus. ‘I have made my decision. Assemble the coven in the Reflecting Caves in three days.’

Our hero, everyone. Go and prove all your haters from Nikaea wrong with an act of mass human sacrifice as fuel for a magical ritual!

and then after this point the writing takes a sharp turn in quality…FOR THE BETTER not what you thought I was gonna say, huh

I'm not going to quote the entire oiling scene, it's everywhere by this point. All I have to say is:

‘Is this all necessary?’ asked Toron,

Toron speaks for us all

‘Yes it was,’ said Lemuel. ‘I see that now. You think you’re so clever, but you’re blinded by your belief in the superiority of your knowledge. You can’t even contemplate that someone else might know better than you.’ ‘Because no one else does,’ snapped Ahriman. ‘We do know better than anyone else.’

‘Maybe you do, but maybe you don’t. What if there’s something you’re missing? What if there’s some little piece of the puzzle you don’t know about?’ ‘Be silent,’ ordered Ankhu Anen. ‘We are the architects of fate, not you.’

HERE WE GO ALL ABOARD THE HUBRIS TRAINNNN!!!! (hee hoo architects of fate)

this really is it huh this is ahriman's first step he feels bad about sacrificing Camille to die horribly for the sake of possible uncertain knowledge but he's doing it anyways, to try and save his brothers/primarch and he's just going to keep going further and further down this path again i must stress, even though they don't know she's going to predict anything useful!

-okay I'm ngl this is one of the best parts of the book, Tzeentch showing up to talk to Magnus through shards of glass -so, at this point, Magnus knows the wolves are coming. Uthizzar (telepath) comes in to ask what's wrong, reads Magnus' mind, and immediately starts planning defences including

and issue a general evacuation order for non-combatants to the Reflecting Caves!’

magnus: oh no everyone is going to suffer because of me also magnus: stops them from having a chance to not suffer

‘Despite everything I have done, my fate is my own,’ Magnus said. ‘I am a loyal son of the Emperor, and I would never betray him, for I have already broken his heart and his greatest creation. I will accept my fate and though history may judge us traitors, we will know the truth. We will know we were loyal unto the end because we accepted our fate.’

ow okay McNeill got me good here

doesn't take away from the fact that magnus is having literally everyone else on the planet, who have done nothing wrong, share in his punishment

#bluejay reads warhammer #warhammer 40k

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averagejoesolomon · 1 year

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lol you guys want a *checks watch* Tuesday update?? I am trying my darndest to wrap this one up, so please enjoy and thank you for being patient with me. If you're new here, you can read Full Circle from the beginning on Ao3. CW: Lots of religious themes in this one. Definitely only read if you're in the right headspace for that sort of thing.

Chapter Eleven

Folks can say what they like about organized religion, and say plenty more about Catholicism in particular, but there’s a universal truth that most anyone can agree on, regardless of their broader opinions on the matter—the Catholics know how to build a church.

The undisputed masters of the craft, in Matt’s opinion, are of course the Italians. It’s hard to top all of that Renaissance art and harder still to top the ancient and ornate architecture that surrounds it. With centuries to practice, they’ve perfected the sacred artistry of it all—made saints out of marble, carved psalms into stone, and painstakingly plated their ceilings in gold. There’s beauty to a culture that erects an entire city in the name of worship and every time Matt visits, a strand of spirituality knits to dense cloth in his stomach. Italy grounds him to God in a way Nebraska never could.

There are echoes of Italy in the churches along America’s east coast. Rich, European roots have reached across the Atlantic and sprouted up in all of the major settlements, growing straight into the cities of today. There have been adaptations and modernizations, to be sure, but it only takes one glance to recognize the influence. Generations upon generations of architects have had their way with stone, marble, gold, and glass, all in an effort to build a place of worship worthy of one almighty God.

