#being the only one to truly know kaveh inside and out telling kaveh is the good ending

[iridescentmirrorsgenshin]

hi! i was thinking about the difference in kaveh’s reaction in a parade of providence’s ending when it is alhaitham vs the traveler telling him about his father with relation to sachin. with traveler, kaveh readily and openly admits that he still feels guilty anyway. with alhaitham, he curiously doesn’t, and I wonder if that’s conscious or unconscious. Does he know, however subconsciously, that alhaitham disagrees with him feeling guilty over his father’s death, or that alhaitham was trying to help him overcome that guilt? but he is not ready to let go of it so he specifically doesn’t mention it to not provoke a discussion and give alhaitham the chance to further show him reasons why he shouldn’t feel guilty? both to avoid being swayed and more arguing about a painful topic… (or maybe he just got distracted by alhaitham’s teasing about ‘thank you’s. or maybe the teasing was alhaitham’s olive branch and a way to go back to their usual banter because he knew the new info was still not enough and kaveh wasn’t ready yet…)

anyway, just wondering about how kaveh, while having no problem discussing delicate and private matters with alhaitham (this conversation, and then when he was homeless at the tavern) presumably because he trusts him and still feels close to him in a familiar way, is very, very careful to not mention his guilt still… could also be trauma after their final thesis argument, maybe?

hiya!! thank you so much for this ask!! HAPPY ONE YEAR TO A PARADE OF PROVIDENCE!! <333

you raise extremely valid and scrummy points, thank you for giving me an opportunity to talk about this event hehehe

i think it's deliberately ambiguous as to kaveh's thinking here, as you've said, with the traveler, kaveh openly admits that although his father's depressive slump after the interdarshan championship and him joining a research project in the desert wasn't directly connected to him, rather it was sachin's influence, kaveh still believes he was the catalyst for this chain of events, and therefore he believes he is still to blame

with alhaitham, however, this mention of guilt is omitted, and kaveh thanks alhaitham for letting him know about 'all this', which reads not only as alhaitham letting kaveh know about sachin's influence over his father, but also as a reference to their discussion about their respective philosophies - with alhaitham concluding that their issue is not who is right or wrong in their approach to life, because as is concluded within this event - 'correctness' is a subjective way of thinking; alhaitham being 'right' about egoism, or kaveh being 'right' about altruism, ultimately doesn't matter, but, to alhaitham, what does matter is sacrificing oneself for the sake of a subjective ideal - this is a fate he does not want for kaveh

the difference in context between the traveller telling kaveh about sachin versus alhaitham, is that kaveh knows that alhaitham is looking into sachin but he doesn't know why alhaitham is specifically interested as he (rightfully) knows that alhaitham isn't interested in nihilism. this contradiction in alhaitham's behaviour is such an issue for kaveh that he repeatedly questions it within the remainder of the event after discovering alhaitham's note, seemingly about sachin, but addressed to kaveh in a language only they know. when the traveller reveals the news to kaveh, this context is removed, and the connection between the discovery and alhaitham is severed. the element of personal has been omitted.

when alhaitham tells kaveh the news, however, kaveh questions why alhaitham is interested in sachin's research, only for alhaitham to tell him that it isn't because of philosophies at all - it's due to sachin's connection to kaveh's father. this is personal. alhaitham is the only one who knows about the source of kaveh's guilt, in comparison to the traveller and paimon, who kaveh evaded confiding in. it's revealed to kaveh here that alhaitham has personally looked into this matter for kaveh's sake - but the question left unanswered is why?

in terms of kaveh's understanding of alhaitham, this is a pretty big deal, since kaveh interprets alhaitham as constantly criticising his ideals and his philosophies (whereas, alhaitham is actually highlighting the detriment of kaveh's pursuit of his ideals). alhaitham openly stating that they have moved on from asserting 'correctness' over each other, and that this isn't the issue, actively prompts the question of what the actual issue is - coupled with this is the impact of alhaitham's actions in this event. alhaitham leaves kaveh a cryptic note about the idealist never being able to accomplish happiness for themselves if they detriment themselves for the sake of achieving happiness for others, which kaveh (rightfully) doesn't understand in relation to sachin. and then alhaitham reveals to kaveh that he looked into his father's disappearance, and kaveh is not the sole instigator as he believes himself to be.

your point about kaveh's guilt never openly being discussed is crucial here i think in terms of subtext. the source of his guilt, being his belief he lead to his father's passing, is questioned by paimon and the traveler, to which kaveh evades telling them. alhaitham is the only person who does know the reason kaveh detriments himself in his altruism, as shown in their argument in their akademiya days. alhaitham looking into sachin must tell kaveh something, but again, it isn't revealed exactly what kaveh thinks, and alhaitham never reveals the reasons why he looked into it, and what he hopes to achieve.

although i think this is more due to narrative reasons, the wounds left from their argument are definitely a factor in this evasion of mentioning kaveh's guilt - a parade of providence deliberately highlights the miscommunication between alhaitham and kaveh, and this is solely due to their past argument. kaveh not mentioning his guilt could be because he doesn't fully understand why alhaitham has looked into this incident for his sake, and alhaitham says nothing more about it because he knows it's still too early for kaveh to process - narratively, i think this is what's at play here

alhaitham teasing him is definitely a way to revert back to their normalcy, however, i also think it serves as a distraction - and it works!! kaveh is relatively cheery in comparison to how upset (as described by paimon) he is when the traveler tells him the news. narratively wise, i think it's a good place to leave it as nothing is inherently confirmed - the potentiality for kaveh and alhaitham separating is eradicated; kaveh and alhaitham continue living with each other, and kaveh is seemingly no longer intent on moving out of alhaitham's house, having thanked alhaitham for his words, rather than finding them 'infuriating'. this is an open ending and gives their narrative arcs freedom to potentially (hopefully) be developed in the future

(from the leaks, i'm going to say that the 'good' ending, or the ending that coincides with the arc that these characters are undertaking, is the ending in which it is alhaitham who tells kaveh of sachin's involvement with his father - i'll have more to say about this at another time!!)

Thank you again for your ask?? Your points were really insightful into their messy little psyches!! Everything you said rings true <333

[anantaru]

DAY 6 — BLOW JOB

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — lyney, kaveh, kaeya, neuvillette

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, oral (male! receiving), deepthroating, spit & cum, petnames used: baby & love, a little praise kink, flustered, love sick men

𖧡 — LYNEY

the heat was emanating the backstage-room from the rawness of your tongue that pillowed the underside of lyney's shaft, his tip almost prodding against your throat and bulging a little lower as your boyfriend tries his thorough best to compose himself, he truly does try, but there is only so much lyney was able to endure and it’s with a flush of roses, that peek of champagne pink on his cheeks, then he lets out a soft, shattered gasp in between, a quiet noise of need as you wrap one hand around his length while sucking on the tip.

he was cornered around your fingertips, smooth skin tickling his thudding cock as he palms his hand around your head, "fuck—" he breathes, rutting into your pace half way with your hand lazily wandering down his balls, cupping them in your palm before massaging him with subdued traces.

