#I was lead to some forbidden knowledge | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spookyrea · 23 days ago

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Bite the Hand

One Shot / Read on AO3

“Oh.” One hand slides around, until his palm is digging into your lower belly. “I understand.” An entire forest could be felled and you would not hear it over the ringing in your ears. “You’re very– you’re a very kind master. And I am eternally grateful.” “But you would prefer it if I was… mean.” or: you catch Prince Loki in his temple late at night and it awakens something in you, his young disciple.

! 18+ NSFW / fem reader / mildly dubious consent + under-negotiated kink !

You’re not supposed to be in Loki's temple at this hour. An eventful solstice celebration is to blame, which has effectively ruined your sleep schedule. Between the parties, and the sacrifices, and the many, many feasts -- you can hardly tell what is day and what is night anymore. At least, cocooned in the heavy velvet curtains that frame the windowsill, you can watch the clouds drift by across a starry sky and polish your brass bowls to pass the time.

As Loki’s disciple, you have some leeway when coming and going from the temple. You’re the first person to arrive in the morning and the last to leave, unless Loki decides he wants to work alone for a bit longer. You have a spare key for emergencies. But it’s forbidden for you to be inside past midnight. Some old superstition about the witching hour stealing too much of your soul.

Disciples tend to the royals’ temples and lead worship (this is how those silly Midgardian myths were started, all those centuries ago). Your devotion makes Loki stronger, and in return you’re given a boon – in this case, Loki’s tutelage to master seidr. He’s a fine teacher, if a little short-tempered. You much prefer him to Thor, whose battle training often leaves his disciple in ribbons on the healer’s steps.

The doors open with a hush. You must have forgotten to lock it behind yourself, and some bold youths have a death wish. The punishment for unlocking the door in the first place will be grave for you, perhaps even graver than theirs, so you hurry to admonish them, gathering your seidr to try and spook them out of the hall before you’re all found out. Except that, when you peer through the gap between the curtains, you find that it’s Loki, your master, accompanied by some strange woman you don’t recognize. He’s not dressed in his finery, but plainclothes, something you very rarely get to see.

Oh, this is much worse. Mischievous children would be too scared to tattle, but Loki knows you’re not allowed here. As much as he appreciates a little mischief, he may not take it very lightly, considering the woman he’s currently entangled with.

He whispers something that has her giggling and turns her around, pinning her hips between his groin and the altar at the top of his dias. And he’s– he’s mean, shoving her hair out of the way, biting at her shoulder hard enough to make her squeal. She winces, only seeming to partially enjoy it. Maybe it’s his status, or maybe it's just the joy of being wanted that convinces her to let him pull and push so roughly. Still, when he yanks her skirt up and gives her a smack, she yelps, biting out a complaint.

Something stirs in your gut. Ungrateful, you think, and then immediately wish it away.

Your stomach drops when Loki steps away to strip his shirt off. You know him to be a warmonger, a true warrior if there every was one, but the distant knowledge that he has seen battle and the proof stood plainly before you are two very different things. He’s solid muscle, faceted like a diamond. Silvery scars occasionally catches the light when he twists in certain ways; memories of battles won and lost, a history torn and sewn up into his being. Every time he grinds his hips against the girl’s, his lower back flexes, revealing twin dimples at the very base above his waistband. You take a step closer, pressing your cheek to the rough velvet to try and see a little better.

She whimpers; whatever he’s doing to her under her skirt is making her fight back, kicking at his shins, gasping for air. She can’t get any real leverage between Loki’s hips and the hand in her hair, and eventually seems to be resigned to just… take it.

The brass you were polishing slips from your hands, tumbling with a clatter to the stone floor. Everything stills; you watch Loki’s eyes flash green in the dark. The smell of extinguished candle smoke rises on the air, a scent that is usually followed by tantrums and cruel seidr tricks.

Loki rips the curtain aside and takes you by the scruff. “Lecher,” he snaps.

You squirm, uncomfortably damp all over. “I was trapped by circumstance.”

“You’re forbidden from being in the temple past midnight.”

His other hand, the one not on your neck, is shiny. Fingertips sightly pruned, as if he's been for a swim.

You can’t dream up a response. Your mouth is suddenly very, very dry. When his fingers flex, pressing against your neck with a little too much pressure, you reach behind on instinct and grasp at his forearm, searching for some stability as he yanks you off balance. Oh. He’s solid. Deliciously solid, in a way you had never considered, under all those heavy robes.

He throws you toward the door, sending you stumbling over your unsteady feet. “Go home, little one.”

You don’t think to argue. Your focus remains on the phantom of his fingertips lingering on your neck.

You return to the temple in the very early morning. So early that the dew still stains the grass white; when the sun rises fully, and the temperate weather turns hot, the ghostly veil will evaporate. Your feet leave a trail behind as you climb the hill, headed toward certain death.

Sleep continued to evade you when you returned to your room. You spent the evening tossing and turning, imagining what Loki must have been doing to that woman to make her whine, about the shine on his fingers and how it dripped all the way down his palm.

You enter the temple with a gallow’s heart, hung low in your stomach and beating irregularly. Your daily chores are even more tedious, each simple step complicated by your scattered mind. You're jumpy. You're uncoordinated, forced to clean up simple spills when your carelessness grows to neglect. Every breath is followed by the paranoia that Loki will once again turn the corner, will take you by the neck and push you to your belly and put his fingers--

Your master is handsome; this is a plain fact. He is the object of many courtiers’ whispers, and the subject of even more gossip – his prowess, his eloquence – but for you, he was always a fanciful crush. You lived in girlish daydreams of his hair, and his hands, and soft kisses in spiralling turrets. Imagined him as a boy, perhaps a young man, and you, an object of his affection. Passed the time with thoughts of love.

He is not a boy any longer, and it is not love that you dream of.

The temple doors open with the same hush as they had hours prior, only now Loki carries that fresh grass smell with him, not tavern ale. It clings to his heavy robes as they billow behind him. In sharp contrast to your last meeting, nothing is out of place – his hair is slicked back, his golden clasps polished to a glare.

You had hoped that there would be other devotees today, but it’s a Thursday. Your day to train with your master alone.

Loki does not acknowledge you, not at first. He sets about rearranging some items on his altar, still ransacked from his tryst. You work very, very hard to keep your eyes trained on your polishing and not on him.

“Come here.” Loki arranges himself in his throne, sitting on the edge so he can spread his legs. It’s an ornate thing, carved from oak wood; the wingback details cast his face in shadow, blocking the sun where it trickles through the windows.

It’s not the first time he’s instructed you to sit on his lap – not by a mile – but it’s the first time you’ve hesitated since your first few weeks under his tutelage. He pats his thigh when you don’t immediately comply, and you follow mechanically, with your head hung in shame. When you sit, you try to bear most of your weight on your feet and hands, not on him.

“Did I hurt you last night, lamb?”

You shake your head, keeping your eyes trained on your lap. “No, Loki. It was my fault.”

“You weren't supposed to see that.” He strokes your arm as if to soothe you, and it makes something sick and awful curl at the base of your spine.

“It was my fault. I shouldn't have been in the temple that late.”

“Well, I shouldn’t have either.”

“It’s your temple.”

“Yes. Yes, what better place to be… venerated, if you will.”

He’s trying to placate you, to let you in on the joke. Testing the waters to see if you understand, even absolve, his appetite. You’re not sure what your face is saying, because he traces the tip of his finger under your eye, concern heavy on his brow. It’s a harsh sound that he sighs when he leans back, dropping his hand to your thigh.

Your legs are trembling, growing weak from the exertion of not allowing your full weight on his knee. “You’re never like that… with me.”

“Like what, lamb?”

“Mean.”

Loki is mean – that is no surprise. He has a temper like a wolf has teeth. Of the two brothers, he is decidedly the more cruel one, though Thor is the more destructive. You had just never seen it wielded like that before. Never experienced the true extent of what Loki’s appetite for control is really like.

He strokes the other hand down your temple. “Do not worry, pet. I would never debase you in such a way.”

Shame immediately burns through your veins; of course he wouldn’t – you’re his pet. His little toy disciple. You’re lucky he kisses you at all; it could be the back of his hand, or the bite of his signet ring, that your cheek could be familiar with, yet Loki is a kind enough tutor to kiss your face so sweetly before sending you off.

There is that awful feeling again. Cold. Crawling. You glow under his praise, but you find yourself wishing to earn it. Find yourself wondering if the kiss might feel better if it follows a blow. “Am I displeasing?”

“What?”

You move to stand but are thwarted by Loki’s iron grip. “I’m only trying to discern whether you intend for me to… attend to certain needs. As your… disciple.”

“Of course not.” He patronizes you, his little lamb. But as your mind refuses to let you forget: Loki is a wolf, and one with an appetite.

It has you squirming, attempting to climb out of his arms to scurry to the safety of your room. He only holds you tighter, shushing, hooking his chin over your shoulder. He speaks into your ear, his voice low – condescending. “You’re a prize. A gift. I don’t treat my gifts roughly.”

A lie– you’ve seen Loki tear through prized horses like chew toys. You’ve watched him raze villages well after a battle is won, just for the knowledge that the enemy is truly defeated.

“I only wish to serve some purpose.”

“You’re to worship,” he rumbles, a smile pressed to your shoulder. “To make me stronger. And to sit on my knee like a good–”

Something warm pools between your hips. “I’m feeling a little faint. May I be excused from my lessons today?”

“Did I frighten you that badly, lamb? Some reading might–”

“Please, I’m very tired–” His leg jumps when he tries to rein you back in, grinding against your core in a terribly wonderful way. He pulls you so your back is flush to his chest; with how his thighs are splayed, your legs are pushed obscenely wide, and the stretch makes you whimper. Loudly.

Were a pin to drop at this moment, the sound would split mountains in two. A unseemly quiet comes over the room. Even the birds cease their song, as if recognizing the presence of a predator.

Loki carefully tilts your hips forwards, slotting his leg between yours, and you fight to stay very, very still. Then backwards, dragging your aching cunt up his thigh; traitorously, your body clenches around a new, phantom emptiness.

“Oh.” One hand slides around, until his palm is digging into your lower belly. “I understand.”

An entire forest could be felled and you would not hear it over the ringing in your ears. “You’re very– you’re a very kind master. And I am eternally grateful.”

“But you would prefer it if I was… mean.”

“Just leave me be, Loki.”

Silence swells like a thunderstorm in the empty temple. “Loki… It seems rude to address me by my name, doesn’t it? What makes you think that right now, you and I are equals?”

“Your Highness, I–”

“Your god. Do not forget your place, disciple.”

You swallow mechanically; there is so little room left between you, and the meagre space is heavy like a corpse. It digs its bony fingers into your chest and hangs, a dead weight, wringing all logical thought from your sex-muddied mind. Loki’s other hand rides down your leg until it finds the slit in your tunic’s skirt, sliding beneath the hem to grip your thigh.

“My god,” you correct. “I forgot. Please accept my deepest apology.”

His eyes spell a near-future where you will be very, very sorry.

Before he can bite, someone clears their throat at the end of the hall. Loki looks up with a sharp disinterest, and it’s just enough distraction to allow you some leeway. You take the opportunity and scurry out from under Loki’s arms, dashing down the altar steps and out the door without a glance backwards. You don't know if he moved to follow, and you don't care to find out.

The day passes in absolute silence. People speak to you, but you are mute to respond. It’s as if any sound you make might draw Loki near, might alert him to your presence. Every shadow in your periphery is his; every glinting jewel is his signet ring.

You were never dismissed, and to shirk your duties is a grave misdemeanor. If Loki wasn’t planning on punishing you, he surely is now. Disciples are to work in the temples from dawn to dusk with rare exception. Especially on days with lessons.

But Loki doesn't call you back to the temple. No guards rush you, no den-mother tells you off. Instead, everyone eyes you with an executional curiosity. How will Loki punish the runaway tomorrow?

You skip dinner, unwilling to face Loki and the court in the hall. Perhaps if you go to bed, all of this will be forgotten in the morning.

The door to your bedroom creaks when opened. You’ve been meaning to speak with someone about it – to have it oiled, or the hinge replaced – but it has never been a large enough inconvenience to occupy more than a second of your thoughts.

When you hear it groan, you know exactly who is standing in the threshold. You don’t look up, willing your body to remain relaxed. Hoping he’ll believe you to be asleep and leave without demanding answers.

Loki’s footsteps are heavy on the stone floor, then softer when he reaches the carpet. A gentle hand peels back your covers.

“I am the god of liars,” Loki rumbles. “You cannot fool me, pet.”

You shrink. With your eyes still shut, you mumble, “I forgot my place, Loki. I apologize.”

You’re shocked by the pain of a slap across your backside. It jolts you awake, gasping into your pillow. Loki’s palm massages the warming welt while the other rides up your back, shoving your nightgown up to your waist. “Another lie. Insolent pest.”

A second blow lands on the other side. “And what did I tell you about using my name?”

“Your highness–” His hand lands squarely in the center of your ass, just brushing the aching core between your legs. You leap up to your knees, staring back at him with wide eyes. “God,” you choke. “I'm sorry. Sorry, master. My god.”

A charged silence follows, heavy with that unasked question. Loki towers over you, lit by blue moonlight as it pours through your curtains. It's a warm evening, not yet hot but far from a winter chill, and your window lies partially open, propped up by a book to account for a loose hinge. You could call for help. You could chew him out. But then he might not-- might not make good on the threat burning behind his eyes. Might return to stroking your cheek, and kissing your brow, all while sneaking whores into his temple to satiate his desire. A desire that you share.

“Better,” Loki rumbles after a heartbeat. He sits on the edge of your bed, allowing him better leverage to knead your backside. “Disciple. You abandoned your duties today.”

You swallow. “I did, master.”

“Thursdays are for training. Do you think you’ve surpassed my knowledge already?”

You shake your head. “No, master.”

His thumbs graze the seat of your underwear, tracing the swell of your cunt where it peeks out between your thighs. Your hips give an involuntary jolt at the touch, which he tsks at. It earns you another slap across the meat of your ass.