This church is no exception, an exquisite stone citadel tucked into a far-off corner of the John Hopkins campus. Matt stares up at it from the edge of the sidewalk as an entirely new feeling burrows into the base of his stomach. It’s a behemoth of limestone, capped by a patinated emerald copper. The doors wait for him at the top of an insurmountable staircase, hidden behind the jaws of awesome, towering pillars. It’s beautiful, and structural, and dignified, but suffers ever so slightly from an uncanny sense of Americana that likens it more to DC’s Capitol District than to the grand Italian cathedrals. It ought to be a library. It ought to be a bank.

If he keeps listing all the things it should be, maybe he won’t have to face the truth, and maybe he’ll finally convince himself to walk inside.

Two small, iron sconces act as the only guiding light through an otherwise dark evening, offering a candlelit glow that feels too faint for the task at hand. The shine barely reaches Matt’s breath, clouding up against the chill. One step. It’ll only take one step. He knows he ought to pray for strength, but praying is part of the problem these days, so he keeps his thoughts down here on Earth where no one can hear them. Instead of the Heavens, his prayers find their way into stiff shoulders, into icy lungs, into the stinging red-white swirl of his bare and bruised knuckles.

You’re too good for that.

He ain’t too proud of where he left things with Rachel, all twisted up in tears, and cold, and words that feel harsh in hindsight. Screaming and hollering never suited him, and it definitely don’t suit her. Rachel’s the type to let silence do most of her speaking. She’s the type to set a guy straight with a single glance. This evening is proof of a sharper side to her personality, defined by an anger that lingers even in her absence. It mixes with his own to form a stiff, shameful weight atop his shoulders, pressing into skin, muscle, and bone until he’s got no choice but to slump beneath it all.

Matt beholds the grand staircase before him and takes his first step toward the Heavens.

It ought to be a courthouse. It ought to be a museum.

Come to think of it, he’s not too happy with how he left Abby, either—midway through a dance, without so much as a thank you or a goodbye. Maybe he’s grateful this business with the Circle distracted him long enough to soften the immediacy of her rejection, but it all catches up to him now. He’s got the instant replay rolling through his head, slipping into slow motion, every movement analyzed under an intense, frame-by-frame scrutiny. He’s spent years planning his confession, practicing it over and over in his head, but now he’s gone and pitched wide and high. Blew his shot at the major leagues before he could even take it, just so he could chase down a phony lead with an alibi that Abby already swore by.

He climbs up one step, then another. The banister is ice beneath his palm. The air is frozen to the sides of his throat. He shivers against the absence of a coat he left hanging on Rachel’s shoulders.

It ought to be a theater. It ought to be a police station.

There’s some solace in the fact that he’s still got Joe, off somewhere in a North Baltimore motel making a pot of coffee that will keep them both up all night. They’ll need the extra hours, now that they’ve run head-first into another dead end. This ain’t the first time they’ll start from scratch on their search for the center of the Circle, but it is the first time Matt wonders if they’re going about it the right way. If they should be going about it at all.

Each step comes right after the last until he’s falling, falling, falling heavenward. The staircase finally plateaus at its top and Matt has to pause. Catch his breath.

It’s just a church. Same as all the others. He’s walked into dozens just like it.

Even so, apprehension slithers up and around his ankles, binding him in place, pulling him deep into the stone. Standing before a building this mighty, he can’t help but feel tiny in comparison. With every step, the church grows taller and Matt only shrinks in its wake, the shadow of the night deepened by the presence of such an imposing beast. A wind whistles through the columns, flags and banners snapping in the breeze, and Matt swears he feels a breath.

Maybe it’s high time he came in from the cold.

Strands of panic cuff his wrists. It takes all he has to snap free of them, reaching for black handles that are worn to gold at the crest of each curve. The double doors open under his tender touch, easy and welcoming, as though he was always meant to walk right in. Matt’s not one to ignore a sign from above when he sees it, which is probably how he musters up the courage to take the first step inside.