"just look at you.." he whispers, indiscernible, "just— ugh, just look on how good you're taking me."

the sight before him was of an obscene variety, and you're slotting yourself perfectly to be on the sight under him, "y-you're so warm." he shivers, relishing in how his cock was messily sliding over your tongue, it's almost embarrassing on how much pre leaked from his slit, and the wetness of your spit didn't help one bit— leaving it to lyney to easily fuck into your mouth, in and out, in and out, desperate for more, but he braces himself, needing it to be you who's doing most of the work.

frankly, his climax will hit him much harder that way, when his precious, alluring angel did everything to make him cum all nicely and satiated. the head of his cock ghosts near your throat when you take another inch, not nearly enough to fit him in completely but the pressure and motivation you required was there, unable to wait for lyney to finally spill his milky whites down your aching throat, it's like he's setting you aflame from inside and out whenever you let him release himself past your plump lips, your eyes roving over his painfully, scrunched up expression when he finally does it.

𖧡 — KAVEH

everything about you was just so intimate and personal, the taste of your tongue kitty licking his tip, or the extended heat of your mouth swallowing him whole was almost enough for kaveh to make him cry— issuing his last, remaining power to halter the crystalline globules to escape and froth down his bristling cheeks.

your tongue, so slick and wet of him cum, explored his cock so that you know he's thoroughly soaked in your spit. you needed this as much as he did, you wanted him to make you feel you in a different kind of way because in your relationship— kaveh was all about giving you his everything, all of him until he sadly tends to forget himself during the process— but your brilliant trace, or your tight lips sealed around his shaft and gulping down messily around his tip to flex your throat around the bulging cockhead was all it took him to enjoy himself.

today is about you, you tend to tell him, destroying every shred of worry inside of the man. 

"so soft," he suddenly breathes, struggling for air , "you—you're so soft." and after a moment gone by, you thought that this just wasn't enough, wrapping your fingers around his shaft before pushing each inch inside, all of them within your mouth now being full and heavy of his cock laying flat on your tongue, digging into the back of your throat.

"aah— what?!" you catch him off guard and he swiftly slants his head down to fix his eyes on you, his hips uncontrollably snapping and fucking your tight throat while you're relaxing your jaw all nicely. you don't even have time to hiccup around his shaft before his hand touches the back of your head, the heavy pressing sucking you in, pulling you back and forth with a mix of your saliva and his salty pre dribbling down the corners of your mouth, over your chin and touching the ground at last.

it's so sinful, kaveh thinks, although the desire of the physical contact makes it hot again.

𖧡 — KAEYA

"are you really sure you can handle all of me, baby?"

kaeya's smirk was always assured to hold you hostage— tugged away in a choke hold, he was so unbelievably sexy that it was difficult to avert your gaze at him, even when he could be a little mean at times.

regardless of such, in this current predicament it was different, because you can easily see how his knees were trembling and threatening to give up on him by how quick you were sucking him off— your pace, a cruel one, the flicks of your tongue setting overstimulating hits on his shaft that kaeya could sense were broadening inside his muscles and spreading.

and just when you were hiccuping around his girth, with your lips beginning to ache at the stretch, he looks down at you as he sees the lingering drunken cloud on your moving facial expression, revealing the underlying emotions of desire burning deep inside your gut.

your mouth has been so good to kaeya, soft and wet as his cockhead kisses its way across your tight throat to pillow inside, just distinctly to nudge on it, slipping his hand around your hair to tilt you back and forth just perfectly.

you knew your safe word and kaeya was always aware when he shouldn't apply too much of his strength on you but your entire body was too focused on this, fusing into the enjoyment it brought you, every muscle taut under the strain of your sloppy mouth soaking him with your spit, tightly strung like the strings of a cello.

"fuck.. angel.." he mutters, the strong pulses his cock set free ring through your tongue as you gaze up at him, glassy eyes right under his mercy, and your mind certainly couldn't find enough words to describe that hot and bothered sight in front of you.

seeing what a mess you were able to set free on kaeya's frame feigning stability when all he wanted to do was pull his cock out of your mouth so he could fuck you right away, the cold ground was quite perfect already, you do not need a bed tonight.

and at the thought, his forehead warms up and wets with his sweat lacing on top as you flex your throat all tight, swallowing the load of his pre before grasping at your saliva.

𖧡 — NEUVILLETTE

"do not move, okay?" you order in a dizzying breath, steadfast glare holding neuvillette's as you're working your thumb gently to stroke his cheekbone— "you're stunning." you say, and those intriguing eyes of his when you drop to your knees whilst being hidden behind the desk of his office.

"you haven't seen yourself then, my love." he implores, "the way i see you." and his voice was wavering slightly, but it's quite stirring when you hum appreciatively, neuvillette gulps down the batched saliva in his mouth before helping you release himself off his pants— barely pushing them down, just so they could bundle up over his strong thighs. he's never done anything of that sort before and the thought of you making love to him in such new way only added fuel to his want.

he shuts his eyes and leans back into his chair when you glide your tongue over the sensitive skin for the very first time, the sloppy sound of it unable to prevent himself into pressing up into the strange sensation. the man gasps and coughs when you take his tip, eyes fluttering down to watch you suckle on his length but closing them right after of sheer embarrassment.

fuck, it feels so good, how you're sucking gently, and he attempts to still his hips to let you take the lead, lightly arching his back into your mouth to make it as comfortable as possible.

one more inch, and more, you're for certain that there wasn't a way for you to possibly fit all of him in your mouth, and his cock was twitching against your tongue as you almost airily giggle out at how easily he was to get into this state— especially the shakes and shudders of his legs, still struggling for air as you scratch over his half-clothed thighs, blunt nails roaming up and down his muscular body, messing him up beyond salvation.

he's done for, because he knows exactly what you're doing to him as he raises his hips into your wet mouth, feeling how his cock was pressing against your skin and imbedding his musky scent on top of you, a long, expanding length of warmth and need challenging the the iudex of fontaine.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[yandere-sins]

Prisoner #006

a/n: A spin on the usual yandere situation, but this story has been sitting in my drafts for a while, I think it's time to release it ^^

Fandom: Genshin Impact Characters: Yandere!Prisoner!GN!Reader x Prisoner!Kaveh Warnings: Yandere, Violence (Reader is being psycho, lost of mentioning of murder and death, Reader stabs someone... a few times, Scratching, Intimidation, Threats, Cornering and intruding on personal space), Long Post

[Prison Project Introduction | Pinterest Moodboard]

Kaveh should have been afraid.

Deep down, he believed he wasn't as stupid and gullible as everyone made him out to be, and yet, he sat still as you drew meaningless little patterns into his skin. The stolen pen scratched over his arm, leaving the area next to the ink red and agitated, but he didn't have it in him to tell you to stop.

You've been a depressed mess since you came to prison, not your typical murderer behind bars. He'd been dealing with a lot of them, and if they weren't the psychotic type, they were haughty and always up for cruel jokes.

But not you. You were... peaceful.

Even when you cried and begged him not to hurt you after you've been brought to his cell despite his protests, the air around you was calm. Unlike the storm of personalities outside the bars of your cell, Kaveh actually managed to think in peace when he was around you. He had learned to navigate and time his way around the prison. Still, with the ruckus and disgusting things happening in the shadowy corners, there was never any space for him to let go and relax for a while—until he met you.