“Do you think you know everything? Can you wield your seidr like a whip?”

“No, master.”

His thumbs pull your slit apart through the thin cotton. “Then why, lamb, did you abandon your duties? To sneak off to see a lover, perhaps?”

“No, master.”

“Then what has possibly gotten you this wet ?”

Shame floods your chest when, in the silence that follows, you realize that the slick sound echoing in your ears is coming from you. That your master’s cruelty has made you wet enough to squelch when he rubs circles over your clit.

“Master,” you whine. “I’m sorry. Please, please have mercy.”

“Oh. We’re well past the point of mercy, lamb.”

The gusset of your underwear is pulled to the side, exposing your heated skin to the cold air. It only draws attention to the burning of your skin – your ass, your cunt, all of it damp and crawling from Loki’s touch.

“How should I punish you for your disobedience? All day you have been a nuisance – sneaking into the temple, then abandoning your post. You’ve incurred quite a fine and I pray that you are strong enough to pay it.”

You tremble when his thumb presses lightly against your entrance. Not entering, just toying with the doughy muscle there. A place made to yield indiscriminately, that knows only one thing and wants it so very, very desperately.

“Ten… ten strikes?”

He hums. “No. No, I believe you need more than a lashing. I think you need to pay me back for my wasted time. I had lessons planned, after all. Tell me – have you ever sucked cock before?”

You balk, pressing your burning face into your bedsheets. Loki hums, seeming to have anticipated this answer. “Have you ever seen a cock before?”

Yes, you want to snap. In bathhouses. On beaches. In anatomy textbooks. But never… never in a context such as this.

“Oh, you are a true prize. If I wasn’t so determined to break in this little cunt of yours, I would have your nose to my stomach.” His eyes narrow. “Oh. Did it take a moment to puzzle out how that works? Would you prefer a demonstration?”

Loki smooths your underwear back in place before he stands up. He gestures for you to redress yourself, then nods to his feet. “Kneel. You will have a lesson today after all.”

The carpet needles at your knees through your nightgown. It’s a thin cotton shift, meant for the warmer summer months. You might as well be naked for how little it conceals. Loki’s eyes track your chest whenever you squirm; you’re certain he can see right through it.

He places one hand on the back of your head, urging you forward until your weight is off your heels. You have to brace yourself with your hands against his thighs, lest you tip over. Loki is unhurried, pressing on your lower lip, pulling your jaw down so he can slide his thumb into your mouth. He stuffs it as far as he can, crushing the meat of his hand against your cheek until you’re pinned between his thumb and forefinger. “Suck, lamb.”

It’s – awkward. You try your best to keep your lips sealed, but the way Loki pinches your cheek makes you sloppy. You find your tongue working overtime to try and make up for your lack of finesse.

Without warning, Loki yanks you forward by the jaw until your nose is pressed against his lower belly. The hand behind your head is firm, unyielding when you try to lean back on instinct.

His thumb runs obscene circles across your tongue, occasionally brushing against the grain in a way that makes you gag. Spit runs down your chin in streams, dripping over his wrist and staining the front of his slacks. Your hands are pinned between your bodies, so you can’t wipe any of it away. Your embarrassment only seems to arouse Loki more; using your jaw for leverage, he bobs your head lightly, simulating how me might maneuver your face to fuck it properly. It makes you gag harder, little sounds punched out whenever your nose connects with his belt buckle. Tears join the mess gathering around his thumb, blurring your field of vision until he’s a specter, doubled, sometimes tripled in front of you.

He finally lets go of your jaw, leaving you to slump against his stomach for support. Your breathing is scattered, chest tight with anxiety. His wet hand strokes the back of your head, so uniquely kind after such cruelty.

“We can stop, pet,” he says quietly. “And you can return to believing your god is a benevolent and doting sort.”

Your shoulders heave. You’re not quite sobbing, just on the precipice; your breaths come short and jagged, tainted by fear and other, equally nefarious things in your blood. You let the silk of his outer robe soak up your tears while you blink up at him. Waiting.

“You are unfathomably stupid,” he laughs. “I could rend you limb from limb with hardly the wave of my hand, and here you are begging for me to ruin you. Undress me.”

Your hands shake when you reach for the fastening on his robe; Loki tuts, and takes your wrist in a bruising hold. “Slowly, disciple. I am a god – treat me with some reverence.”

How do you begin to explain that you are reverent? That every glance, every touch, every action you have even taken in his presence has been admiring?

You begin with his slippers and set them aside, then rise to your feet to unfasten his robe. It’s a light silk thing closed with a tie at the waist – a summer alternative to the wool cloaks preferred by Asgardian royalty. You fold it carefully and set it on the carpet by the foot of your bed, avoiding creases. Then there is his leather breastplate, and the undershirt. Once those are removed and folded, until Loki is bare, save for a golden chain around his neck. You trace it with your fingertips, admiring how it sits between his pectoral muscles. He’s dusted with fine, dark hair, a few curls right at the top of his chest, and then smooth until the very bottom of his belly, where a thin trail disappears beneath his trousers.

You unlatch his belt but don’t yet unthread it; when you glance at Loki through the cover of your eyelashes, you find him looking back at you… well, not lovingly, but with a certain affection in his eye. Like your teacher, not your master.

Before you can second guess yourself, you fist both ends of his undone belt and give it a tug – not enough to knock him over, but enough to pull him forward a step.

Loki’s fingers zipper at the back of your skull, pinching your face between his thumbs. “Don’t.”

That sick feeling in your belly – which you are strangely beginning to enjoy – twists. There’s a certain power in fighting back; a certain satisfaction in making Loki’s composure slip, in forcing him to have to rein you in.

You unthread his belt and fold it carefully on top of his robes. Then come the buttons on his trousers, which you slide down his legs so he can step out of them. And then–

You squeak. His cock is thicker than you had anticipated, with a wicked curve and a fat, blushing head. So heavy that its own weight drags it down. The head is shiny with fluid, deep pink with need.

Your mind flashes back to how cruelly he had jerked your head back and forth, and you fail to fathom how you could take something like this in your throat so violently. Saliva pools under your tongue at the thought.

You bend to kiss his shin, climbing the length of his right leg until you reach the sharp slice of his Adonis belt. He tastes of salt and skin under your lips, like the heat that rolls off sunlight. Your mind wanders to what else you might get to taste -- his sweat, his tears, his spit. What other parts of his body might he allow you to kiss, to chew, you wonder?

“Tug on my cock, lamb. Like this.” Loki’s hand overlaps yours, closing it around the base and squeezing. You’re surprised by it – the heat of it, the solidness, the dry friction. You barely notice when Loki makes a snide comment about your slack jaw, nor when he slides his thumb back between your lips.

“Are you even listening?”

“Sorry, master.”

“Stand up.”

You release his cock and return to your feet. You’re barely upright before Loki is gathering the neckline of your nightgown and pulling it upwards, uncaring when you get tangled in the armholes. He wrenches it off of you and then shoves you backwards, sprawling across your bedspread. Your underwear is quick to follow when his greedy hands roam your body, tossed carelessly to a corner and forgotten.

Your bed isn’t terribly sturdy; when Loki joins you, the wooden frame groans in protest.

“I fear I’ll fuck you through this piece of scrap,” he remarks, exasperated.

“It’s not intended for such activities.”

Loki presses your face into the blankets with a heavy hand, leaning his weight on the back of your neck. “Your mouth is going to get you in trouble one day, lamb.”

You gasp when he wrenches one of your arms out from under you, pinning your wrist against the small of your back. He has you in the same position as he did that girl, you realize. Bent over, your hands useless to defend.

Your other hand joins the first, forcing you to twist to lean your weight on your shoulder, not your face. Some animal self-preservation instinct kicks in, fighting against his hold, but Loki only laughs and pins you harder. With one hand wrapped firmly around your wrists, Loki uses the other to push his cock between your folds, tapping the head against your clit and cooing when threads of arousal cling to it.

You hiccup. “Slow– slowly, please.”

Loki shoves his hips against yours; the crude sound of skin on skin makes your ears burn, only worsened by the way he leers down at your cunt.

“Slowly,” he mocks. “I’ll go slowly, pet. And you’ll feel every inch of it.”

The head slots into your entrance snugly. Unlike his thumb, this is heavy. And mean – Loki's cock is unrelenting when it presses forward, stretching you open without a care. You’re squirming, legs shaking with the effort of being held open for him. Please, you distantly hear your voice begging. Slowly? Slowly, please.

No matter how slow he goes, it will never be slow enough. It’s not the speed but the size of the intrusion, the new stretch. The drag of blood-warmed skin against your soft, overly-sensitive opening. The brush against your clit when he bottoms out. His teeth at your pulse, threatening to draw blood. All new sensations, all at once, from your master.

“Do you know why I picked you from the devotees, lamb?” His hips pull back then roll forward, equally slow. The stretch is still absurd, your body sighing in wonderful agony.

“I asked you a question,“ he growls. Snapping his hips, punching a little sound from your chest. You press your lips together to keep quiet, which seems to anger Loki; he digs his fingers into your chin and pulls, until your mouth is dumb and open and loud.

“No. No, master.”

“Because you were devoted. The rest of them follow, but you worship. You’re perfect. Malleable. Never in my millennia of living have I met such a perfect, pious specimen.”

It makes you thrill with pride, even as he bullies his cock into your cunt – over and over, driving you up the mattress. If it never gets better, never feels as blinding as romance novels make it seem, you still think you would do it a thousand times over, if only for the pleasure of knowing it's your cunt, your mouth, that he wants to squeeze his cock into.

“If I had only known how devoted you really are. I would have bent you over my altar a long time ago.” Of course Loki can make something snide feel like praise. He is a wealth of contradictions. “Do you think you deserve to come, after the chase you put me through today?”

You hiccup. “No, master.”

“Do not move your hands.”

Loki grips the headboard for leverage. It bashes against the wall with every thrust, surely having woken your neighbours by now. You’re too fucked thin to think up an apology right now, though – that will be a tomorrow problem. Right now, your brain is singularly occupied by the way Loki’s cock is bruising your cunt, bullying that one spongy spot so perfectly that your eyebrows have a permanent furl. It’s delicious in a way you didn’t know physical touch could be.

Loki tilts your back into an obscene arch so he can watch his cock sink into you. There’s a break in his voice from how tightly your body grips him. “You don't deserve it. But I want you begging for it. I want your body to submit wholly. To drain you of all fight.”

His free hand slides down your belly, calloused fingers finding the lip of your mound and pressing sweeping circles into your skin. Sloppy, imprecise – but it makes your skin crawl, and your spine go lax with want.

“Oh, fuck,” he snarls. “Yeah? Fuck.”

You’re crying now, truly crying. He swears when you start to seize, cunt clenching with a pulse.

He fucks you through the whimpers. Through the whines. Your entire body has gone liquid, held up by his hand as he manipulates you into a toy. Pathetic. Mewling. Begging, please master – unh – too much. You continue to shiver, to squeeze around him.

Finally, he presses in as deeply as he can and stills. It’s debasing. It’s dirty. He twitches inside of you, groaning in your ear with each slight roll of his hips. Even after he’s finished, Loki continues to fuck you through the mess, until half of it has spilled out across your thighs and matted down his pubic hair.

Loki kisses your cheek and you’re delighted to discover that you were right. The kiss is sweeter after a blow. It makes you shiver all over, makes your toes curl and your chest do something twisting. You tilt your face to the side, trying to entice him to keep kissing your face, or your jaw, or your neck, which he does with a laugh.

“My disciple likes to be praised, does she?”

There are still tears beading on your lash line, your mind fuzzy with something you don't know how to even begin to communicate. It’s all so confusing – up is down and left is right; with your appetite for cruelty satiated, all you want is to bask in his admiration. Finally, you feel as though the kind trace of his hand down your face has been earned.

(You dread tomorrow, when you have to lead the devotees’ worship in that carved oak chair. Perhaps Loki will take pity and let you sit in his lap as a final reward.)

“Did I frighten you, lamb?”

You can't help but laugh, and it comes out a little watery. Through sniffles, you try to respond. “N– no. No, master.”

“You cannot lie to me.”

“I feel overwhelmed. But not frightened, master.”

He rolls over, staring up at the ceiling, but you can't find the energy to join him. All you can do is turn your face toward him, still sprawled on your belly.

“I expect you to arrive early, tomorrow,” he says. Casually, as if he isn’t still flushed with sex. “To make up for today.”

“Yes, master.”

“And to stay late.”

“Okay.”

“There is still so much I have to teach you, lamb.” The innuendo is barely concealed. Loki reaches out and gropes your ass to be a lecher, which makes your toes wriggle with delight.

"Master?"

"Hmm?"

You shake your head. "Never mind. I'm being foolish."

"Oh no. This is very dangerous."

"What is?"

Loki gestures between the two of you. "This. I'm going to turn you into a spoiled brat. This was meant to be a punishment, yet here I am, waiting on your demands. What is your request, lamb?"

If you could bottle up a moment to live in forever, you think that this would be a good contender. Every inch of your body aches, but it is a satisfying ache, one tempered by the loving pass of Loki's hand over your back; by the smell of the approaching summer heat on the breeze; by the promise that tomorrow, you might get to do this again -- and the next day, and the next, and then next...

"Kiss me again?"

For a silly, heart-sick moment, you think he’s going to kiss you properly, like a lover would. But when he leans over, he misses your mouth by a hair to kiss its corner, only barely. “If you’re late by even a minute, tomorrow, I’ll be very, very cross with you.”

Your eyelids are heavy; sleep, it seems, has finally stopped evading you. “Okay, Loki.”

You think you feel lips on yours, just as you tip over the precipice between waking and sleeping. By the time you wake up, you’ve convinced yourself it was a dream.

(The devotees eye you exasperatedly when you lead their worship from Loki's lap the next morning. If only you had their eyes to see how pathetically the youngest prince follows you. Sickening, really.

"I don't even know why he needs us to pray at all," one of them says bitterly when they're dismissed early, "when her devotion could sustain him for centuries to come."