They just don’t make them like this back home—pew, after pew, after pew lined in perfect rows across a solid stone floor. Grand, arching ceilings made of interlocking brick, stretching from window to window. The stained glass has gone dark with the night, their colors now dense and thick compared to the airiness of daylight, but the hanging pendants catch faint, muted streaks of red and blue and gold. There are twelve windows, weaving between twelve Stations of the Cross, all leading up to the twelve disciples mosaicked above one massive, marble altar.

Matt is greeted first by the low trickle of a stone baptismal font. As he basks in the Lord’s surrounding beauty, his fingertips float toward the sound and it’s not until he strikes the warmth of the holy water that he realizes what’s happened. Muscle memory sends his fingers flicking before he brings his own touch to his head, his chest, shoulder to shoulder, just like his mama taught him all those years ago.

Ain’t no going back now.

The lights are lit, but dimmed. All of the candles are extinguished, save the few burning in memoriam at the Mother Mary’s feet. Matt is alone as he marches down an empty aisle, but even so, he can’t escape the feeling of a watchful eye. A tail he can’t quite shake.

But he doesn’t search over his shoulder or examine the shadows, because he’ll find no one there. He knows that. Instead, he turns his gaze toward the sky and does the one thing no agent is ever supposed to do—blow his own cover. “I reckon a few Hail Marys ain’t gonna cut it this time, huh?”

Prayers in real life don’t look like prayers in the stories. Not in Matt’s experience, anyway. In the stories, a prayer always makes its way to God and it’s always answered in a timely manner, be that through a serendipitous act of grace, a convenient streak of luck, or a miraculous one-on-one conversation with the Big Guy himself. But it’s never been that simple for Matt. He’s had prayers answered, sure, but never with such clarity. Never with any amount of certainty.

For Matt, prayers feel more like a faithful cast into an inky night. He was raised to believe that there’s strength and beauty in the unknown, in the unsure, in the repeated hope that someone, somewhere is listening to his deepest thoughts, and desires, and pleas. The power of God comes from the willingness to believe He is present, even when evidence suggests otherwise. The power is in the gutting, hollow hope that he is not alone, even when it most feels like he is. “The best I can offer instead, is an apology,” says Matt. “So I’m sorry. I ain’t been around too much. And I’m sorry someone else had to realize it before I could.”

Only here, standing at the heart of His church does Matt begin to run the numbers. The number of days without a service. The number of deeds without goodwill. The number of prayers locked tight in his chest, for fear that their bitter cadence would expose the rest of his unholy insides. Matt shivers at the thought of how much longer he would have gone, had he not been redirected to Baltimore. Had Rachel not found this place for him. Had they not screamed, and hollered, and tore one another to pieces.

“And for what it’s worth, she’s wrong, y’know.” The words come out quick, and sharp, and unexpected. He has to settle the unbound eagerness, lest it sound too much like guilt. “She always thinks she’s right, but she’s wrong this time. We both know she’s wrong, don’t we? Because I ain’t been too good lately.”

His hand falls to the squared edge of a single pew, lacquered wood smooth beneath his touch. He takes comfort in the ritual—in the soundlessness of the church, in the familiar smells of stale incense and melted wax. Matt slides into the pew and folds the kneeler to the floor, falling to his knees, because that’s just what a fella is supposed to do when he walks into church. Holy water, sign of the cross, prayer. It’s been that way since he was a boy, so he lets his wrists fall against the edge of the wood and laces his fingers together.

Blotches of red, and purple, and black stain his worship.

He shuts his eyes, aiming for focus, but waves of memory wash over him with every throb of his interlocked knuckles. Years of double-booked days. Weeks spent in hiding in Rome, and Budapest, and Warsaw. So many lies that he’s forgotten the truth. Without permission, his mind begins to count the commandments he’s broken and they add up quicker than he cares to admit. One, two, three, four—his rising thoughts turn a remorseful, bloody red.