The knowledge about your prolific murders should have upset him enough to keep his distance, but you reminded him too much of himself when he first came here. Scared and unable to go anywhere without being harassed by the others. You clung to him desperately when he told you to tag along to the cafeteria on your first night, and you still asked him to go to the washrooms with you for safety. Kaveh couldn't blame you for being scared. It was a scary world, outside and inside of this prison.

So even though he knew about your wrong-doings, he let you scribble your marks on him in ink. You were humming a song he hadn't heard before, your mind in your own world as you left butterfly wings and flower petals on his skin, and Kaveh honestly had no complaints. Coming here, art had become sparse around him, the radio rarely running, the TV filled with sports but never dancing or acting. The paintings on the walls leading to the facilities were, frankly, hideous copies of capitalistic emphasis, and the prison layout was a smack in the face of any architect.

And then there was you. Not a Picasso per definition, but you drew the patterns effortlessly, unbothered by pressure to perform and perfectionism. Every stroke of the ballpoint pen was all you, not a style you worked to learn or something you copied from another artist. It was all and truly just you. Kaveh had no idea how much he could admire someone—even someone as terrible as you. But he did.

"Let's leave from here. Together."

The words slipped from his lips before he could even think about them. Alhaitham's plan of escaping was still fresh, depending on some hacker he met in this prison, and Kaveh should have never talked about it so casually. He couldn't promise it, couldn't say it would actually work. But when you stopped scribbling, he realized his mistake, looking up at you in horror over his own blabbermouth.

Only to be met with tears streaming from your eyes.

"You'd take me with you? After all I've done?" you mumbled, rubbing the back of your hand over your eyes.

"You... you didn't do it to me. We could start over, somewhere new. Somewhere no one knows our faces and just... live. Quietly and unknown. Only if you want to come... with me."

For a long moment, you stared at him. Unblinking, unreadable. Your arms were thrown forward, wrapping around his neck before your whole body jumped into his lap, discarding the pen and leaving it to clatter on the floor. "Yes!" you agreed euphorically, smiling from ear to ear.

Kaveh felt the heat rush into his face, happiness prickling in the corners of his eyes as he hugged you back. It almost felt like you agreed to marry him, rather than just join him on the escape. But he knew then that he'd work hard to become the man you needed in the future. Someone reliable, someone who could provide you with a life that wouldn't need you killing anybody anymore. So that the dream of you two living together in peace could become reality.

«──────── 🗡♡ ︎𓍝 ────────»

Kaveh should have been afraid.

Deep down, he was as stupid and gullible as everyone told him. He believed that you could turn over a new leaf. Running away with you could become a new start, different from the pitiful life you two had. That the two of you could live away from cruelty and bloodshed, in peace and quiet and togetherness.

And yet, he was staring down at the cold-blooded killer he fell in love with. Whose trap had been placed so subtly that Kaveh ran right into it. He didn't even know you had a knife ready on the day of your escape, and there was no one left—alive—aside from you two to turn to. Everyone who had fled had spread into different directions, and now it was only him and you and the dead corpses of the police that had caught up to you.

It was his fault, entirely so. They might have survived this encounter if he hadn't gotten close to you and you hadn't been convinced to run away with him. Had he not gotten himself caught, maybe you wouldn't have turned back to help him and had kept running instead, far, far away. Perhaps you wouldn't have pulled out your blade and killed these innocent men who were only doing their job to keep unruly people away from society. That kept psychos like you away from more victims to massacre.

"[Name]..." Kaveh stammered, not believing his own, wide-open eyes. The hand he was holding out towards you was shaking violently as he watched you slam the knife into the policeman's back again and again, blood spraying all over you and the squelching sound of flesh being stabbed echoing through the forest. Somehow, he had gotten back on his feet after being tackled to the ground. However, now that he had to watch you defend him so violently, Kaveh wished he had stayed face-down in the dirt.

"GET YOUR HAND OFF HIM! HE'S MINE!" you kept yelling at the dead body, and Kaveh couldn't help but feel pity for the guy as you mauled him. "YOU CAN'T HAVE HIM! HE BELONGS TO ME! HE'S MINE! MINE!"

Your voice was a screech in the dark, possessiveness thrumming in every word you screamed. Even if you two had grown closer the last few days, Kaveh couldn't understand your thoughts. Although you had protected him, seeing the blood drip off you in the moonlight only sent shivers down his spine rather than thankfulness. And where he felt a crush bloom in his heart before, there was nothing but terror and disgust left.

"[Name]--" he tried again, this time a little firmer as he grabbed your shoulder.

Instantly, you whirled around, fury and madness in your eyes. The bloody blade swiped up his arms, cutting up the beautifully drawn pattern left by you. Kaveh knew it was just an accident, but he couldn't help but yell, "Ow!" holding his own arm firmly against his chest as he stared at you fearfully. Stumbling back, he tripped over a root, the pain of collapsing to the ground shaking him, but fear forced him to keep watching you. What if he was your next victim? Nothing about you screamed trustworthy, and yet, when you came to your senses, you changed completely.

Suddenly, your body went slack, eyes swelling up with tears as you looked at him. "Kaveh!" you sobbed, the knife falling to the ground as you stumbled to your feet, knees buckling so you collapsed into the dirt before him. You stretched out your arms, but this time, Kaveh managed to jerk away, avoiding your blood-soaked hug.

However, you were just a little faster than him. A little more alert. You managed to grab the wounded arm, your tears stinging as they fell into his wound. Leaning over his limb, you cried bitterly, but Kaveh couldn't help but try and tug his arm from your hands. Immediately, your crying stopped, fingers clawing into your skin as he tried to get you off him—no success.

"You can't leave me!" you sobbed, looking up with tears in your eyes. Manipulative tears, as Kaveh began to realize, the reality starting to dawn on him. "I love you! We'll have a life together! We'll go somewhere no one knows us! I won't kill again, I promise! I just didn't want them to hurt you... I wanted them to leave you alone! I won't do it again, I can be harmless, I promise!"

His gut wrenched, hearing you throw his words back at him. Now knowing how easy it was for you to end someone's life, how much of a crazy person you really were, it felt like he was the one that had been gutted. Maybe everything would be fine this time, but Kaveh couldn't justify it with himself to find out. Your hands were already so bloody; no trying to pretend you were normal was going to wash away your sins. At least he never killed someone. He couldn't imagine someone doing it as easily as you had, not even thinking twice before attacking.

"N-No..." he stammered, unable to put all these feelings into words.

"No?" you repeated, the tears stopping suddenly. "What do you mean 'no'? I saved you, didn't I? Without me, you'd be the dead one!"

Your tone changed so quickly that it scared him to the bone. The fire started back up in your eyes as you glared at him. Kaveh felt your nails dig into his arm, tearing apart layers of skin as your anger turned towards him.

"You won't leave me! You can't leave me!"