"Ha," responds the other. "To come.)

#loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki x you #loki x female reader #loki smut #dub con #this isn't quite worthy of a 'dead dove'#but loki isnt necessarily uwu nice guy and neither..... is reader

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astrolovecosmos · 8 months ago

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Kleopatra/Cleopatra Asteroid

The asteroid Kleopatra (216), is sometimes also referred to as "Cleopatra" with a debated history on whether the asteroid represents more of power and beauty or aspects of love and relationships. Below I've laid out the two ways this asteroid is typically talked about. But keep in mind, it is only one body, asteroid 216. Kleopatra - Strength, charisma, feminine leadership, power, breaking taboos, feminine beauty

Cleopatra - The impression and power of your love and relationships, how you are remembered or idolized, actions and leadership taken in love, fierce loyalty or passion

Aries: Kleopatra - Always has a sword in hand. Sexy confidence. A conqueror. Bold, feisty, and/or hot-blooded in their charisma. Stands out with their beauty. Cleopatra - Forward and quick in their devotion to others. Is open, honest, and defending towards their closest loved ones. Won't shy away from playing heroine. Makes strong, heated, impactful impressions on others.

Taurus: Kleopatra - Seductive and magnetic beauty. Has a steady and reliable strength. Unbothered. Leads with practicality and patience. Focuses on security, the body, and comfort. Cleopatra- Remembered for their loyalty, creativity, maybe their hard work. Enduring legacy. Actions are thought out and highly intentional. Always takes the peaceful route when possible.

Gemini: Kleopatra - Dazzling and enchanting beauty. People hang on her every word. Won't hide or dull her intelligence. Wins over hearts with wit, humor, and friendliness. Keeps a cool head and is fast with their decisions. Cleopatra- Her ideas may be timeless. Adaptable and supportive. Makes rational decisions for herself and loved ones. May love from a distance. Praises and persuades lovers. Being with them can be a rush.

Cancer: Kleopatra - Mysterious and quietly alluring. Protective and caring in a proactive way. Magical feeling. Has sacred and intuitive power. Cleopatra - Takes care of everyone. At the center of the family or community. Strong emotional presence. Can be unforgiving and cold, but also just as warm and giving. Is the ancestral karma.

Leo: Kleopatra - Their beauty can't be forgotten or down played. Naturally takes the lead. Magnetic and romantic. Lots of self-respect. Does what she wants and what she needs bravely. Cleopatra - Is the queen or goddess of others' lives. Generous and affectionate. Regal nature. Legendary individual.

Virgo: Kleopatra - Has "knows what she's doing" energy. Tempting beauty. Impressive intellect and/or skills. The type people get obsessed with. Is empowered by embracing their flaws. Cleopatra - Makes sure her loved one's know their worth. Known for her ability to help, heal, teach, or provide. Her knowledge gets passed down. Makes a difference.

Libra: Kleopatra - Stunning and dangerously beautiful. Gets her way. Balancing her power with peace. Being hard to understand can be part of her appeal. Jealousy, beauty, judgment, and logic are her tools. Her charm can shape affairs. Cleopatra - Loyal to ideals, partners, and teams. Diplomatic and fair. Tries to make others happy but when she is unhappy war can happen. Makes what is dark, ugly, or forbidden light, beautiful, or accepted.

Scorpio: Kleopatra- Bewitching, spellbinding all in her gaze. Magnetic, seductive, and mysterious. Vengeful, spiteful, manipulative, deep, passionate, she is powerful. Her beauty commands and controls. Cleopatra - Loyal to a fault, but a fierce or hard exterior. Might get involved in some crazy love stories. Occult vibes. Venomous to enemies, especially lovers to enemies. Leaves a wound and/or finds gold metaphorically for generations to come. Their family will bear their sins or blessings.

Sagittarius: Kleopatra - Others easily fantasize over their beauty. Takes people's breath away. Feral energy. Has a love for the new and exciting. Has an envious amount of self-faith. Wins over hearts and souls. Has the power of belief and knowledge. The truth is their weapon. Cleopatra - They may leave behind an inspiring legacy somehow. Is open hearted and passionate in love. Does everything in their power to keep their loved ones warm. Great at reading the room, making the party, and cheering others up. Their tongue may stop wars or start them.

Capricorn: Kleopatra - Has an unattainable beauty and appeal. Is self-controlled and ambitious. Calculated and ruthless. Can be hard to impress or win over. Is a firm and responsible leader. Has or listens to ancient wisdom. Cleopatra - Providing and protective over loved ones. Maybe stern and/or highly involved. Has a lot of inner authority. Careful with lovers. They will never lower their standards. They may take on burdens you don't even know about.

Aquarius: Kleopatra - Unconventional and awestriking beauty. Confident and charismatic. Befriends and impresses others with ease. A genius. Unpredictable storm, mess, or dance. Cleopatra - Willing to start a revolution, to face off the world, or go to war for their people. Can survive or cause chaos. Loves people fully for who they are. Goes to great, maybe even crazy lengths for what they want.

Pisces: Kleopatra - Otherworldly beauty. Others romanticize her and her life. She glows. Extremely intuitive. Imagination can be a weapon. She is perceptive and emotionally intelligent. Master of illusions. Cleopatra - Kind hearted. Forgiving, healing, and loving. Manipulative when needed. Spiritually powerful. Tolerant and at times enabling. Feels pain and joy with you. Gives good advice. Avoids trouble often, especially any they cause.

#cleopatra #kleopatra #astrology #zodiac #zodiac signs #asteroid #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces #love #beauty

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adkawariatka · 1 year ago

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I can’t stop thinking about this idea soooo here is another part.

In hindsight Tim really shouldn’t have worked himself so much about that friend of Damian. Why you might think? Becouse spying your brother’s friend is an invasion of his privacy? Or just creepy? Or maybe its unfair towards said brother and his friend? No. No Tim problem was much more human shaped. He did plan to be subtle but with DAMIAN. Not with his very annoying and moral older brother. When Dick found him in Bat Cave in his work trance and asked him what he was doing…. Tim just told him, damn his one track focus. It earned him a lecture about privacy, respect and morals….So he was forbidden from any camera videos in areas that Damian met his misterious friend. He felt so frustrated when he tried to explain his worries to Dick and he called him paranoid… which fair he may be sometimes fixated on some cases and a little suspicious of everything too… normal. But Dick was just so happy about the information that Damian had a friend, that he did not think about the fact that other normal 10 year old would never be able to talk with Damian about complicated emotion problems … let alone how to solve them. The time of Damian working on friends mission, Or differently meeting with some stranger, and changing his behaviours at manor lined. SO that someone needed to talk with Damian about his social problems. The only logical way of explaining the „condinience” would be if that person was someone older. Old enough to understand social interactions to the level that allowed them to introduce it to Damian. It painted disturbing picture to Tim. Some Creep manipulating his younger brother. It can lead to a disaster not only for Damian but all the Waynes. What if he will Trust that person and tell them their secret? The talk with Damian only opened his eyes that above all the training the kid had he was still just that: a kid. The only thing that Dick advised him was to go and talk with Damian. Which ok, last time went well but…. he might at least try.

Tim did not wanted to believe that it was that easy. Of course he didnt start to snoop about the friend yet…. But just interacted with Damian. First time was really akward but they got past it. Tim still cringes at the memory:

It was after patrol they were changing in to civilian clothes. Tim was battling with his thoughts how to start conversation when Damian started to pull out his equipment for sharpening his katana. And he thoght that it is as good subject as any other.

-how long does it take to sharpen it?

Damian stopped what he was doing and gazed at him warly. They stood in complete silence long enough to be uncomfortable. Tim started to think that it was mistake when Damian broke the silence.

-do you…want to see?

And Tim did want. It turned out that it was great idea. Damian talked for almost an hour about granuality of sandpaper used to sharpen his katana, different kinds of oils and even how to storage it properly. Tim was impressed by detailed knowledge and experienced movements. That was his first full Blown conversation with Damian and it was great.

After that they interacted with each other more and more outside of patrols. They weren’t conversations of utter importance, but Tim got fond of them. More often than not it revolved around things as trivial as favourite books, school, fight techniques Or even hobbies. If Tim was being honest he did not Think that Damian would ever talk about such topics. In the past he often expressed his annoyance at information of this type, but not anymore. Tim suspected that it was the influence of his „friend”. However among those unsuspecting subjects Damian sometimes asked questions that worried Tim.

One of the untold rules of their interactions were that they never talked about the „deep stuff”. Which was why he was so surprised by sudden change of topics during unsuspecting conversation about donating clothes to Damian school, which by the way he was doing things like that now. Without any warning he heard question:

- when you were living in Darke manor were you… lonely?

That was weird question to ask without warning. But… was Damian worried about him? Or was he feeling like he has no one close? But there was also second aspect: From beggining of their interactions they avoided any subjects that Tim was prying for and here Damian was offering it on silver platter. He was not going to waste that chance.

-hmmm… well I was young and alone for most of the time so yes I was

Damian seemed to mull over that information. After short pause he started

- What did you do to feel better?

- I mostly tried to take my mind elsewhere. I cooked, cleaned, studied, went around making photos of Batman in the middle of the night… but I wouldn’t recommend that to anyone. Oh and I read many many books. But you know the best option is to go to people that care for you.

- that seems acceptable.

After that Damian came back to the previous subject. Tim felt a little dumbfounded. He couldn’t shake the impression that he was the one grilled for information in this situation.

Not long after that memorable conversation Damian started going to library very often. Tim was now seriously worried. Did Damian felt lonely? Did he actually think that he has no one. It didn’t seat with Tim right. He doesn’t mean that he was uneasy with Damian trying to help himself… it was more about the fact that he was doing it wrong… he had Dick and Bruce, Alfred, his supposed friend… hell Tim was right here! He thought that their relationship was better. He thought… he doesn’t know what he felt but he was damn upset about it. If Damian does not came to Tim then he will come to him. When he passed library third time that week and Damian was there picking books he decided that it was enough.

When he entered Damian was standing on a small stool picking books from the shelf high above his head. Tim walked to the stack of already picked ones and went through their titles

- I didn’t know you were interested in astrology… or maths and physics

- I am not

Replayed Damian without the beat of hestitation. Tim looked at him as if he grown second head.

-then… why did you choose those books? I can help you find some about katanas or animals

- I appreciate the offer but I do not require your assistance.

Tim stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, while Damian apparently found what he was looking for and got of the stool. He turned around and meet Tim’s unsure eyes. In his hand he held huge brown book with constellations on the cover. Damian studied him for a moment.

- Drake

- Damian IF I can somehow help…

Cut in Tim trying to act as a responsible older brother. Where the hell was dick when he was needed. He was the emotional one. His small breakdown was interrupted by Damian words:

- Timothy I don’t know what inaccurate conclusion you created but whatever you are thinking is wrong

It sounded only a little as an insult. That’s progress but it does not solve his problem.

- Damian if you look for a way to feel better…

Tim trailed off God he was awful at this. He had problems processing his feelings how was he supposed to untangle Damian’s?!

- Ancients Those books are not for me.

Tim stared dumbfounded. Who the hell were ancients and if books weren’t for Damian then…

-they are for Danny

Ok Tim did not know from when did Damian started using nicknames, or who was Danny but he started to have his suspicions. Who did Damian became close lately? To the mysterious friend. It was not difficult from there.

-soooo Danny told you he was lonely?

Tim swears that if some creep is trying to pry on his little brother developing compassion then he is going to make sure he will pay for it very high price. He needs as much information as he can get.

- No he did not. But I observed that…his mood drops whenever we had gone longer without seeing each other…. Your advise seems to help

Huh. Tim did not expect that. However that does not seem that it is not manipulation either. Danny might be playing the victim to ensure that Damian trusts him completely.

- hey Damian how old is Danny?

Damian narrowed his eyes and tensed. Oops Tim just crossed the line.

- I don’t see any reason I should inform you about that.

That was rather cold. Tim is glad that Damian’s katana is away from his hand radious.

- If he is lonely then he could sometimes visit manor. Come for dinner or something. It’s not like our friends don’t visit.

Damian eyes softened a little. Tim counted this as a win.

- I will take that into account.

After that Tim helped Damian carry his books to his room and tried not to worry too much about his suspicions.

In Tim’s defense he did not plan this. He was just checking out the coffee shop close to the park when he bumped into them in the doorway. He exited said store when he stumbled into someone. Only after a moment he processed that said someone held in hands the same huge brown book with familiar constalations on the cover. And sure enough when he looked to the left there was standing Damian. The boy who held the book was Laughing and looking at his younger brother. Tim studied him carefully he had piercing blue eyes, hollow cheeks indicating malnutrition and black tangled hair that seemed in serious need of a cut. He was wearing jeans that in the past were probably navy blue but now seemed more gray and brown pulled jumper very similar to what he used to wear few years ago. He was lanky in that unhealthy way that kids from troubled homes were. Tim smiled slyly and caught Damian eyes. He seemed really tense.

- hey Danny nice finally meeting you!

#danny fenton #danny phantom #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dick grayson #dpxdc #tim drake #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #story #writing

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cheshiresartblog · 1 month ago

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So, first of all, I found this AU from your "Ruler of My Heart" Animatic on YouTube and made me add that song to my Song playlist, so thank you. Second of all, what is Vanilla Recluse's thoughts on GingerBrave, Strawberry Cookie, Wizard Cookie, and the Other Beasts now? Third, how did Vanilla Recluse meet the Other Ancients, GingerBrave, Strawberry Cookie, and Wizard Cookie (Not including Custard Cookie the Third because I assume the Vanilla Kingdom does not exist in this AU)?

Sorry if this is long, this AU makes me think a lot. Also, PureLilyShadow for this AU (I'm mainly a PureLily Shipper while Platonically Shipping ShadowVanilla as a Friendship and ... A different kind of relationship).

You should check out the rest of Alien Stage, the web series that it comes from, if you Ruler of My Heart. I highly recommend it, though be warned, you will cry lol.