He has stolen files from Hungarian embassies and robbed Russian dignitaries blind. He has fought his way through the Circle’s lowest ranks and manipulated the wants, wills, and desires of every informant he could find. In the past year, Matt’s assets have been drowned, poisoned, or imprisoned for the simple crime of answering his questions, and it’s hard not to take credit for those deaths. Matt has yet to kill a man with his own two hands, but there’s plenty of blame to be shared for those that die by the Circle’s hand at his prompting. “And I’m sorry for that, too,” he says. “I am. I am, truly—when we got into this mission, we were trying to save lives. But it seems like I’ve done more harm than good, since we started. I know Pops always said you can’t fight fire with fire, but I dunno. I dunno. Kinda feels like there’s no amount of good that’s gonna fight off this kind of bad. Kinda feels like more bad is the only thing left.”

His knuckles throb against the strain in his grip, but he doesn’t remember how to loosen it. Can’t make himself feel at ease. After years of lying to everyone he knows, he’s forced to finally face the raw, gnarly truth. Matt can’t lie to an all-knowing God and, in turn, Matt can’t lie to himself, either. Not anymore. “No one ever tells you if it’s okay to do bad things for a good reason,” he says. “And while we’re on the subject—no one really tells you what a good reason is, either.”

Everything you do is about Joe. And I don’t know how you haven’t figured that out yet.

Because if Matt is finally honest with himself, he knows he was never truly in this to save lives, plural. He was only ever in this for one life—for Joe’s life. Rachel had seen that much and told him so, even before Matt knew it himself. Maintaining the world order and preventing nuclear apocalypse are both handy side effects, but in the end, all of this is for his friend, his partner, his brother. For perfectly synced fights with someone who can anticipate his every move. For glass shattered across the kitchen floor and Joe’s head in his lap. For a sleepless night in basic training, then another beside a bathtub in Italy.

Because meeting Joe the first time, hidden behind Army camo and a fake name pulled straight from the pages of a bible, had been a stroke of luck. But meeting Joe a second time, at the edge of Italy and in the middle of a city’s prayer, at the exact moment they most needed one another—that had been an act of divine intervention. Matt had known better than to turn away from something like that. He’s spent all his life wondering if prayers get answered, and he knew better than to look away when it finally happened.

Friends are a noble cause. Joe is a noble cause. Matt doesn’t know what he’s supposed to fight for, if not for the people he loves. “Except maybe I’m not sorry for that, after all,” he confesses. “I mean, what’s Joe supposed to be anyway, huh? Is he supposed to be some kinda test? Because I’ll fail that one every time, swear to—”

He stops himself. That’s probably in poor taste.

“Well, anyway,” he says, shifting on his knees. “You sent me a brother—someone who sees straight into me like no one ever has before. Someone who keeps me alive when I should be dead ten times over by now. It’s not my fault you’ve gone and torn him into pieces. I’m just doing what I can to put him back together again. Send me a guy who’s hurting and I’ll find a way to make him hurt less. That’s what you told me to do. I’m acting in your image.”

And even though prayers aren’t usually answered in words, sometimes God still finds a way to reply, in the form of a twinged gut or a hot flash of red that runs down the spine. It’s the same feeling he used to get when his mama delivered her sharpest looks. “No, you’re right,” Matt admits, adding another broken commandment to his growing list. “I guess I’m not. But I don’t know if there’s a good way to do this—I don’t know. Can I serve you and serve Joe? Can I serve you and serve my country? Can I serve you and serve myself?”

These are the same questions that have been asked in the same churches, decade after decade and century after century. Just as He has done with every man before Matt, God leaves this particular question without an answer.

So Matt provides one of his own. “I don’t know if I can become a good man.” These words come out quieter than the rest, I’s dotted with apprehension and T’s crossed with hesitance. Even so, God hears them. God hears all. “But, sure as the sunrise, I ain’t proud of who I am now.”

Knuckles crack as his fingers fold and fidget between one another, desperately trying to break free of their prayer. He’s never felt this way before—filled with the urge to run. To forget. His brain is specially trained to remember every detail of every moment, and while that particular practice serves him well in the field, it has never done him many favors among the silences. Perfect recall is a lot like Fort Jackson’s gas chambers, in that it expands to fill all available space, sneaking into every crevice and snarling into every crack. One wrong move could steal a fella’s breath and claw at his throat.