With your voice raising back into screeching, Kaveh shuddered, eyeing the knife that laid out of reach. You didn't need it, your nails cutting into his flesh just as painfully. Fear was mangling every muscle in his body, making them tense and tainting his judgment.

"O-okay," he stuttered out, and immediately, the pressure vanished. Your shoulders slacked, and a smile crept back on your lips as you whispered, "Thank god..."

You hunched over his wounded arm, now punctured by your nails and the cut starting to dry up. The next thing Kaveh felt was wetness wiping over his wounds, your tongue lapping off the blood that stained him, whether it was his or the one dripping from you.

"I love you," you mumbled while licking. "I love you, Kaveh. You're so nice, so sweet. You're perfect, and you're mine. All mine. Kaveh, Kaveh, Kaveh..."

Looking down at the unsightly view before him, Kaveh couldn't help but pity himself. Had he known what he got himself into, could he have prevented this? Which version of you had been the real one, and had you pretended to be sweet and shy, tricking him into this all this time? Or was it real? So many questions and so few answers. All he could think of was how he had been scammed yet again as he watched the ink smear from your licking, the beautifully drawn butterflies vanishing alongside those in his belly, all of them dropping dead.

And now, Kaveh was afraid.

[bubbles-lounge]

YANDERE ALHAITHAM AND YANDERE KAVEH

Situation for the fic: Alhaitham used to date you but turns out that asshole only wanted your status and the knowledge your family contains! At least his roommate is sweet...

It has been years since you dated alhaitham and your over him(still mad he had such guts to use you like that though).

But never did you think Kaveh, his roommate, was an angel!

He helped you out when you were stuck on something, he comforted you when you were upset and he never left you alone or used you! He truly was amazing.

~Current time~

You were heading to Kavehs shared house.... You never really want to see alhaitham again to be honest but hey! It's for kaveh.

Knocking at the door waiting for kaveh to answer... Only to see alhaitham standing there eyes widened.

Why did he have to answer!? AHHHHH ARCHONS DAMN IT!

You smiled awkwardly as alhaitham states at you..

"Why are you here? I told yo-"

"Shut it alhaitham I'm here for kaveh. Now is he here or no? "

Why was he so self centered?!

"Not yet.... You can wait inside I guess.... "

You simply glared at him and walked to the room kaveh said was his.

Honestly you couldn't believe that prick, alhaitham, had the nerve to think after all these years you were still in love with him!?

~all while you were rambling on about alhaitham being an ass(his professtion)~

Alhaitham was pissed.

He didn't know why though but oh dear archons did he want to kill kaveh.

Did you really stoop that low!? Please he woul-.....

Right he ditch you... WHY DID HE CARE SO MUCH AFTER ALL THESE YEARS!?

It's not like you and kaveh are dating... Right?

~back to the wonderful stunning you.~

When is kaveh getting here!?

He bette-

"Hey y/n! "

"Damn about time you showed up! You could have told me you wouldn't be here yet... I was left in the doorway talking to that self-centered prick of a roommate you have! "

"Oh I see.... Sorry. Ill have a chat with him later..."

"Ok whatever let's get on with this. "

As you two get on with the studying you two were doing (study date intended by Kaveh~) You both agreed to get something to eat! But would you look at that Alhaitham just shows up!

"Hey umm kaveh I'm going to get some food ok! " you quickly sped off.

~while you are getting food~

"What's wrong Alhaitham, Jealous~" Alhaitham just glared at Kaveh wanting to wipe that smirk of his face!

"Why would I be? "

"Cause we both know you fell in love with her once you left her~"

Alhaitham grabbed Kavehs collar,

"I swear to the archons abo-"

"ALHAITHAM WHAT THE FVCK ARE YOU DOING TO KAVEH! "

As both their heads shot to you and alhaitham eyes widened as he dropped kaveh, kaveh ran up to you and hugged you Babberling random nonsense into your shoulder(maliputive bitch😃).

"Hey kaveh it's ok! What the hell is wrong with you Alhaitham! "

You quickly grabbed Kavehs hand as you comforted him and walk off...

~With out proffetional asshole(Alhaitham)~

That fvcker Kaveh!

How could she not see how he was Mulipulating her!

That's why I should protect her, I'm the only one who won't use her... At least any more....

I'll have a chat with Kaveh!

~Time skip brought to you by your author being lazy as fvck~

You had to eventually leave as it was getting rather late. As you headed out of the door you swore you could see Alhaitham staring at you but it wasn't in hatred or annoyance.. No it wasn't...you just rubbed it off though probably your imagination.

You headed home your roommate cyno greets you.

"Hey y/n!"

You simply waved back with a simple as something came to you mind...

you forget your notes at Kavehs house!

You quickly tell cyno as you run over to Kavehs house.

Walking to the front door you heard arguing... Of course you wouldnt usually do this but you were curious... So you stood there and listened to Kavehs and Alhaitham...argument

~With Kaveh and Alhaitham~

Noww Alhaitham why so mad~? Upset that I'm so close to being able to date y/n~?

KAVEH SHUT UP THEY HAVE HIGHER STANDARDS THEN THAT! THEY WOULD RATHER DARE ME!

Even after you used them~? I'm sorry Alhaitham but I win~. They. Are. Mine.

NOT IF I KILL YOU FIRST KAVEH!

Alhaitham grabbed a knife (from fvck knows where) as he pointed it at Kaveh.

Oh so your not kidding? Ok then let's go....

~With the beautiful stunning you~

What!?

They were fvcking crazy!

You cared for Kaveh though.... Alhaitham was an asshole but he doesn't deserve this!

(He does for doing that to such a beauty but for plot reasons your extremely kind)

You decided to.....

Thank you for reading this!

I shall be making 4 maybe 5 endings!

There are:

1 you decide to save Kaveh and you end up with him

2 you save alhaitham and end up with him

3 you don't see them as they are both crazy and run away parking up and running but a special yandere takes you and claims you as their own.

4 is same as 3 but no special yandere getting to you and claiming you.

Possible 5 is that you save Kaveh but they end up sharing you.

What ending first?

Sorry if it seems short❤

(My cat keeps biting meeeee🥲)

Have a wonderful day/night

Remember your fvcking wonderful and stunning<33

@mis-disaster @wite-sno-flik @pocarinapyon @moonlilliesinthegarden @mizukiimorse for the support<33

[lumiellle]

Haikavember Day 5: Heat 🔞

Kaveh is burning up. Everything is blazing hot: From the blasted summer heat streaming in freely from the open window to the fabric of the sheets rubbing against his naked body, from Alhaitham’s breath stirring the hair on Kaveh’s neck to the searing sensation of his hand sliding down low over the swell of his ass. Kaveh feels like pure pyro essence is circulating through his system.

Alhaitham drags his lips along Kaveh’s shoulder, leaving wet kisses in his wake. His hand, which had finally, finally come close to where Kaveh desperately wanted it, instead of dipping between his cheeks, slides around to his front, fingers trailing through the coarse hair below his navel. Kaveh bites out a low groan.

“Haitham, it’s been half an hour. Can we get on with it already? Please?”