Vanilla Recluse thinks that the Gingerbrave, Strawberry Cookie and Wizard Cookie are all good kids, truly, but have a habit of sticking their noses in where they don't belong and would rather they not try and jump into every conflict. He feels like they're too young to be getting caught up in the powers at play right now.

He doesn't have much of an opinion on the other beasts at the moment, other than some resentment on some level for what chaos he remembers them causing before their sealing, but with his belief in the souljams being cursed he does not fully blame them.

He has a fondness for Mystic Flour, though, having met her before her corruption fully taken hold of her while he was still a wandering scholar. He found her very kind for letting him simply rest the night at the Ivory Pagoda. She even pointed him in Blueberry Milk's direction after he shared his goals in learning as much as he could about the world and magic so he could help others. He found her a very kind and comforting presence.

Vanilla Recluse met the ancients briefly due to his sister's decedent having been passed down a compass that leads towards the Endless Archive's current location. Vanilla had made it himself for his sister to pass down in her family, so that, if they need help, they can always find him. It was passed down in the Vanilla Kingdom royal family ever since. The Ancients needed information for how to deal with the current threat at the time. I imagine they all thought of him as kind, but mysterious. He tried to warn them, though, to be careful with the power they hold (their souljams), but it was somewhat disregarded I imagine. They only stayed a short while, though White Lily had opted to stay a longer time in the archives while they others went out to deal with an immediate threats.

Gingerbrave and his friends likely found the old compass in the remains of the Vanilla Kingdom and went to the archives as a side quest to try and find information to reseal Dark Enchantress cookie. (There was a Vanilla Kingdom, just it was founded by Vanilla's sister's decedents and not him directly.)

Oh, it's fine ; w ; sorry it took so long for me to reply. I had to really think about some of this stuff.

Yes! PureLilyShadow is the endgame ship! It was originally going to be just ShadowVanilla but my bestie and I were talking about the au and just ended up really liking the dynamic for the trio as a throuple. Shadow Milk and Pure Vanilla were a couple first and, while there was romantic tension between White Lily/Dark Enchantress and Vanilla, they never took the next step until after Shadow Milk was freed because Vanilla still loved Shadow Milk deeply. Her and Shadow Milk bonded over having to deal with forbidden knowledge and being heavily disillusioned with the witches and their intentions, as well as both having a heavy thirst for learning new magic and dabbling in the dark.

#ask box #ask #vanilla recluse au

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marigoldstars78 · 2 months ago

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Dungeon Meshi Greek Mythology Au (except its ideas from a pedantic nerd who's too into minor deities)

Laios:

- Reincarnation of Typhon, but completely unaware of it. Golden boy who's obsessed with the legends of greek monsters doesn't realize he's technically one of them and is also kinda fated to destroy the gods...

Falin:

- Historian who, whilst trying to document multiple monsters in the local area with her brother, accidentally gets a greek dragon killed. Much like Cadmus, she gets partially turned into one. Laios is trying to find her a cure.

Marcille (couldn't decide which one i liked more):

- Claims she's the daughter of Poseidon, but seems oddly in tune with necromancy magic and old magic. Turns out, she really is a daughter of Poseidon! Just, a former incarnation of him. A REALLY REALLY old one. Mycenaean Poseidon. I.e. back when he was an UNDERWORLD god. This also makes Marcille old as hell, tho she never shows it.

- Spark of flame from the fire Prometheus stole. Filled with an insatiable hunger for knowledge that leads her to getting into issues with researching forbidden topics. This also makes Marcille old as HELL, lol.

- Pupil to Asclepius, being pursued by the Furies for some reason and as such is constantly running about greece.

Of course, all versions are instantly obsessed with Falin's case, lol.

Kabru (Oh, I definitely COULDN'T pick a good one for Kabru):

- Son of Nemesis. Takes pride in gathering the secrets and reporting hubristic mortals to his mom, until he learns the secret behind Laios' origins and now has to desperately HIDE that secret from his mom.

- Long-Time descendent of Odysseus, but took all the wrong lessons from his journey. Now wants his own personal tale to give himself a bit of glory. Just as clever and ruthless as his ancestor, but "modern" life has mellowed his personality a bit. Sees Laios' and Falin's plight as a chance for his own odyssey.

- Son of Aphrodite, but specifically her aspect as the spartan war god. Incredibly good looking but also incredibly shrewd in combat. Feels a deep fear of Laios for some reason while Laios feels a deep obsession for Kabru, and these conflicting feelings make them absolutely obsessed with each other.

- Undead soldier from the Trojan war... on the side of the Trojans. As such, not the biggest fan of current greece and the status quo. Sees Laios as a chance to upend everything and get a little bit of payback for the wrongdoings all those years ago, but Laios much rather doesn't want to pursue all this Typhon stuff Kabru keeps talking about and much rather wants to spend time with him :D

As you can see, Kabru is still very much obsessed with Laios.

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anneapocalypse · 9 months ago

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What is "the occult" in FFXIV?

Ever since I first laid eyes on the EE3 bit about Urianger's parents I have been noodling on one thing in particular. Encyclopedia Eorzea volume 3 refers to "the occult" as Urianger's parents' field of study (and the reason they were so absent from his life). Every since that discovery, I have been curious what that actually means. What is "the occult" in a universe where magic is real, measurable, and a highly legitimate and prestigious field of study?

So, where else is "the occult" referenced in the game?

Thanks to this invaluable searchable transcript, I've found a few other references in MSQ.

The first use of the term "occult" in MSQ that I've found is way back in the Gridania starter quests when some Ixali "Occultists" are trying to summon Garuda at the Guardian Tree. In isolation I'd take this one with a grain of salt since it's very early in ARR, but I think it's consistent with other usages. The description for Whorleater Extreme also uses the term, referencing "the occult knowledge of the Ascians," so from the start there is an association of the occult with Ascian magicks and specifically with summoning.

The only other mention in MSQ comes from Alphinaud in Endwalker, where he and Krile are giving us the tour of Sharlayan, and specifically Phenomenon:

Alphinaud: As the center of what would later become the Studium, it was established to promote the study of aetherological phenomena, hence the name. Alphinaud: Though with aether being a fundamental aspect of nature, its scope expanded to include every conceivable facet of life and even the universe itself. Alphinaud: And then, in the four hundred and thirty-second year of the Sixth Astral Era, Phenomenon was decreed complete and the Studium officially opened as a place of learning. Alphinaud: With a long and storied history, it is without question the world's leading authority in aetherology, the arcane, the occult, astromancy, and countless other fields, standing proud as─ Alisaie and Krile: ...Sharlayan's foremost educational institute!

Okay, so "the occult" clearly falls within the general field of aetherological phenomena and magic, though that we could have guessed already. Something that catches my eye is how in more than one place, "occult" is contrasted with or referenced as distinct from "arcane." This is the case in Alphinaud's speech above, as well as in the Blue Mage quest "Everybody Was Fukumen Fighting," wherein Bluehood says, "No occult tricks or arcane incantations can contend with the all-surpassing might of blue wizardry!"

In the Loporrit Allied Society quests, we also get this odd little quest "Hare-Raising Thrills," in which we're asked to make "Occult Paraphernalia" for a Loporrit called Thrillingway. Depending on crafting job, dialogue with Keepingway will elaborate thus:

"It seems he requires a pair of shears─but not just any pair. No, he desires blades sharp enough to carve fur clean off!"

"He wants a sturdy coil of rope suitable for binding all four limbs of…a 'friend,' allegedly."

"Seems he wants a highly acidic gel for some dubious purpose I did not have the heart to inquire about. Honestly, I think it's best if we don't know."

Which. I mean. Okay. lol. Do what you will with that.

But probably most illuminating is the use of the word "occult" in a couple of Red Mage quests, and in the Sky Pirate raid quests.

In "The Weeping City," Cait Sith says, "Thus did the Mhachi magi construct an occult device that would more securely bind the voidsent to their will..."

And in the Red Mage quests "With Heart and Steel" and "Traced in Blood" we have, respectively:

"The tomes with passages pertaining to the voidsent Lilith are all forbidden occult works..."

and

"...the secrets behind Lambard's occult transformation."

In both contexts, "occult" seems to be connected to voidsent, specifically to Lilith in the case of the Red Mage quests.

And this ties back to the references in ARR as well, since from the beginning Ascians have been connected with the Void, even before we knew what the Void actually was. So it's safe to say at this point, I think, that "occult" can refer to magicks connected to the Void and to Ascians.

There's just one more reference I found that flummoxed me a bit, and that's this description of the Arcanist class, which refers to arcanist weapons as "occult grimoires." I found it odd initially because in most other contexts "occult" seems to refer to magicks seen as illicit, as opposed to the socially acceptable "arcane." But it does make a kind of sense, given that it is from Arcanist that we get Summoner. If summoning of primals is occult, then by extension so is summoning in the arcanist sense, even if it's not truly the same thing. This would seem to be the exception to "arcane" and "occult" being distinct categories, which leads me to believe that the distinction is more cultural than ontological.

So I think from the above, we can consider "occult" to be a fairly broad term that may be used in several distinct but overlapping senses:

Magic related to the summoning of primals.

Magic related to the Void, voidsent, and Ascians.

Magic which is taboo, forbidden, or otherwise outside of that which is socially accepted.

As a footnote, I think this is particularly interesting in the context of Urianger being introduced as our resident expert on primals, despite the fact that that's... really not specifically his field of study but merely adjacent to it. Urianger's primary interest is prophecy, and certainly plenty of prophecy seems to reference primals and Ascians and that's where we see him doing a lot of his research, but it's not the same field, merely overlapping.

Without more information we can't know for certain what his parents were actually studying. Maybe they were interested in primals, or Ascians, or the Void. Maybe they were studying Void-related magics. It's also possibly they were simply arcanists particularly interested in the summoner side and we shouldn't read much more than that into the reference to "the occult." Who knows.

But nonetheless, several of these interpretations would mean that in a way, Urianger has followed in their footsteps despite their making apparently little effort to guide him that way, which I find to be an interesting angle to his character and also profoundly sad in its own way--not that he found his own interests in those areas, but that the Augurelts had a child so naturally inclined toward their own interests and still took so little interest in him.

#urianger augurelt #the augurelts #afk by the aetheryte #encyclopedia eorzea #ffxiv stuff #endwalker spoilers #ffxiv meta

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ifredactedbureau · 4 months ago

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Redacted: Ground Zero

IF inspired by Contro (2019), SCP Foundation, X-files

Demo: PROLOGUE

In the aftermath of World War II, a classified mission pulls you into the shadowy remnants of a conflict no one dares to acknowledge. Whispers of rogue Nazi scientists and reality-warping experiments have surfaced, threatening to plunge Europe—and perhaps the world—into chaos once more. As an MI5 field agent, you’re tasked with uncovering the truth buried beneath layers of secrecy, lies, and betrayal.

Every lead points toward Projekt Schwarzfeld and the catastrophic events of Threshold Zero, a forgotten chapter of the war that defies explanation. But some secrets were never meant to be unearthed. As you navigate a labyrinth of conspiracy, forbidden technology, and fractured reality, you’ll confront forces that question the limits of human understanding—and the cost of wielding power beyond comprehension.

Redacted: Ground Zero is a story of espionage, moral dilemmas, and the unraveling of truths hidden in the shadows of history. Will you rise to the challenge, or will the truth consume you?

• Master anomalies and adapt your skills. Harness strange, reality-defying abilities tied to anomalies—whether it’s manipulating probability, stepping through dimensions, or stabilizing reality itself. Unlock and refine these abilities as you uncover their true potential.. • Investigate a fractured world. Explore sites of catastrophic anomalies, from the eerie remnants of Threshold Zero in the Bavarian Alps to the clandestine Red Academy in Siberia. Encounter twisted phenomena, uncover hidden truths, and decide what to do with what you find. • Make critical, world-altering choices. Will you prioritize saving your team, containing anomalies, or acquiring forbidden knowledge for the Bureau? Each decision changes the relationships you build, the missions you undertake, and the fate of Baseline Reality. • Face enemies born of anomaly experimentation. Encounter Die Gebrochenen—the Fractured—twisted results of Nazi experiments with anomalies. Face other rogue forces, like defectors, rival nations, or anomaly-enhanced mercenaries seeking control of forbidden power. • Navigate a morally gray world. Decide where your loyalty lies—with the Bureau, with humanity, or with yourself. Will you uphold the fragile stability of reality or risk everything for greater power and knowledge? • Fall in love—or not. Form deep connections with up to four romantic options, from an idealistic scientist to a cynical spy. Your choices in love will offer new strengths—or dangerous distractions—in the face of looming threats.

Love Interests

Charlie Hayes (he/him or she/her) : The Bold Truth-Seeker “The truth isn’t pretty, it isn’t safe, and it sure as hell isn’t kind—but if I don’t drag it into the light, who will?” • A resourceful American journalist working undercover to investigate Nazi remnants and their experiments. • Bold, witty, and fiercely independent, Charlie thrives on uncovering the truth, often bending the rules to get the story. Their adventurous spirit hides a vulnerability stemming from personal losses during the war.

Theo Adler (he/him): The Haunted Genius “Knowledge doesn’t absolve you of guilt—it sharpens it, until every answer feels like a blade at your throat.” •A German defector and former scientist of Projekt Schwarzfeld. Now a reluctant informant for the Bureau. •Quiet, intelligent, and burdened by guilt, Theo is a man trying to atone for his past. His insights into anomalies are invaluable, but he struggles with his identity and the weight of his actions during the war

Eleanor “Ellie” Blackwood (she/her): The Steadfast Operative “You don’t look back in this line of work—not at the enemy, not at your mistakes, and definitely not at the people you couldn’t save.” • A British SOE operative and expert infiltrator now reassigned to the Bureau’s task force. • Calm, disciplined, and focused, Ellie is a consummate professional. Beneath her composed exterior lies a fierce loyalty to those she trusts and a fear of failure that drives her to overextend herself.