He remembers the sounds of the crickets below Rachel’s raised voice. The smell of broken bourbon and Micheal’s ribs beneath Matt’s foot. The feeling of Abby’s hand on his shoulder, and the feeling of it falling away. The buzz of a fresh haircut. The thrum of a throbbing jaw. The smoothness of luxury leather.

“So I can promise you this,” he says, trying to fill the air with words before the memories engulf him entirely. “I can promise you I’ll try. I’ll try, and I’ll try, and I’ll try, however many times you’ll let me.”

The reek of a cigar. The chime of crystal. An impenetrable office, torn apart at the seams. Crooked curtains, and scattered paper, and stolen disks. Accusation after accusation from the man with all of the questions.

“I will try to be a good man.” A father who would do anything for his daughters. “Even if I can’t always do good things.”

And Matt figures that even if a string of Hail Marys ain’t gonna help, they at least won’t hurt. It’s out of habit that he mutters the prayer three times over, thoughts getting lost in the familiar cadence. Better than suffocating among his own memories. Hail Mary, full of grace. Hail Mary, full of grace. Hail Mary, full of grace. His mind is permitted to wander ever so slightly and just as Matt begins to ponder the existence of good people who do bad things for good reasons, epiphany strikes.

So maybe God does answer the occasional prayer, after all.

Matt’s eyes flash open, and he snaps his gaze toward the ornate ceiling overhead, and to the heavens beyond. With a sharp, satisfied sigh, he stands to his feet and draws the Sign of the Cross along his features. “Loud and clear, Big Guy,” he says. “Guess I’ll see you next week.”

He can’t can’t seem to stumble out of the pew quick enough, mind racing with answers to questions he didn’t even know he was asking. His exit is brisker than his entrance, neglecting the beauty of the church in favor of the stark and urgent need to leave. To get a cab. To find Joe.

But of course, when Matt opens the doors back into the cool spring night, Joe is already there.

The embers of his cigarette glow orange against the darkness. It’s the only thing that keeps him from being a complete shadow, all wrapped up in black, on black, on black. His silhouette stands resolute at the base of the staircase, turning to spot Matt high above. “What are you…?” Matt starts.

Joe flicks his cigarette between his fingers, sending sparks toward the cement of the sidewalk. “You couldn’t flag down a cab if your life depended on it,” he says, taking another huff and igniting the flame even further. “And to be clear, I know that because your life has depended on it. On more than one occasion.”

This is Joe’s way of saying that he stayed for Matt. This is also Joe’s way of avoiding the unspoken truth they both know—the Circle is everywhere, and Matt can’t afford to be alone.

Walking down the staircase feels so much shorter than the grueling trudge upward, but maybe that’s because Matt’s eager to get a move on. He bounds down the steps until he’s right at Joe’s side. “Then you ought to make quick work out of calling one.”

Curls of smoke tumble out of Joe’s sigh. “What’s the rush?” he says. “Excited for a thrilling night of retracing our steps? Can’t wait to spend hours combing through old case notes to scrape up another lead? After all, what are the odds that we hit another dead end?”

Matt shakes his head, and it's enough to draw Joe's eyebrows together. “We haven’t hit a dead end,” he says. “At least, not yet.”

And there’s something godly, between Matt and Joe. Something that doesn’t need words—an understanding that comes from some sixth sense that only exists between the two of them. All Matt has to do is cast his thoughts into the inky night, and Joe hears him. Loud and clear. In all of the places God usually leaves Matt wondering, Joe always makes sure to answer every last one of Matt’s silent prayers.

At the foot of the church steps, Joe drops his cigarette to the sidewalk, grinds it under the sole of his shoe, and raises two fingers toward a pair of oncoming headlights.

#Full Circle

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