He usually holds the word ‘please’ back until he absolutely needs to use it, knowing full well how much Alhaitham likes it when he begs, but he’s not about to put himself through another thirty minutes of painfully drawn-out foreplay—not when he’s so hard it’s starting to get uncomfortable, and definitely not when he can clearly feel Alhaitham’s erection digging into his hip, precome smeared across the small of Kaveh’s back.

“Patience is a virtue,” Alhaitham murmurs, the scrape of his teeth against Kaveh’s skin electrifying. “You should know that, senior. Besides, we’ve both got tomorrow off, so I want to take my time today.”

Kaveh holds back a moan when Alhaitham’s hand dips lower, teasing along the inside of his thigh. “I’d like to see your face next time you’re the one begging for me to just fuck you and all I’ll do is tease you for an hour,” he bites out.

He feels Alhaitham’s chest vibrate against his back as he lets out a breathy moan. “What an enticing…proposal. Though I’m afraid you wouldn’t last,” he says against Kaveh’s sweaty skin while he grinds against him from behind.

Kaveh scoffs. “Don’t project your own issues onto me. I have plenty of stamina, which you know better than anyone else, but it’s not about that. Doesn’t it—” Kaveh shivers when Alhaitham’s fingers start to travel again, inching towards his entrance. “Doesn’t it mean anything to you that I’m telling you I want you inside me right now?” Kaveh grinds back against Alhaitham to drive his point home, which elicits another delicious moan.

“Well, what about me? Does it mean nothing to you that I want to make it last?” Alhaitham counters. It makes Kaveh’s skin crawl in the best way possible.

“We can just go multiple rounds if it’s about that. Please?” Kaveh tries again, craning his neck back to look at Alhaitham. Curls of Alhaitham’s silver hair stick to his sweaty forehead, making him look just as wrecked as Kaveh feels. His eyes are dark, his lips parted. Kaveh doubts he truly means to drag this out any longer, because he looks like he’s on the brink of losing control over himself.

“Haitham, please,” Kaveh pleads, and he can tell he’s finally gotten through to him, because after this it takes only a second for his eyes to flutter shut and a groan to leave Alhaitham’s mouth—and then he’s kissing him.

It’s a messy kiss, all teeth and tongue, but Kaveh drinks it all in, knowing he’s won. A string of spit keeps them connected for a split second when they part.

Kaveh wipes his mouth, listening intently to the rustle of the sheets as Alhaitham finally twists his body to retrieve the oil from the nightstand. He hears the telltale sound of the lid being unscrewed, and then Alhaitham is back, a wall of heat against Kaveh’s back.

“I’m going to touch you now,” Alhaitham says quietly, as if Kaveh needed the heads-up. Kaveh nods wordlessly, wiggling his hips as a sign for him to get on with it. When Alhaitham finally circles a finger around Kaveh’s hole Kaveh jumps—the oil is hot to the touch.

Or, well, it’s not really hot, but it’s not the cool sensation Kaveh expected either. It’s warm, but the longer he stays in contact with it the more the warmth seems to spread. “You—you grabbed the warming jelly,” he gasps.

They’d bought it a while back, so Kaveh had almost forgotten they had it at all. He doesn’t remember it feeling this intense.

“Is it uncomfortable?” Alhaitham asks, his finger stilling.

“N-no, keep going,” Kaveh says. “It’s good.”

Alhaitham presses a kiss to Kaveh’s shoulder and continues. When he slowly presses a finger inside, Kaveh thinks he’s going to burst. He must be overheating, because it definitely didn’t feel this good the first time they used it. It makes him feel like his insides are on fire, but it’s not the stinging sort of heat one might expect. It’s velvety somehow, and it makes him crave more.

Alhaitham adds a second finger, gently stretching him open before starting up a leisurely rhythm of in-and-out. He breathes harshly against Kaveh’s neck while he fingers him, stoking heat in Kaveh’s gut. The damned jelly is making everything feel so intense.

“H-hurry up,” Kaveh gasps, pushing himself down onto Alhaitham’s fingers, forcing them deeper. “At this rate I’m really not gonna last—oh, yes—” Alhaitham’s fingers brush against Kaveh’s prostate, sending intense pleasure through his lower half. Flames coil in Kaveh’s belly, heat mounting, sweat seeping into the sheets as he writhes in his lover’s embrace.

“How does it feel?” Alhaitham’s voice comes out breathless and raspy, but his fingers keep stroking along Kaveh’s most sensitive spot with scary accuracy. Kaveh isn’t sure he ever answers the question; he doesn’t have words to describe the way everything feels hot to the touch when he shouldn’t be feeling it this intensely with the high temperatures surrounding them already. He cries out Alhaitham’s name and then half an attempt at something that should have been a warning, but it’s too late. Kaveh comes with a choked moan, come shooting off the edge of the bed and onto the floor.

Alhaitham works him through it for another few strokes before pulling his fingers out. He’s breathing heavily into the crook of Kaveh’s neck, and it isn’t until some of the fog muddling Kaveh’s brain lifts that he notices something sticky and hot running down his back.

“Did you…” he starts, but Alhaitham cuts him off with a sloppy kiss.

Kaveh's head spins, a laugh working its way up his throat. “What was that,” he starts, “about making it last?”

Alhaitham groans, face smushed against Kaveh’s shoulder blade. He mumbles something into his skin, but it’s unintelligible.

“What was that?”

“I said,” Alhaitham huffs, leaning up over Kaveh’s shoulder to look him in the eye, “I wasn’t done with you yet.”

“I’ll hold you to that, then,” Kaveh replies. He pushes Alhaitham back into the sheets and rolls on top of him, careful not to rub against him while he’s still sensitive.

“Give me five minutes,” Alhaitham says with a lopsided smile on his lips, his hands settling on Kaveh’s back.

“Mh.”

Alhaitham kisses him—slowly, sweetly this time. A different sort of heat spreads throughout Kaveh’s body when Alhaitham kisses him like this—like he’ll never let him go again.

The humid heat of the Sumeran summer fades into the background as they start to fan the flames of passion for a second time that night.

[writing-badger]

The Drifter and the Stationary One

Pairing: Al-Haitham x Cyno

Summary:

The Mausoleum of King Deshret is a shrine to the dead; haunted by the mistakes of a man driven into madness. Only the dead linger there, waiting for the end of time to finally relieve them from their duty. At least, that's what the scholars who reside in Sumeru City are told.

After being exiled after a failed coup, Al-Haitham finds himself wandering into the abandoned mausoleum and inadvertently stumbling across something that he had never expected.

"Genre": Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting

Word Count: 3,946

Warnings: None

Ao3 Link

You and I are different. I'm a drifter; you're stationary. That's what it boils down to. When you're incompatible, you can't live together. You should know this. 

- Atsuko Asano, No. 6 (Volume 9)

~ ~ ~

It is often difficult to find beauty in dangerous things; fear manipulating the beautiful into the revolting. What was once a source of comfort can quickly become an intolerable nightmare, threatening to consume everything it touches. 

 It's a survival tactic; nothing more, nothing less. 

 Human perception has very little effect on physical reality outside of itself. A spider is a spider, no matter how much a certain roommate claims that it is some incomprehensible abomination. The Akasha is simply a system, not the replacement for a supposedly absent archon that the sages keep claiming it to be. 