Damien Laurent (he/they): The Enigmatic Opportunist “Morality is a luxury for those who’ve never had to bargain with the devil—and I’ve shaken his hand more times than I care to count.” • A French art dealer with connections to the black market and underground resistance networks. • Charismatic, flirtatious, and morally ambiguous, Damien is a master of navigating high society and shady dealings. They keep their true intentions hidden behind charm and wit

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apathmakerstale · 1 year ago

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Monster Hunter Wild Characters!

New characters from the Monster Hunter Wilds trailer!

Gemma, our Smithy for the expedition!

Alma, our Handler with all the knowledge!

Nata! A survivor of whatever happened? The story seems to imply some Hunter's, a failed expedition, or maybe a guild group went missing? Enough to send us to the 'Forbidden Lands?'

The Wild Hunters and our Palico, both fully voiced acted this time!

The Wild Hunter without the armor. The flashback is really washed out, implying that it was rough circumstances that got us the lead hunter position or and emergency to be sent to the 'Forbidden Lands'.

A wider shot of the group. The little plushie hanging off her belt is cute! Maybe a new cosmetic slot like pendants? And maybe it means that Gemma may be quite experienced in smithing… since a little girl you can say… Also love the hairstyle!

An older Admiral? I don't see it as it is probably just similar design like they did with Elder Fugen. The banner on his wall is just using the Hunter's Guild symbol.

An unrevealed character too? A person from the expedition lost, a native to the land, or just another Hunter from our expedition? They don't seem to by a Wyverian either.

An image of the new starter pack monster Doshaguma. It seems it'll be a pack battle like the starter Fanged Wyverns. It looks like a bear cross with a dog of sorts. Beardog!

And the punch-froggy monster Chatacabra! Like the Pukei-Pukei it has a long tongue and licks itself like Brachy!

And our trusty mount the Seikret! Who, will allow us to change weapons mid-fight now! I was right!

#monster hunter #monhun #mh #monster hunter wilds #monster hunter 6 #mhwilds #wild hunter #monster hunter speculation #monster hunter characters #mhwilds gemma #mhwilds alma #mhwilds nata

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leviathanleva · 5 months ago

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Haven

[Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Experiment!FemReader]

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been at the beach. Thanks to you, now he was here, by the shore, bathed in the light of a dying sun, together. And your smile is so warm and your gestures so welcoming that he lies down and tells you everything about himself.

And you listen intently, stroking his arm and silently encouraging him to say more, to please share.

But nothing good ever lasts and both of you know it.

[4.6k words]

Chapter 2 "Rose-tinted Sunset"

The second time Ghost finds you, it’s in Greece, on a lonely beach nestled between two hillsides. He recognizes you from a distance as he crosses the golden yellow field of whey, sees you sat down peacefully, the foamy waves licking at your toes.

Clad in a tee and baggy shorts he knows you’ve stolen from some poor sod’s laundry basket left unattended. You’re as ethereal as the first time he met you – peaceful smile and hair dancing with the breeze, bathed in the dying sunlight, faced away from him, shoulders slack even though you know he’s approaching.

The jacket he’d given you lies beneath you as a makeshift towel, his jacket. You’d kept it when you could have thrown it away the first chance you got once you traversed the continent and landed in warmer weather. But you hadn’t and it prickles his heart just so.

His heavy boots aren’t made for sand, his footing is clumsy and despite not looking at him, you giggle. It rings in his ears like a forbidden melody, tugs at the corners of his lips, makes his crow’s feet show just barely.

“Gonna burn like a crab with all tha’ sun in yer face.” He rumbles, but there’s no bite to his words, he’s just a little rough around the edges and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Hey, stranger.” You reply with a smile and turn back to beam at him, brighter than the sun, it warms him in a way the weather never could. “You’re one to talk.” You snort and pat the sand beside you invitingly. “I know you’re as pale as a popcorn under all that.” You tease, motioning towards his gear.

He sets his rifle down and sits beside you in the calm, intruding on your peace, but you welcome him with open arms. He’s your stalker, the hound that was set on your trail and will never let you slip away, he’ll be your downfall one day and he’ll lead you back to Hell.

But right now, he’s your companion. Another lost soul with a lonesome heart that shares the serenity of your existence in that very moment. Right now he’s your friend, your only friend, and you’re happy to see him.

“Kept you waitin’ long?” He asks and stretches out his legs, the heels of his boots sinking in the wet sand as the sea laps at them lazily. It’s a question he’s wanted to ask for weeks now, one he’d revised late at night in bed because he hoped that your words hadn’t been empty that one time in the frozen forest. “Team did their best to try ‘n track you with the knowledge that yer headin’ somewhere warm.”

He hoped that you remembered, him and your conversation, the moment of silken melancholy you’d shared. He hoped it had affected you as much as it had him.

Ghost glances down at you, sees the ever-present knowing smile adorning your features, and breathes a breath of relief because he already knows your answer.

“Been waiting here for a month.” You reply and lean back on your hands while absentmindedly kicking at the sea foam and bits of seaweed scattered across the shore. “Every day. At this exact spot.”

You return his gaze, your voice not faltering for a second because you have no pride to protect, nor are you interested in playing games. You’d just like to be truthful and bear your bleeding soul to him because life is too short for wordplay and hesitation.

Life is for living. And that’s what you do.

“For you.”

A stone lodges itself in his throat despite how much he’d mentally prepared himself for those words. He swallows it with difficulty, blinks back a sting in his eyes, and chalks it up to the salt in the seawater. It’s uncommon for anyone around him to be so open, to proclaim their connection to him because most know he won’t return that sentiment. You, however, don’t seem to mind and simply letting him know balms over your heart more than him reciprocating would. You’re doing your best to lay out everything on the table because you know better than anyone that second chances are scarce.

Living in the moment. He likes that about you, and envies you despite knowing why you are the way you are. Knows full well that after everything you’d been subjected to, this was the only thing you had left.

And he’s not good at this ‘speaking your mind’ theatric like you, this is an alien situation to him. But he knows he has to reply somehow so instead he coughs awkwardly to cut the silence short.

“Got a tan.” He murmurs, chocolate-brown eyes dipping to inspect the shade of your bare arm, now slightly darker than it had been a few months ago. “Suits you.”

You laugh at his comment and fall back into his jacket, hair tumbling into the sand and merging with it, but you don’t seem to mind. You’d wash it out later or maybe you wouldn’t, it was your life, you were free to do as you wished. You cross your legs, knees pointing to the rosy, cloudless sky and one foot bobbing mindlessly in the air.

“It’s been an adventure.” You grin at him and pat your no longer caved-in belly with satisfaction. “The food here is amazing.” Then he gives you a skeptical look and you chirp like a bird instead of rushing to defend yourself. That single look tells you enough and you keep yapping not to sustain your image of innocence, but to ease his unspoken worry over you. “And don’t worry, I haven’t robbed anyone. Just been playing tricks at a local bar and washing dishes.” Your shining grin mellows out into a peaceful smile, one with an underline of sadness to it. “It’s not much, but it keeps me fed. I even got new shoes.”

You point to the discarded tennis shoes half buried in the sand to the side, watching them proudly because you’d actually bought those instead of having to resort to stealing or searching through a dumpster. They’re your second most prized possession next to his jacket, you’d kill a man for them. Literally.

You’re shifting in your spot ever so lightly, each kick of your foot bringing you slightly closer to Ghost until you hear a crinkling come from your jacket and check the cause. The old wrapper of crackers he’d given you was still there, now empty except for the old cigarette buds safely stored inside it.

You’d kept them, even the wrapper, even the buds he’d discarded when he was done smoking. He’d not paid those half a thought, but you’d gone out of your day to collect them all and secure them inside the wrapper with a rubber band. Your gaze moves up and you see he’s staring at them as well, eyes wider than they had been a moment ago.

You worry that the already cracked glass inside his chest will shatter from the knowledge.

Has he ever been as cherished by anyone before? You can tell he hasn’t. This is his first time facing the reality of being someone’s everything. You’re not embarrassed, you’d do it again in a heartbeat, but you fuss over his well-being first. You know he’ll find it gut-wrenching in the most pleasant of ways. Yet, you think of how he might beat himself up for not doing the same for you. Of you not being his everything and that making him feel guilty.

So you place your hand over his and veer his attention.

“Let’s not dwell too much on those, hm?” You tug on his glove until it’s off, finding a rough hand and clean-cut nails underneath, then you reach for the other, but he beats you to it, sliding it off by himself. “Come. Come swim with me.”

Your smile only deepens, the blade in his heart only twists deeper.

You’re on your feet in an instant, stood in front of him and bent down with your hands on your knees, waiting.

“Don’ like the sea.” Ghost scoffs, still shaking off the metric ton of weight that had been forced on his shoulder by a torn-up cracker wrapper. He’s rooted to the spot, expecting the sand to engulf him any moment, waiting to be awoken because this has to be a dream.

You…have to be a dream.

Everything is too tender, too sweet with just the right twinge of melancholy. This is Heaven and he’s been mistakenly picked for the role. He shouldn’t be the one here with you, he doesn’t deserve to be dragged along to softness and care and honeyed landscapes and soul-feeding sentences.

But you force him to come along anyway, you chose him because he’d been kind first even if he refused to believe it.

“Well I do and you will too.” You retort, not one bit insulted by his quip, and kick at his shoes dismissively before slowly starting to walk backward, beckoning him with your wide-spread hands. “Trust me.”

He doesn’t budge even when you crash into the water, disappearing from sight for a few seconds only to resurface with a gasp while wiping the salt out of your eyes. A tendon in his left leg twitches, his fingers gather handfuls of golden sand while he tries to bring himself back to Earth.

A part of him wants to follow you, heed your call like a drowning sailor. Then, another part of him keeps him in place, the same part that nags him to look back at the contents of your jacket pocket. That self-deprecating part scorns him for not reciprocating your devotion because he’s not worthy of such pure-hearted gestures.

“Look at them. Look at them and weep.”

You’re flailing in the sea, splashing water his way with so much fervor that it ends up pouring over him, speckling on his face, making his eyeblack smudge and become runny, soaking in his mask.

“Come on, old soldier.” You call out with euphoria and up and down in the water you go, like a restless bobber. “Let’s get your blood pumping again.”

His arms are shaky when he leverages himself on them and stand, his legs even more so as he takes robotic steps towards the water, charmed like a man in love by the look of satisfaction and pure bliss on your face. He doesn’t even take anything off when he joins you, letting all his gear soak up the salt water while you swim around his waist like a coy fish, happy to have him there with you.

You grip onto his belt, propelling yourself up as you resurface and puff away the droplets gathering on your upper lip.

“See? It’s not bad.” You hum at him, and rest your hands against his chest, leaving two small handprints into the fabric of his vest. “It’s like you’re weightless in the water. You can even do summersalts.”

You do your best to demonstrate. Pushing yourself away from him and diving back under, but you’re still uncoordinated even with the water trying to help you, so you end up falling in.

He snorts at your clownery, can’t help himself when you’re making a fool of yourself. And you don’t care, you’re happy, and you’re managing to make him happy, even for a little while.

It’s all worth it in your mind. He’s worth it.

When you try again and fail, he catches you, twirls you in the water before steadying you on your feet, each of his hands holding your arms tightly.

“Easy there, 46.” He scolds softly.

“My name is not 46.” You murmur and waddle closer before pressing your wet cheek to his collarbone. “Don’t call me that. Ever.”

When you give him your name there is silence, one you let extend as he registers the information before nodding without another word.

You want to ask him for his name because it’s only fair, but you’ve come to learn that he’s standoffish by default and pushing won’t do any good. So you leave that inquiry for another time and enjoy the present instead.

The waves rock you both gently and after a while, you feel him relax against you, breathing deeply. He rests one large hand on the back of your head as if shielding your vulnerable state from an unnamed sniper somewhere in the distance. You wrap your arms around his mid, using him as an anchor against the pull of the sea as you gaze at the sun slowly sinking into the horizon. He stiffens a bit at your closeness but lets you be and you’re grateful.

You stay as such for an eternity, bathed by both the vast water and the ruddy hues of the sunset, your melody – a distant cacophony of seagulls carried by the warm breeze. He pets you like a precious porcelain doll as you breathe evenly against his shoulder, lulled into a peaceful daze by the subtle swaying of the waves.

Eventually, he drags you back to shore, much to your displeasure and despite your mewling protests. His explanation is that you need to dry off before…

Before whatever happens next.

You don’t know if he’ll let you go home, don’t know if he won’t point his rifle at you the moment you’re both ready to continue your cat-and-mouse chase. You don’t know anything, but you don’t dread the coming moment.

You’ll find a way out, you always do and always will.

And so you sprawl over his jacket, feet buried in the sand again, hair clinging to your face and neck. He’s right there beside you, boots and socks now removed and left out to dry. You’re shoulder to shoulder, your hands behind your head while his rest idly on his stomach, and you both stare at the everlasting sky soon to be adorned with glinting stars that steal your breath away.

“How lucky are we to be alive?” You sigh before inhaling deeply, filling your lugs to the brim and letting your eyelids drop as you immerse yourself in the moment.

A scoff comes from your left and you crack an eye open to glance at the cynic lying next to you.

“We ain’t the luckiest ones, can tell you tha’ much.”

“Why not?” You ask, cock your head to the side. He’s too gloomy at times, a mood-killer really, but you don’t mind, you’ll chase away his shadows, show him the warmth of the sunlight, if he’s willing to let you. You smile at that thought and decide you’ll keep it close to your heart. It might just become your main reason for living, who knew? Nobody was sure of what the future held. “I think I’m quite lucky. I have a full belly, my clothes aren’t ripped, I have a place to sleep.” You crane your neck to face him, and he does the same once he notices. You smile, giggle while he stares at you with that tired look that tells you he’s seen too much and he doesn’t want to let himself go because he might get stung again. “And I have you here with me. I’m quite happy.”

Your hand reaches out timidly, pinkie finger brushing against his knuckles as you watch out for his reaction. When nothing changes, you slowly wrap your fingers around his and leave them there before turning back to the sky. You’re happy with this, happy that he lets you in this close, happy that he breaks the rules for you, goes against his code for you even if you don’t know why he does it.

He has his reasons and you have yours and here you are, an uncanny pair, just existing in each other’s presence. A small respite before the action continues.

“You don’t talk much.”

He shrugs at your observation.

“Ain’t got wha’ t’ say.”

“Of course you do, you just don’t know how to say it.” You wave off his answer, giving him chances he doesn’t want, adding explanations to everything he does and everything he is. Painting over his character and actions with pink just to make it more appealing. “I think you have plenty of stories to share. Maybe nobody to share them with. But I’m here now. I’ll listen…old soldier.”

At first, he thinks that you’re just looking at him through rose-tinted glasses, but the more he stares at you the better he understands that it’s worse than that. You’re not ignoring reality and replacing it with a fluff-filled fantasy, no. You take him as he is, take everything as is, and instead of wanting better, more, you’re satisfied with how things are.

It is what it is, and you’ve accepted it for what it is. Accepted him for what he is.

He turns his hand around and lets your fingers trace invisible patterns over his palm, skin to skin.

Ghost tells you about his past then, after some time of silently mulling it over. Bits and pieces of the darkness that haunts him he gives to you, gifts them to you. The more he talks, the easier it becomes and the lighter his chest gets, but he doesn’t want to look in your eyes because he knows there’s understanding and acceptance waiting there and he wants none of it. He manages to string together words that explain the pain he’s endured; the losses he’s suffered through. Explains in choppy, short sentences why he is the way he is, why he’s in the military, why they call him ‘Ghost’. He gives you his full name after, precautions be damned, you wouldn’t use this against him, he knows it, feels it in his blood.

And true to your word, you listen. You scoot closer to him and sit up, take his arm in your lap and stroke it there tenderly as he lets his heart bleed and ache. You nod at every interval, every agonizing breath he takes, and give him the luxury of privacy by not letting your eyes search for his no matter how much you want to.

He needs this.

When he’s done, you let the nothingness linger, let him bathe in the aftermath of his moment. No words are truly needed, he didn’t share with you because he wanted sympathy, he shared because it felt right, because you wouldn’t shed tears over him or pity him.

He shared because you wouldn’t try to fix him.

He didn’t want to be fixed.

Instead, you curl up into his side when he takes off his helmet and close your eyes when he takes off his mask.

You stay there until the sun completely sets and the night sky, dark and welcoming, hides your forms from the world.

“In my next life, I want to be a bird.”

“You wanna be free?” He asks and you shake your head lightly.

“No.” You pause and turn on your back, head resting on his shoulder. “I want to fly all around the world and find you. And then I’ll sing on your window every day until I die.”

His first thought is that he’ll let you inside, buy you a birdcage before he mentally slaps himself. He’d never put you in a cage, never cause you such pain when that’s what you’d endured for the majority of your life now. Instead, he’d simply leave you be, let you keep him company and serenade him at your whim.

You deserved to be free even if he wanted to keep you.

You didn’t want to be cherished back. You wanted to be left alone, to be free to cherish and love him as you wished and for him to just accept it as a gift or shoo you away, but not keep you, not cage you.

An urgent buzz comes from his helmet and he drags it to his ear, listening.

“Run.” He sits up, roughly tugs you up with him and slips both his mask and helmet on.

Serenity is ripped away from you in that moment and the peaceful smile on your lips disappears. You watch him as he stands in a hurry to put on his boots, a wide, hysterical look in his eyes.

“They’re comin’. You ‘ave t’ go. Now!”

Your heart leaps in your throat at his words and you rush to tug your shoes back on before grabbing his jacket and wrapping it around your waist.

“Wait. Wait!” You call to him while he shakes the sand out of his rifle. You grip onto his wrist and force him to glance down at you. “They’ll…They’ll take you off the search party if you let me go again. You can’t – ” You shake your head, thoughts running rampant as you swallow back tears. “ – I’ll never see you again.”

“Doesn’ ma’er. You ‘ave to run.” He tries to shove you away, make you go, but he can’t manage to pry your little fingers off his skin.

“No!” you bellow out, jerking his wrist so violently it takes him aback. “If they – ”

He manages to yank you off and pushes you away, making you stumble back before gaining your footing. The air is forced out of his lungs and he takes a step back at the force that had been thrust his way. It had felt like he’d been slammed against a wall of concrete.

Then he remembers why he’d been sent after you all over again. You weren’t harmless, far from it.

You were a killing machine.

And he’d been pressing you into his side just two minutes prior.

There’s a menace to your posture, something unnatural in the way the ground beneath him shudders with your every word. The corners of his vision vibrate with a force he can’t quite comprehend, the air is heavy with something, hatred. Despite his mind screaming at him that he’s in more danger than he’s ever been, Ghost doesn’t fold, doesn’t even consider his weapon a means to de-escalate the situation.

“ – If they take you away I’ll kill them.” You sputter between shaky breaths, fists clenched at your sides as you stare him down. “I’ll kill everyone they send after me.”

Your name slips past his lips in a soothing murmur and he extends a hand towards you in a meager attempt at calming you down, but you rip yourself away as soon as his fingers brush against your shoulder. The rifle in his other hand shakes with restrain and you wait for him to point it at you and force you to run. You know it’s coming, can see the gears in his head turning and him being left with no other choice.

“If they take you away from me, I’ll kill them. I don’t care. They mean nothing to me.”

Your words sink deep in his belly and stay there, weighing on him and making him choke back bile because he knows you’ll stick to your word. He’s seen what you can do, he knows what you’re capable of.

When he doesn’t do anything else your stance falters and you believe this is goodbye. Whether he comes after you again or not isn’t up to him and you want so bad for it to be different, but it isn’t. None of this is his fault and on top of everything, he’s been kind, gentle, and welcoming. He doesn’t deserve to be threatened. So you silently accept that this is for your own good, he’s doing what he can to protect you.

You run your tongue over your teeth, taste the tears there before preparing to say your farewell for life and bolt it.

But he speaks before you do.

“Knock me out.”

“What?” You blurt out and watch him grimace before pressing two fingers to his helm.

“Copy. This is Ghost. I found ‘er. Send reinforcements to my location.” His hand falls back to his side and he trudges to you with a determination you’d not seen in him before. “Knock me out. Let ‘em think it was a close call.”

“How? I can’t just – ” You stammer on, clutching at your sides for comfort as you stare up at him with teary eyes. “I can’t.”

“Gonna ‘ave to.” He grumbles and falls to his knees before you, takes your hands and places them on his neck and you feel his Adam’s apple bob before he speaks again. “Choke me ‘till I pass out and run.”

“Simon, please, I can’t do this.” You whine, hiccupping hysterically as your fingers tremble around his throat. You pull them away with disgust and bite into your bottom lip until it starts bleeding.

“Is either this or you neva see me again.” He snarls at you as he feels time ticking away and can almost hear the hurried footsteps of his comrades approaching as they surround the area. His eyes dart back to the field ever so often, keeping watch while he not so gently eases you into doing what needs to be done. “Choice is yours. I don’ care either way.”

You snort bitterly at that before circling him and kneeling behind him.

“You’re a bad liar.”

A ghost of a smirk creeps onto his lips, wiped off a moment later when he feels a vice around his neck, squeezing him so tight his eyes feel like bursting. He reaches up instinctively to try and pull off whatever’s cutting his breath short, but finds nothing there.

Smart little bird. You’ve not the physical strength to choke him unconscious, of course, you’d use your powers instead. He’d be proud if he didn’t feel like he was being suffocated to death.

He struggles against it, it’s only natural, and his ears ring with your sobs as you wrap your arms around him, easing his writhing form into your lap. With feet kicking into the sand and chopped coughs dampening his mask, he watches you, feels your little hands clutching at his vest as you cry above him with eyes closed and face directed up so you don’t have to watch him suffer.

You’re terrified you’ll kill him, one ounce more of pressure and his neck might snap. Or you might hold off his oxygen for too long and end up suffocating him. The thought plunges a knife into your chest. Your scalp is prickling with anxiety as you weakly hold him down with your own strength because you don’t want to subdue him to more of gravity’s cruelty.

And through this all, he trusts you. He trusts you with his life, the stupid bloke. He literally thrust it in your hands without a second thought.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Those words run on repeat, slipping off your tongue and raining down on him as his body exhausts its limited energy.

“I’m sorry you ever met me.”

A minute passes, then two, three and finally he stops fighting and the moment he does you release the hold on his neck. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you gently slip from beneath him and delicately lay his head back against the sand. Wiping the tears off your face, you lean down and press a kiss to his cheek, shivering against him like a leaf before standing.

You see the beams of headlights in the distance, hear the rumble of tires against uneven soil and you don’t want to leave him, but you force yourself on your feet.

“I’m sorry, Simon.”

You run, your lungs burning and stomach churning as you head straight for the hills, not letting yourself look back.

<<< Chapter 1

Chapter 3 >>>

Masterlist

Tag list: @scaleniusrm

#x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod fanfic #cod x reader #cod x you #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you

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kissedbyaphrodite · 5 months ago

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Damian Wayne al Ghul has magic, canonically, and I don't see it being used the way it could be

So, before I talk about this, yes, I do know that the continuity in DC comics is shaky to say the least and that they have characters change every other comic run, but this is something that has been used in three different comics (To my knowledge) made by different authors! Thus, I'm taking it as canon and I won't accept any word against it.

Okay? Okay! Now let's go. Spoiler alert:

So, to talk about Damian's magic use, we will need to go back some time, specifically, to his great grandmother, Rúh al Ghul. Making her first and only appearance in Robin volume 3. Ruh al Ghul is the mother of Ra's al Ghul, and the head of the League of Lazarus, which originated as a splinter organization of the League of Assassins, lead by Ra's, however, Rúh spread her faith and worship of a demon that inhibited the Lazarus Pit. Taking over the League of Lazarus. After this, the League of Assassins and the League of Shadows, teamed up to fight the League of Lazarus, which resulted in the defeat of the League of Lazarus. To ensure his mother couldn't escape, Ra's himself used magic to keep her locked in the island.

Of course, this could be just the fact that they lived multiple centuries (In Ra's first appearance, it's declared that he's around 700 years old, meaning he was born around the 1200's, though in Batman and Robin (vol 2) #30, he's said to have been looking for Themyschira for over 1000 years.) This means that, over the multiple centuries they've lived, they were bound to learn magic, but stay still. Because now, it comes to Damian's maternal grandmother and the fourth known partner of Ra's, Melisande al Ghul, the mother of Talia al Ghul.

To talk about Melisande, I will have to mix two canons from two different comics, since pre-crisis, Talia was said to have been older than 150 years old:

But this was later changed by Danny O’Neil changed this in 1992 with his Birth of the Demon storyline. In this one, Talia said she was conceived at Woodstock (1969), which would’ve put her birthday around May of 1970. Which made her 22 at that time. However, I follow the logic of "What is shown first, is canon", so let's say Talia is +150 years old, meaning she had to be conceived around 1821 (Since her first appearance was in 1971).

So, Melisande story differs in various universes and comics, in Batman: Son of the Demon, her and Ra's foster Ra's nephew, Qayin, who killed Melisande when she caught him in the room where the early version of the Lazarus Pit was being held. When Qayin saw Melisande he got frightened and started running, Melisande was pushed and she fell into the Lazarus Pit and met her death. All of that happened in front of Talia's eyes. But I'll take the Batman incorporated canon for this (And only this) argument. Where after Talia's birth, Melisande was cast out by Ra's and forbidden to see her daughter or from using the Lazarus put. She eventually meets a young Talia years later in her new role as a fortune teller. Of course we can say that she was maybe just doing the typical fortune seller scam to make money, but hey! Considering Ra's and Ruh did dip into the occult, why not consider that maybe Melisande also did learn some magic during the time she was with Ra's?.

Finally, we get to Damian.

Damian seems to be like Rúh, in which he learns/obtains magic by making deals with the devil/a demon, even though it's only been said twice. The first time we see Damian using magic is in Batman 666 (Even if it's written by my racist and sexist enemy G. M0rris0n). Where it's shown to us that Damian exchanged his soul in order to become immortal; of course, this may seem useless to some, because of the pit, but look, if we have to choose between being immortal and having to travel to an undisclosed location in the Middle East to dip into the pit and risk madness, I'd also choose immortality, and it also seems to make him invulnerable or have extremely rapid healing:

The next time we see Damian use magic is in WAY LESS dire situation, in Batman vol. 3 #77, when he's chasing Gotham girl

Again, we see that Damian explains he exchanged his soul (Or made a deal involving his soul) with a demon to obtain magic, however, it seems he's unable to use magic unless he's using a wand. And since wands are used as a way to channel magic from the user's core to the outside world, it's safe to say here, he's only obtained magic very recently, and needs the wand to use it. Or, it could be that he's simply joking, as he does tend to have a very dry and sarcastic humour, even early on, which makes many think he's being serious.

Finally, the most recent time we've seen Damian use magic, was in Wonder woman (2023) #13, where he makes a summoning circle to summon Zatanna (While also roasting Superboy)

Now, while we do only have three cases (Or at least that I remember) we also have another case that I think could be a sign of Damian's incline for the occult. His pets, specifically, his pet dragons. Goliath the dragon-bat (Robin: Son of Batman) and Wiggles (Nightwing #42)

The fact that he seems to be able to tame and even domesticate literal dragons cannot be just a "wink wink, nod nod" from the writers, especially since his name literally means "To tame". He also rides Wiggles almost as soon as he meets him, and I really doubt a dragon just lets people mount him easily.

Also, there are so many more occasions that I left out where Damian does something strange, such as the time he admits he's able to willingly move his organs around his body, or how he can imitate voices just after hearing them once, not to mention he managed to climb snowy mountains at four years old; plus, his strength that has allowed him to beat people three times his size and four times his body weight, as well as letting him kill hundreds of dragon-bats at age six.

And nowadays it is a pretty popular headcanon, even if I still think it's unpopular in the fandom. But it's still almost unused in the comics and in most works of fanfiction. Here we have a kid who has two dragons and twelve pets total, can imitate voices, move his organs around and has magic (Among other skills), yet his magic is almost never mentioned in fanfic that doesn't center around his magic, and his dragons are almost/often never shown at all! Come on people! You can like or dislike Damian, but you cannot deny that this kid clearly has magic.