 No matter how much Al-Haitham rationalises it, however, he can't shake the revulsion he feels when he thinks about Sumeru City. In all the ways he knows it, the city is the same now as it was when he was a child... and perhaps that is what causes him the greatest discomfort. The idea that, if only a few weeks ago, you had asked him to describe the city he calls home, he would have called it one of the most beautiful places in Teyvat makes him nauseous. 

 Sure, his reasonings would have differed from his roommate who would have pointed to the architecture, or his colleagues who would have focused on the views offered by the lush landscape. Al-Haitham would have looked to the countless books which line the House of Daena, or dwelt on how his home always has a warm glow emanating from deep inside. If he had been in a particularly sentimental mood, he may have even gestured to the divine tree which caresses the sky, or the crystal waters which lap at the harbour. 

 But the root of the problem is still there, buried underneath a fanciful illusion that there was ever beauty to be found there. 

 Now the very thought of the place sends a shiver running down his spine. He can only see Sumeru for what it truly is; a façade to hide the self-absorbed arrogance of the sages who yearned to become more than what they ever deserved to be. Even the divine tree, once a shelter from the roughest storms, ended up holding a prison for an archon who was never given a chance to grow.

 Is it possible for something so corrupt to ever be beautiful? How could the word even hold meaning when it is so loosely used and so easily defiled?

 These would be the types of discussions he would roll around in his head, sometimes seeking the opinions of others be them from the scribbled ravings of scholars from long ago, or from Kaveh’s impassioned ramblings about the most recent infringement on his artistic sensibilities. They would inform him of his own opinions, adding depth to his understanding, and anchoring his thoughts. 

 All he has left is desert which spreads out in front of him. The only sound which breaks through his thoughts is the sand-dusted wind, whispering in an illegible tongue. Small grains sneak under his clothes and bite into any exposed skin they can find.

 It irritates his skin, but he presses onwards. 

 There’s no telling how far he would have to go to escape the shadowy claws of the Akademiya. 

 The desert is the only place where he can have at least some guarantee of safety, with the Traveler pointing him to the Mausoleum of King Deshret. Apparently, they had opened up a path through the previously inaccessible temple, one that no scholar would be able to set foot in thanks to a copious amount of red tape.

 Perhaps, he muses to himself, that is one of the few advantages of his self-banishment. The laws of the Akademiya now hold little meaning to him. And with nothing to hold him back, a once muted curiosity begins to stir under his skin. 

~ ~ ~

From the instant he crosses over the threshold, Al-Haitham feels a chill sweep over his body, wiping away all traces of the scorching sun. Only the sand clinging to his skin remains. He readjusts his cloak, rubbing the exposed parts of his arms in an attempt to smooth the goosebumps which cover his skin. His attempts prove futile, however, as the unsettling sensation only becomes more prominent. 

 In an effort to distract himself, he begins working through the Akademiya's protocol for entering unexplored ruins. It's exceedingly long and mostly pointless. Still, it makes him feel a little more sure of himself; rooting his thoughts back to reality. 

 Since there are no immediate traces of activity, it’s likely that Al-Haitham is the only one wandering the mausoleum aside from the remnants of Deshret’s technology which sluggishly continue their endless patrol. It doesn’t necessarily mean that he is safe, but it is a damn sight better than wandering aimlessly in the desert.

 The Traveler claimed that there would be a vast network of barely explored hallways beneath his feet although Paimon had been quick to warn him of the primal constructs. Her attempts to mimic the machines had almost been enough to bring a small smile to his face. It was the best she could do to try and alleviate the consequences of their failure to usurp Grand Sage Azar. 

 The others tried to play it off, sharing responsibility and placing the blame at Azar’s feet. Dehya spent their last hour together cursing the man’s name while Candace sat next to her, sometimes brushing her partner’s arm in an attempt to calm her down. Nilou was still in Sumeru City, rallying all those she could, smuggling out updates whenever she could for the desert-based group. Tighnari had returned to Gandharva Ville in order to recover from his inures, but promised to help the second he felt able to. Al-Haitham knows that the blame lies at his feet. All he can do is put his trust in them now, leaving them with as detailed of a plan as he could conjure in the short time he had before his escape.

 Placing his trust in others, however, is something far easier said than done. He finds himself wondering if the Traveler was going to abandon him in the mausoleum, to add him to the collection of forgotten souls consumed by the desert. It’s a silly thought, one he acknowledges as nonsense, yet his mind still toys with it.

 Usually, he would turn up the volume of the music that plays through his headphones, but they ran out of power a couple of hours ago. If he's lucky, he might be able to repurpose one of the non-functioning constructs which litter the halls to become a makeshift battery. Some must have been taken out by the Traveller, based on the scratches which cover their metal coats. Others appear to have simply stopped working, perhaps giving up or running out of power.

 For a moment, Al-Haitham wonders what they must have looked like when they were first built, diligently guarding a near-empty Mausoleum.  

 They wouldn’t have been lonely, being machines created for a rather singular purpose, yet there is something rather… Al-Haitham can’t quite find the right word to describe the sensation in his chest as he thinks about it a little too hard. He can feel the vestiges of Kaveh lingering in the sentiment, perhaps born from one too many rambling speeches about Mehrak and the Akademiya’s callous approach to machinery. To be condemned to a fate that they had no control over, patrolling the halls until they grind to a halt, it doesn’t sit right with him. Those were the words he had used and Al-Haitham finds himself agreeing with them.

 Shaking these thoughts from his mind, he finds himself at a crossroads.

 Ahead is what he assumes to be the central chamber, a place where all of King Deseret’s wealth would have been hoarded. It would certainly be a spectacular sight although Al-Haitham isn’t the type of man to be impressed by gold. To his left and right are doors, leading to some other chambers which could be filled with who knows what treasures. What stands out most to him, however, is an elevator pad which is almost inconspicuous save for the dull blue button which juts out from the floor. While it would appear to not have any power, he can spot recent disturbances around the edge which means it’s been used recently. The Traveller hadn’t mentioned any underground passageways, which makes him wonder if someone else had dared to step foot in the Mausoleum. It piques his curiosity enough and, with a little bit of tinkering, he manages to get it working again.  

 The lower levels of the Mausoleum are far less well-kept than the upper level. Sand pools in the corners, wild fungi pop out every couple of metres, and the walls are marked by deep scratch marks. If he had to compare them to something, he would say that they resembled claw marks before immediately pointing out how foolish of a comparison that is. The only beings that would be capable of making such damage, in Sumeru at least, would be the consecrated beasts and, even then, they would lack the power to cut through stone.  

 It would be wise to proceed with caution, he ends up deciding. The last thing he needs is to inadvertently piss off whatever creature calls the mausoleum its home.

 The thought of returning to the safety of the upper Mausoleum never once crosses Al-Haitham's mind. 

~ ~ ~

There are dangerous creatures that scour the Mausoleum of King Deshret, some more so than others. It’s something that Al-Haitham is aware of, but he had no idea how much danger he was in until he came across a room that he suspects lies directly underneath the grand gallery. 