Not to mention the potential for canon events, since Bruce does express a dislike towards magic, claiming it is unstable, and unexplainable by science and logic. Imagine all the potential it has! Especially since Bruce has been a pretty crappy dad to say the least towards Damian, since he first met him and even now (Except for that comic where Damian loses all his melanin and all trace of al Ghul from his blood and just looks like Ian Wayne). Imagine having him and Damian having the strained relationship they currently have, but trying to work towards a better one, only for Bruce to discover Damian's.agic and going back to square one? Or Damian becoming a vigilante of his own, since he has expressed desires to maybe stop or pause on being Robin. We already have Duke as a meta being (in my opinion) not used to his full potential, imagine a run where we see Duke and Damian bond due to Duke knowing the fear that lies when you are something Bruce himself disapproves of, since Bruce is also not the nicest to metas. Or Damian having his own team (The friends he made in Lazarus island + Maya and Colin) where he can finally explore his magic.

There are so many things you can do, yet nobody is even scraping the surface of it all.

#damian wayne #batman #dc comics #dcu #batfam #damian al ghul #ra's al ghul #melisande al ghul #rúh al ghul #talia al ghul #my post

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penguinlop · 2 years ago

Text

Yandere Alhaitham x Reader

/// Ignorance Is Bliss

Summary:

You discover that your new love, Alhaitham, secretly keeps a detailed knowledge capsule about you.

cw: GN reader, spoilers for alhaitham’s lore and sumeru archon quests, yandere themes, stalking, manipulation, implied not-sfw

Alhaitham knows better than anyone else that there's always a price to pay to enter the oasis of knowledge.

Sanity is the ticket those desert sirens crave to check before you board.

Enticing scrolls of information wrap around your waist and weary legs, dragging you toward the mirage of gilded wisdom. They dance around, heated faces burned from the whispers of sand. The glistening flow of cleansing texts and books containing forbidden, convoluted details tempts people's thirst.

It's all for the enlightenment. An intoxicating euphoria of comprehension, to feel the ivory branches and leaves of Irminsul flood their senses. Perhaps it's the glory, that "aha!" moment people desire. They want to fatten their parched egos and satisfy that sinister appetite. They hunger to be better than everyone else by knowing and achieving more, by finding the Holy Grail first.

Knowledge is the charmer; people are the sinful serpents.

As with any personal research project for him, it started with discovering the topic of interest

Alhaitham prides himself on being a man with principles rooted in logic. Rationality is the key to clarity. Dreams are mere distractions. They are fanatical fantasies that the mind plays to taunt and deceive. The Sages endlessly speak of how emotions only get in the way of breaking the Samsara and reaching Nirvana.

Perhaps the moon can only hope to achieve the greatness of the sun.

That is why it was noon when he first laid eyes on you in the House of Daena.

You smelt of orange blossom.

How could he forget that contemplative look as you searched for yellowing books riddled with dust to pique your interest and aid your studies? It was nothing out of the ordinary, a common spectacle rather. As a fellow member of the Akademiya, you were simply another eager student to him.

Holding onto such a meaningless encounter wouldn't be rational. He didn't even bother to gather information on you via the Akasha as a testament to his word.

But one evening, as the lustrous moon wailed in its cage, Alhaitham found you near the beautiful Sanctuary of Surasthana. It was a clear night with a gentle breeze, the perfect time to contemplate and relax amidst the choir of dusk birds. He was going up there to take a quick breather. There were too many annoying meetings he had to attend.

With a telescope in hand and a notebook neatly laid on a stone bench nearby, you gazed at the glorious heavens. A faint fragrance of rose water clung to your skin. However, that's hardly what he noticed at the time. There it was again: that contemplative look. They say the scholars of the Akademiya hold the weight of Teyvat by carrying the burden of denying ignorance, the blistering desire to keep on learning. Some seek to know more and more, even as they meet their fated end. It's an addictive, maddening cycle of peeping into the elusive unknown and searching for answers.

Yet you looked so peaceful. It was refreshing to see.

Alhaitham couldn't help but reminisce about the words his grandmother left him with.

"May my child Alhaitham lead a peaceful life."

"Lovely, aren't they?" you whispered as tenderly as dancing Padisarahs when you noticed his form enter the Sanctuary's vicinity. "Many say the stars are mysterious, but I think they can be quite playful. Every day I unveil more. It's like they ask me to come and be with them" A simple glance nearly made him burn with curiosity. He suddenly felt parched. "I'm sorry if I startled you. I can often get carried away with my studies." You chuckled at the cunning man. Maybe he couldn't even hear you with his headphones on.

Alhaitham crossed his arms and sighed. "It's fine. I should've known someone from the school of Rtawahist would be up here stargazing. I will be heading off then." Your telescope and blue robes were a telltale sign of your discipline; it was but a mere elementary-level deduction.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay? I don't want you to feel like I am hogging the place." The fragrance of rose water came oh-so-slightly closer. It was too sweet and enticing. The pragmatic man couldn't help it. He discretely used his Akasha on you.

After learning of your name and basic information, he came to the blatant conclusion that he needed to leave. Immediately.

Once again, he thought of his grandmother.

"You are such a smart child, but you must take care to have a clearer mind than others. You must understand that vain pursuits are but dust."

His mind was fogging up with too many eccentric yearnings. Aside from facts hastily gathered from the Akasha, he knew nothing about you.

It needed to stay like that.

He nearly scoffed. What was this? That old tale of Layla and Majnun? The man who went insane from love. Give me a break. What use would itching love be to his aspirations? At best, this was but a fleeting attraction. It would go away eventually.

"Look, I don't think either of us have any more time to waste." Alhaitham reviewed you once more before curtly turning around and walking away. "Now then, goodbye."

He had made sure to study the contours of your face, your eye color, your height, your posture, how your clothes fit you, and, most of all, that scent of rose water. But, really, it was all to avoid you for future reference. Yes, understanding one's subject is critical.

You raised your eyebrow as you saw his form grow smaller and smaller. Then, tilting your head up, you looked at the hypnotizing stars and deathly pale moon, trying to read your destiny and find the absolute truth.

Before he could completely escape your view, you used your Akasha Terminal on him. Perhaps you were also too curious. Sumeru's ideals were fostered by you quite well.

Huh, so his name is Alhaitham…What a mysterious man.

___

The art of coffee-making is a methodical process.

Roast, ground, brew, and serve.

It was akin to the process of learning that Alhaitham used: read, break down, reorganize, and question.

Depending on the customer's order, it could be embellished with spices such as cardamom, cinnamon, or saffron. In some cases, sugar may be added.

Alhaitham likes it dark and plain, an afternoon refreshment for the man on the go. While Puspa Café is a common place for social gatherings of people across all walks of life, ranging from lowlife sycophants to wishful merchants, he prefers to be alone. Solitude isn't as vexing as many claim. It allows him to think about his current ordeals. Moreover, it gives him time to read.

That day, one problem had left him quite disturbed.

The Dendro user has always been in-tune with his body. Ever since the brief confrontation that night, he had been physically and mentally agitated, with a fluctuating heartbeat, clammy hands, accelerated breathing, and racing thoughts. Coffee was a possible solution he believed could mitigate any troublesome symptoms. But, of course, in moderation. His roommate, Kaveh, could learn about the word moderation.

Yet this afternoon's refreshment only made it worse.

There you were again.

A ghastly deev haunting his every footstep. Spreading tendrils of nightmares across his skin to choke his throat, vivisecting his beating heart and rumbling mind to capture any essence of starry wisdom and pragmatic musings.

Closing the book he was reading, he noticed the color of the coffee that spewed out of your brass dallah. It was so light. Just from the sight of it, he could taste the nauseating sweetness, too lightly roasted, with too much sugar, honey, and spice. Scoffing, he bets you even untraditionally added milk to lessen the bitter taste. Children are the only ones who dream in this nation, yet one quick look at you was enough to guess that you never truly grew up.

As if you wanted to solidify his observation, your eyes glowed and the corners of your lips curled up when you spotted him. You made your way over to his table and asked if he would like to join you with a spring in your step.

Amidst the overpowering, bold scent of coffee clouding the café, he smelt it the moment you came closer.

Jasmine.

Were your decisions rooted in spontaneity, or did you cycle through a collection of perfumes? He couldn't help but ponder the answer as you awaited his response.

"Sure."

He adored the way you perked up at the sound of one word. A waitress quickly helped to arrange a larger table for you two.

This was just a way to get more information out of you. Nothing more, nothing less.

Yes, you could be of use to him. The third time's a charm, they say.

You quickly got comfortable, too comfortable. "Would you like to share some baklava or maamoul cookies? They are quite delicious, though I can order something else for you if you don't like them. Be my guest!" With a slight, delicate movement of your hand, you gestured to the assortment of sweets laying on a brass tray.

"No. I'm fine. Foods with such high levels of sugar only leave me restless at night. It's a nuisance to deal with while I'm trying to work. You should know better, too. Thank you, though."

You awkwardly glanced away. "I see…Well, that's not a problem. The offer is always there if you change your mind." Looking down at your hands nestled in your lap, you maneuvered the dying conversation elsewhere and swiftly began to ask about his job as the Akademiya's Scribe. The dreamy gleam in your eyes never faded

He couldn't get enough. His illogical thirst was growing.

His flesh began to blaze with anticipation. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad to entertain this romantic fantasy for a bit. Things could be tested with you. He was never one to be enthralled with the concept of love. It was too frivolous and melodramatic, but he supposed studious scholars never limit their perspectives.

"So, what's it like?" you chirped.

Why must you question him? He wanted to know more about you, everything there was to know. No, he had to know in order to finally get this greedy parasite wishing to feast on every bit of you out of his mind. Such a visceral need was consuming every inch of his very being. All semblances of practicality were withering before his eyes. No amount of bitter coffee was enough to quench the anxiety that plagued his mind, nor his bouncing knees, as you persistently asked him about his work and Darshan of Haravatat.

Of course.

How could he be so ignorant? His approach was all wrong.

Alhaitham graduated with top grades at the Akademiya; his professors commended him for quickly deciphering incredibly elaborate ancient runes and grasping unfathomably complex syntax and structure.

You were like that.

You were a puzzle waiting to be unveiled and exposed to him and him alone. The world has no need of getting to view such convoluted beauty. A rare individual you were, indeed. You managed to hold on to such childish ways of wanting to dream while still maintaining a mature air of unmatched wisdom in your research.

Alhaitham began the next phase of his project.

Studying the subject.

He thanked his grandmother for the lessons she taught him. All he had to do was clear his mind, and the path to wisdom was unfolding.

___

None of it was wrong.

No sane student at the Akademiya would ever take their exam blindly or be unprepared for a debate. Comprehension and studying are critical components to achieving success. So why set yourself up for failure?

Before asking if you would reciprocate his feelings, he had to know first. So many calculated scenarios were emerging through his mind as he thought of what would happen if he didn't make sure beforehand. He couldn't possibly let himself look like some idiot. He had to find out the exact percentage of success, no matter what it took.

After all, Alhaitham's hands were never the cleanest, even if he did like a cushy life.

That is why he felt no guilt when he asked to walk you home. It was very late at night. You were stargazing again. He just wanted to be useful.

Each step was seared into his mind. Each item of interest you pointed out on the way left him with more questions. Upon reaching your abode, sparks of pride flooded into his veins. He had guessed you lived in this area. You often walked here during mornings and later hours; it was a straightforward conclusion. Nothing special.

A tender smile graced your beautiful face. It was brimming with gratitude.

He ensured you entered safely and locked the door. It was only when all the lights were out did he truly depart, though. He had to see the peaceful expression on your face as you slept.

Once Alhaitham arrived home, he felt conflicted. Reasonably, there was no chance he could ever forget anything from today. Yet humans aren't without their respective flaws, especially involving memory. He didn't dare to ruminate on what may occur if he were to somehow forget even one piece of information you blessed him with. Every tidbit and morsel you fed him was significant in nature.

It was all part of his investigations.

However, he couldn't write such crucial facts in some random notebook. No, no; such things must remain strictly confidential. It was only logical. What if he misplaced it? Or even worse, what if his obnoxious roommate got to it? He rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue.

Summoning an empty knowledge capsule that he had obtained when he was ordered to draft more ordinances for the Sages, Alhaitham flooded it with every bit of data he had on you, from your slumbering form to your mellow smile and contemplative look. It was all there. Safe and sound, ready for him to access at any time.

Before resting, he thought of the way you smelt of orange blossom again.

___

You next met one morning at the Akademiya.

You wore no fragrance today.

Chuckling, you noticed Alhaitham stride towards you impatiently. He was clutching a small, decorative bag. After exchanging simple greetings, he handed it over to you. There was neither a frilly explanation nor a blooming blush on his handsome face. Instead, he had a sharp and clean approach.

"Here, this is for you."

Though not one to express his emotions so as to maintain an unreadable body language, you had picked up on a few of his habits. He seemed eager. It was charming to think about how he grew more casual and open around you. To the untrained eye, one may think he wasn't fond of you at all, but you knew. That realization was enough to keep you on your toes.

One previous evening, the glimmering stars and bygone moon sisters breathlessly spoke of your future. It was challenging to decipher, but you stuck to your beliefs that the stars don't lie, and you were greatly rewarded.

The confirming chill that the divine gales of the night brought to you all spoke of the same fortune.

"There is a man that treasures every bit of you."

Despite sounding like good tidings, a hole in your stomach grew.

It started off as a tiny sapling. You suspected it to be anxiety for upcoming deadlines or the usual fatigue from nights spent stargazing. Something that could easily be brushed off. Yet branches and roots ravaged and wrapped around your organs as you heard the consistent sound of soil crunching beneath one's feet. Be it dawn or dusk, such dreadful mirages pained your spirit.

But with Alhaitham, it stopped. Perhaps it was a side effect of being in love. Being so on edge around him had taken a toll on you. Is this why the Sages warn of pursuing things such as love? You couldn't help but wonder.