 It was probably once a subterranean chamber. Nowadays, the crumbling of its walls means that twisting roots have invaded it. The natural world, so opposed to the technology that King Deshret had once pioneered, entangles itself with the deactivated constructs. It's difficult to tell what its original purpose was. He only manages to light a small handful of torches with the equipment he has on him. 

 Al-Haitham would have spent time trying to light the room properly, but his attention is drawn to a pile of consecrated beasts that sits in the centre of the room. Each one has been torn to pieces, deep wounds marking any flesh that hasn’t been torn away from the bodies. Serpents, scorpions, and vultures make up most of the corpses, but he can spot the remains of a few crocodiles towards the base of the pile. With such a mix of elements, Al-Haitham is aware that his dendro vision may end up being of little use if he ends up confronting whatever was able to tear through the monsters as if they were little more than paper. 

 He's aware that there are two options for him. 

 The first would be to return the way he came, heading back towards the elevator and hoping that he doesn't run into whatever caused this carnage. The second would have been to try one of the other doors which line the hallway. If he had the time to think about it, he would have chosen the former. His curiosity may have been riled up, but he has the self-awareness to know when he is completely outpowered.

 Unfortunately, before he had been given the chance to consider his next course of action, his skin begins to prickle. Following it, the hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand up, accompanied by a faint whiff of ozone. It’s such a crisp smell that it cuts through the stagnant air of the mausoleum and almost makes Al-Haitham feel like he is outside, waiting for an oncoming storm. 

 The vision clinging to his cape glows in warning as he summons his weapons, knowing that he stands little chance without them. As he begins to slowly back up against one of the crumbling walls, his eyes darting around in an attempt to prevent an ambush, the faint sound of crackling electricity fills his ears.  

 “You should not have come here,” a low voice warns, drifting through the room with the same enrapturing energy as rolling thunder.

 Al-Haitham turns his eyes to the chamber’s entrance just as a purple glow begins emanating from the once-dark corridor. He starts to move toward the most collapsed area of the wall, thinking that he might be able to make a quick escape to whatever underground cavern the underground chamber intrudes upon.

 There are no distinguishable sounds, most being buried under the sound of crackling electricity, for him to be able to figure out how close the threat is. Instead, he finds himself relying on his instincts. The only reassurance he has is that the voice sounds remarkably human, perhaps giving him a chance to reason his way out of trouble. For now, he decides to keep his mouth firmly shut.

 “This is not a place for the living.”

 It’s closer now, and Al-Haitham readies himself in response. His ears ring in warning, drowning out the crackling sound and making it even more difficult to concentrate on the entrance. Then it falls silent, the thunder disappearing which leaves only the lightning to strike its target. 

 The room is plunged into darkness, the torches lining the chamber blowing out in an instant. It disorients the scribe, but not enough to completely dull his instincts as the ozone smell gets stronger. 

 Without wasting a single second, Al-Haitham launches himself towards the door; dodging a flash of lightning which lands where he had just been standing. The impact is so solid that the reverberations shake the ground, dislodging sand from overhead, and crumbling the wall he had previously had his back to. Stifling the burning urge to turn around, Al-Haitham keeps moving forward, managing to dodge a couple more strikes as he goes. 

 Based on his estimations there should only be a couple of metres left to the elevator, but he doesn’t make it.

 Claws latch onto his shoulder, piercing his skin as he is dragged backwards, spun around, and pinned against the wall. The impact of his head against stone sends a sharp pain shooting through his body, his eyes screwing shut in response.

 “Who are you?”

 The voice is so close that Al-Haitham can feel the words brush against his skin as whatever it is on his shoulder tightens its grip. He knows that he should look his attacker in the eye, otherwise, he risks looking weak, but he feels something he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

 Fear. 

 No part of his body seems to be doing what he wants it to. His eyes won’t open, his breathing won’t steady itself, and his heartbeat is so loud that he can barely think. He knows that he could die in an instant, and no one would know where he went. 

 “There is no bravery to be found in death,” his captor says as if Al-Haitham isn’t already acutely aware of this. 

 The thing seems to scoff at the lack of response, loosening its clawed grip on Al-Haitham’s shoulder as the sound of crackling subsides. For a moment, he finds himself able to breathe when a more human hand wraps around his neck and lifts him up, raising him off the ground. His feet swing limply in the air, not even trying to kick his attacker.

 “Open your eyes,” the voice orders and Al-Haitham obeys immediately. 

 If he hadn’t already been struggling to breathe, Al-Haitham is certain that the sight in front of him would have knocked the air out of his lungs. 

 Rather than a monster towering over him, he finds himself staring down at a shorter man. White hair flows down from a jackal-shaped headpiece, and red eyes stare up at him, narrowed in warning. Al-Haitham can’t be sure whether it is fear, adrenaline, or some unknown feeling that stirs within him, but he feels like he is falling. 

 “I will only ask once more, who are you?” 

 The man loosens his grip briefly, allowing Al-Haitham to take a choking breath in. 

 “A lost scribe,” Al-Haitham struggles to answer, bowing to the implicit authority that the other holds but cryptic enough to maintain a sliver of control. 

 “I’ve known many scribes,” the man’s eyes are cold, “and they’ve always had a name.”

 “Al-Haitham,” he cedes. 

 “Scribe Al-Haitham, you must leave this place.”

 If it wasn’t for the precarious position Al-Haitham finds himself in, he would have made a snarky comment about his attacker not knowing the meaning of the word ‘lost’. Instead, he settles on a far deadlier response.

 “A name given deserves one in return.”

 The man frowns, his grip remaining loose, but Al-Haitham doesn’t move. 

 “Cyno.”

 “That’s it?”

 “You expected more?” 

 The muted surprise in Cyno’s tone doesn’t go unnoticed. 

 “Well, I figured you would have a title,” Al-Haitham clarifies. 

 “Most would call me ‘Monster’,” Cyno says, fully releasing Al-Haitham who collapses to his knees and his hand shoots to his throat. He doesn’t need a mirror to know that bruises are already forming where the man’s hand had once been. Cyno, for his part, considers his words for a moment before adding, “I suppose, before that, it would have been something akin to General.”

 As Al-Haitham steadies his breathing, he finds himself looking up at Cyno and wonders how anyone could dare call the man a monster. Everything about him is as close to ethereal as you could get, from his piercing eyes to his overwhelming strength. He hesitates when the word he should use graces his tongue, stung by it one too many times, but there is nothing else that fits. 

 Beautiful. 

 Cyno looks so very beautiful. 

~ ~ ~

Al-Haitham was quick to tell Cyno his story, detailing the events that led to him wandering the desert in search of shelter. He spins a tale of a traveler, mercenary, leader, and dancer who are putting their lives on the line to save an archon. He mentions a forest ranger in Gandharva Ville, and sprinkles in some other things that may be interesting. He complains about a hapless architect, and an overbearing professor who is far too passionate for her own good, sharing a couple of anecdotes to illustrate his points.

 Cyno, for his part, simply listens. At points, Al-Haitham is certain he has transformed into a statue with how still he could be. Not even the slightest muscle twitch, or feigned acknowledgement, makes its way to his face.  