Nevertheless, it wasn't an appropriate time to have your heads in the clouds.

You quickly tore off the patterned wrapping paper and grinned. It was exactly what you needed: more jasmine-scented perfume! Just the glass bottle itself was astonishingly exquisite, encrusted with jewels and detailed with gold. You could tell it was expensive.

"I can't take this. This must've cost you a fortune! I really can't accept this. Though I did just run out of mine… You should return it and use the money for something more useful. Besides, I'm fine with using the cheaper one I usually purchase!"

Returning the bottle to the small bag, you tried to give it back to the man standing before you.

Alhaitham hated the way you acted. This was just a quick gift he purchased at the Grand Bazaar. It was nothing. He knew you had run out of your usual exactly the day prior. Alhaitham simply saw an opportunity and decided to strike. Honestly, he only studies what interests him. You should know that by now. Why bother with the inessential?

"Don't be ridiculous.” His eyes narrowed oh-so-slightly. “It was just something I thought you might like. Anyway, keep it. I have no need for such things."

Still lacking confidence, you treaded carefully, "Well…If you say so. I will treasure it by wearing it every day! Thank you, Alhaitham." Inspecting the perfume bottle again, you couldn't help but smile. "It's almost like a miracle that you gifted me this because I just ran out of my usual. I really want to thank you somehow…."

Bullseye.

"Hmm… Is that so? Never mind, we will get to that later." He placed his hand underneath your chin and pulled your face from side to side to inspect you. "You haven't been sleeping well, have you? Your eyebags are much more prominent."

Twinges of insecurity rang through your bones as he examined your appearance. I suppose that's how he shows he cares? Looking down, you played with the strings of the gift bag and tried to awkwardly collect yourself. "Lack of sleep is common for my studies, but I have been a bit more jumpy than usual when I rest, that's all. Perhaps you were right back then…Too much sugar." Your voice grew weaker. "It's nothing, really."

"If it's ‘nothing’ as you claim it to be, then you wouldn't be so distressed. Come on, spit it out." There was no need to sugarcoat things. Many of his former classmates gossip that he is a ruthless robot, but he doesn't mind such statements. To him, it's better to clear things away than regret it later.

Not wanting to look into his eyes, you glanced at the other students in the Akademiya mingling with their like-minded colleagues and friends. Dejectedly, you scratched the back of your neck, then quickly gestured to the door with your head. "Let's talk outside, shall we?"

Sitting under a pavilion, you apologized for the sudden request to head outdoors. Alhaitham remained unfazed. Rigid and cold, silently awaiting a reply.

First, you breathed in, then shakily exhaled before speaking, "Okay, then. I think someone is stalking me. I can't give you a proper explanation as to why, but I just know. It really has left me so scared. I won't lie, the feeling disappears when I'm with you...." With a heated face, you quickly looked to Alhaitham for validation as you poured out your feelings. "But, um, of course! You are an extremely accomplished individual. Anybody would feel better with you since you're the Scribe, after all."

He scoffed, "I think Kaveh would beg to differ about your last statement."

You laughed.

It was simply perfect. He just wanted to caress your face and tell you how good you were being for him. Yes, so good. So naive.

"Let's do an experiment. Why don't you stay at my place for a day or two and see what happens?" He couldn't help but smirk at how you shrunk under his all-knowing stare. "If you don't want to, I can think of another solution. However, I believe we have become quite close, and I'm sure you would enjoy it. Besides, Kaveh is out for a bit. But in the end, it's your choice, of course."

"Well, if you insist…." You took out the perfume bottle and daintily sprayed it on your neck and wrists; you enjoyed how his keen eyes soaked you in. "Thank you for being so kind. You know me so well, Alhaitham."

"Yes, I really do."

___

In Sumeru City, when it rains, it pours.

Streets flood with incinerating kisses and sensual touches intertwined with a rich, floral fragrance.

To many, Alhaitham is known as a lunatic. Such a name fits the man whose mind was devoured by jasmine perfume.

He couldn't get enough.

Every inch of you, he had to learn about. He needed to properly store and encode such mesmerizing information into the recesses of his gluttonous mind.

That intoxicating perfume permeated Alhaitham’s room and desperately held onto disheveled sheets. It was akin to the incense that scholars use to clear their minds and focus their bodies to become one with Irminsul. Yes, it was just like that.

You couldn't help but feel so safe in his arms. The stars really do never lie.

He loved every bit of you.

___

Sunlight peeked through translucent cotton curtains and illuminated the room.

Alhaitham kissed your forehead and greeted you with a simple "Good morning" as you moved his hair from his face and took in his features. The intense perfume still persistently laced through his sheets.

The domesticity of it all, from changing together to preparing breakfast, swelled your heart. It had been quite a while since you were last able to unwind like this.

Alhaitham quickly took notice of your lax movements. Good. You were enjoying yourself as planned. By the time he's done, you won't be able to tell the difference between an innocent Sumeru Rose and a vicious Venus Flytrap.

He looked you up and down again. "How do you feel? Did you sleep okay?"

"Yes, I haven't felt this relaxed for a while. Ever since I joined my Darshan, sleep has become a luxury. It was especially bad when I was first learning the basics because I would have to stay up all night long to study the stars and keep up with other research. At one point, I developed severe insomnia, but I’m fine now. Anyway… Yes, I did sleep well. This is the first time I’ve felt safe in a long while. Thank you, Alhaitham."

He nodded and spoke, "That's good. If we are going to continue this relationship, then maybe in the future we can discuss more complex matters, such as living together more permanently."

Your eyes widened as you took in his statement, but you soon giggled, “A little hasty, aren’t we, Alhaitham?” You poked fun at him. “What about poor Mister Kaveh?”

He rolled his eyes at your teasing.

Then he shrugged and bluntly defended himself, "It's only rational to think about these things, especially with your situation. Besides, I'm only putting them on the table—"

There was a knock at his door.

He noticed your jaw tighten in fear. Alhaitham pulled the strings of the puppet and played along with you. He muttered into your ear to hide from the front door's view just in case.

The Scribe loved the way you obediently followed his orders and trusted so wholeheartedly everything that he said.

When he opened the door, he didn't expect to be greeted by the Grand Sage Azar's assistant: Setaria.

She told him how the Akademiya lost a knowledge capsule about the divine and how the Grand Sage wished for him to gather information on a certain blonde traveler.

A divine knowledge capsule and a heroic traveler from afar. How interesting.

He crossed his arms and unceremoniously spoke, "I'll start my assignment soon." With that, he nodded, closed the door, and went silent again. Annoyance ran through his veins as he was pulled along into the Grand Sage's plot. A peaceful life as the Scribe was all he desired. Was it really that hard for the Akademiya to provide that?

Turning around, the reserved man called for you. Your name rolled off his tongue too well, as if he was made to be the sole person on this forsaken continent to cherish and pronounce it. You carefully popped your head out from behind his bedroom door, the corners of your kissable lips turned down, forming a slight frown.

"Is it all good?"

"Yes, it was just someone from the Akademiya for work. Speaking of, I have a little surprise for us." Alhaitham seemed to look right through you. "Do you want to hear it?" There was an excitement bubbling deep inside of him. Your stomach began to ache as he cloaked himself in mystery.

You felt those hawk eyes analyze you again. "Uh, sure?"

"How would you feel about going to Port Ormos for some academic research?"

___

Alhaitham convinced you that it would help your situation. You could see if that uneasy feeling would follow you on your journey to the port.

While the actual job itself is mundane and uneventful, as the Scribe, he receives many benefits. One was being sponsored by the Akademiya to stay in an upscale hotel with many amenities.

Your shared suite had a lovely balcony with a nice view of the sea. Breathing in the refreshing salty air on a balmy day was energizing after being cooped up in such a stifling city of arrogant wisdom. Mere fool's gold.

"If you want to go and explore, I would advise you to remain within the hotel grounds or near places that are guarded or populated in case anything were to happen.

You turned to him. "Thank you for your concern, but I will just stay here. It's a nice room. I'll enjoy the breeze and finish up my papers on the balcony. Perhaps in your free time, we can do something together?"

He thought about it for a second. "I'll see."

You deflated a bit. "Well, when do you think you'll come back?"

"Not anytime soon."

"Oh..."

"Anyway, I should be leaving now." Alhaitham pecked your cheek before heading out.

After unpacking, you began writing rough ideas for your ongoing thesis in your worn-out leather journal. As the clock kept ticking and the hours passed, you grew bored. Small sketches of constellations were sloppily drawn on the side with little notes as you tried to jot down as much information as possible. Becoming distracted, you began to doodle Alhaitham's constellation: Vultur Volans. You wanted to unveil so much more about him. You wanted the stars to guide you in your journey.

Yet just as you were about to finish your little doodle, your pen ran out of ink.

You scribbled a few lines and circles to test it out one last time before throwing it in a nearby trash bin. It was nothing. A simple delay.

Before going inside, you closed your leather journal and placed it on top of the stack of scrap papers so they wouldn't fly away. Going to your side of the bed, you opened your Adhigama wood nightstand and pulled out a few spare pens. However, when you sat down and attempted to use them, they didn't work. It was fine. You just happened to bring a bad batch. That was all.

You knew Alhaitham brought a brand new set with him. It was still in his luggage, though... He was in such a hurry to start his job here in Port Ormos that he had no time to unpack. You always admired his diligence; it's what got him so far so quickly. He was your age, but you were still far behind. Though you couldn't blame him for tuning the world out and focusing just on his studies, he lost so much at such a young age. He was brave to keep looking towards the future despite his parents being gone. Even if he would say, "It was just the most rational thing to do."

Alhaitham is a man with principles rooted in logic. He would understand why you were rummaging through his things. It wasn't an invasion of privacy! You two were a couple now; albeit new, the love was evident already.

You were just going to borrow his pens, anyway.

As you unlocked his luggage and looked for his case of supplies, you stumbled upon two similar containers in appearance and weight. Ugh! Which one was it? I suppose I'll just have to open them both…

Moving your hand towards the zipper, you noticed your hand shake. Perhaps it was just getting cold. You had left the glass balcony door open, only closing the screen. The soft sound of the breeze and smell of sea salt slithered up your spine, invading your ear canals and nostrils.

You placed your fingers on the zipper of the bag on the left. The sound of it unzipping was akin to the rustles of leaves and branches in a dark rainforest. What you found inside was a knowledge capsule.

The pens were in the other bag.

That was all. Alhaitham works under the Grand Sage. Of course you were bound to find certain items only he should be privy to.

Yet why was it calling you like the irresistible knowledge that spills from the ivory, archaic branches of Irminsul? It was most likely empty, anyway, waiting to be filled with the information he would discover in the bustling Port Ormos. Why was the hollow, ravaging feeling in your stomach and heart returning to once again suffocate your organs and dry up your blood into grains of sand?

Your journal was waiting for you. Opening the other bag, you got what you wanted.

His pens.

That was what you came for.

However, the sharp pains and shivers ringing through your body reeled you into the infested desert and the pouring rainforest. A peek wouldn't hurt. Alhaitham would understand, right? He was the one that brought you here, after all, to keep an eye out for your situation.

Yes, he's a man who knows his morals. Besides, how would he even know? It would be alright. He said himself that he wouldn't be coming anytime soon.

As you gripped the green and gold knowledge capsule pulsing and flowing with information, you felt so conflicted. The unease was growing, yet you felt so sure that you were meant to do this. Opposing thoughts contrasted each other like fields of flowers flourishing amidst dunes of lifeless sand. It truly nauseated you.

After establishing a connection with it, you felt it. A flash of memories entered into the recesses of your mind. As if two consciousness were merged together to form one single entity, you felt vines and tendrils weaving through your anatomy. Nearly every bit of knowledge you gained was something you already had experienced. Yet it was from a different perspective. Your face, your body, your studies, your smiles, your slumber, your pens, even your perfume.

It was all there, only from a different angle.

For so long, you saw life from the eyes of a feeble mouse. Now, you could see what it was like to view the world from the perspective of a hungry vulture ready to gobble up its prey. You dropped the canned knowledge. You barely heard the thud it made with the flooring, as it was drowned out by all of the thoughts racing through your mind.

Your eyes scattered to the open glass door with the closed screen. The breeze and saltiness of the sea were still there.

It felt so far.

Running to the balcony, you rushed to lock the glass door and fumbled to close the cotton curtains.

"Didn't anyone teach you to clean up after yourself?"

Alhaitham's voice made everything cold. Sharply turning your head, you faced the man who both tormented your life and made it so beautiful. He came back so soon. Too soon.

"Once the Matra knows about this, you will go to prison, Alhaitham, for what you did to me!" Your hands were shaking as you bunched them into fists and furrowed your eyebrows. Tears were threatening to spill at any moment.

He merely crossed his arms. His precise, uptight composure never faltered. "You think the Matra will do anything to me? I'm the Scribe. The right hand of the Grand Sage." He stepped closer to you. “Did you know there once was a Rtawahist student who was so desperate for sleep that they went to Port Ormos and looked for knowledge capsules to help their studies and cure their insomnia? The Matra were never able to track down the culprit." Alhaitham walked closer to you. "However, I think today, that could change. The usage of canned knowledge to gain an advantage over one’s peers in the Akademiya is strictly against the rules." He was always one step ahead of you.

"Is it not?"

Cupping your face and forcing you to look at his darkening eyes, he stared into you, drinking up the way you brimmed with fear. Just how he liked it. Everything was falling into place as calculated. He whispered into your ear. "Think of this as the 'thank you' you said you would give me that day."

Alhaitham embraced you tightly, taking in the exquisite jasmine perfume he gifted you. Trembling in his arms, you felt so small and helpless. Dreams shattered as you thought of everything that you had learned. The stars and wise moon didn't lie to you that night. There's a man who loves you with all his being. There's a man who knows everything about you.

Seeking what is forbidden will always be the downfall of humanity.

Perhaps ignorance truly is bliss.

Thank you so much for reading!!!

(⺣◡⺣)♡*

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