 It’s understandable, Al-Haitham reasons, with how long Cyno must have been alone. Practising conversation must be extremely difficult when all you have are fungi and machinery to call friends. It would also explain why Cyno still struggles to talk for long periods of time, his throat growing hoarser after only a couple of minutes. Al-Haitham can’t help but muse to himself about how endearing the general is, especially when he starts talking about his passions. It took only one stilted conversation about ley lines for Cyno to spill his heart out, relaxing far faster than the scribe had anticipated. Although it still took some effort on his part, carefully choosing his words to avoid having a spear tip shoved in his face. 

 Still, the mausoleum wouldn’t be able to shelter the scribe for long. All the water sources had been depleted, and food was running scarce. After only three weeks, Al-Haitham finds himself standing at the main entrance to the large pyramid with a heavy decision to make. 

 He could try returning to Sumeru, braving the threat of the Akademiya... and end up putting the others in danger. He could flee to another nation; Inazuma or Mondstadt being the safest bets... leaving him completely. Or he could stay, allowing the Mausoleum of King Deshret to claim another soul but at least having company in his final moments. 

 “You’re leaving already?” 

 Cyno’s voice cuts through Al-Haitham’s thoughts, drawing his attention to the shorter man who now stands beside him. 

 “I won’t last here for much longer,” he says, acutely aware of the other man. Cyno doesn’t say anything for a moment, his hair swaying in the sandy breeze. 

 “This is a place of death,” he acknowledges, “it wasn’t built to keep people alive.”

 “Yet here you stand,” Al-Haitham mumbles, his gaze tearing away from the endless sand to stare at the captivating walking contradiction. 

 “Would you really say I’m alive?”

 “I can't say that you're anything else,” he says, watching as Cyno’s gaze turns to the floor. It is as stoic as ever, but Al-Haitham knows it’s because he’s feeling a little bit flustered. It's a look the scribe has learned to recognise, usually after the general shares a particularly painful pun that stops a conversation dead in its tracks.

 Al-Haitham knows that this should be the moment he leaves; delivering a last verbal jab before walking into the desert never to return. It would be the best option for both of them, yet he can’t move an inch. 

 “Don’t you ever want to leave?”

 The question falls from his lips before he can fully process what he is doing, the last vestiges of logic and reason fleeing from his grasp. 

 “I am bound to this place as the last remaining general,” Cyno finally says, an uncertainty briefly flashing through his eyes but not escaping Al-Haitham's attention, “I cannot abandon it so freely.”

 “But there is no one left,” Al-Haitham counters, playing on the general's momentary doubt, “you owe this place no loyalty. They condemned you to… to this loneliness.”

 “You see it as their condemnation, I see it as my duty,” he says, his tone not quite matching the feigned smile which falters on his face, ”of course, I would never expect a scribe to understand. Your loyalties are as fickle as your interests.”

 “My interests are not so fickle,” Al-Haitham argues, although he doesn’t push his previous point any further. He can recognise when someone is deflecting from the real crux of the issue. 

 “Oh, only yesterday you were obsessed with a bunch of scrolls, and now you’re talking of abandoning them without a second thought,” Cyno counters, briefly glancing at Al-Haitham from the corner of her eyes. 

 “You got me,” he says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. The scrolls may have been left at the wayside, but that's only because he has something far more tantalizing in his sights.

 A comfortable silence falls over them as they watch a lone construct drift across the sands. It spins in a lazy circle before continuing on its predetermined course. 

 Cyno is the one who breaks the silence, his voice far softer than anything Al-Haitham had heard before.

“Even if I wanted to leave, I can’t live anywhere else…”

 Al-Haitham is quiet again, his mind turning those words over in his head as he gathers all the courage he can muster. In a swift movement, he turns to Cyno and reaches out his hand, leaving the palm turned up in front of the other.

 “Then will you die with me, Cyno?”

 It’s a selfish question born from a desire that Al-Haitham doesn’t fully understand. Later, when time has taught him and taken more in exchange, he would come to truly comprehend what he felt in this moment. But, as Cyno places his trust in the palm of Al-Haitham’s hand, he can only think one thing. 

 Falling alone is a terrifying thing, so it would be best to drag someone else down with him. 

[mais-nerdy-corner]

𝕬 𝕸𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝕿𝖎𝖒𝖊: 𝕬 𝕱𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓 | 𝕬𝖑𝖍𝖆𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖒 𝖝 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

Synopsis: What did Alhaitham say that made his eldest daughter outraged and frustrated? (A continuation of Fallout and Frustrations)

Pairing: Alhaitham x Female! Reader

Genre: Angst

Note: Actually wanted to include this the previous part but I got lazy and decided to cut it short hehe. Also, I changed how it ended because I didn't like the last one :P

"So tell me, Father. What happened?"

Aqilah fixed an intense gaze at the Scribe, waiting for a straight and clear answer from him. But it seemed every time Alhaitham tried to open his mouth, the words just stuck in his throat.

"What's the matter? Don't tell me that you suddenly lost your ability to speak. Go on now. Usually you have no problem speaking ill of others."

"Aqi—"

Again Afiyah wanted to rebuke her sister, but she immediately remembered that their father stopped her before. So she didn't continue her words.

"Aqilah... I..."

Aqilah waited.

"I... I..."

And waited. Until...

"I... dreamt of your mother."

And instantly, Aqilah's eyes widened.

"What...?" Aqilah said as she backed away.

"I dreamt of your mother," Alhaitham repeated before continuing. "In the dream, I fell asleep in her lap. She looked like how I remember her to be. Except, I didn't remember her looking so ethereal... She wore a long white flowy dress, she looked like a goddess that descended from Celestia."

Aqilah couldn't help but grimaced, feeling disgusted by her father's words.

"We were having a picnic in a field, flower petals falling from the blue skies. You and Afiyah were running around, playing a game of tag. It feels like our family is perfect and happy," he explained. "But, I knew that was far from the truth. The flower petals suddenly behave strangely and formed a whirlwind around me. The next thing I knew, I was brought to the front of our house."

"When I went inside, I saw your sister in your mother's arms. According to your mother's words, she was asking where I was and kept asking when I will read her a story book. You and your mother offered to read it for her, but Afiyah refused."

"Your mother ordered you to take Afiyah to your room, and now that the both of us were alone, your mother didn't hesitate to tell me her feelings. She told me that I gave the impression that I didn't care. What did she mean to me; Was it her knowledge of an unknown land and its language or was it her powers and origins that interested me; Was she just someone who peak my interest and decided to toy with. For once in my life, I have no words to respond to her own."

Alhaitham stayed silent after his latest explanation, thinking of his next one. But suddenly, Aqilah bursted out laughing.

"So it took you that long to acknowledge what you did?! Maybe I was right about you being dumb after all! Tell me, Father! Tell me! Why do we need to know any of this?!"

Afiyah was horrified by her sister's maniacal behavior. She knew Aqilah wasn't the fondest of Alhaitham, but seeing her snap like that, it was horrifying.

"You're right, Aqilah. I was wrong, for once."

The moment the word slipped off his tongue, Alhaitham was immediately embarrassed. His daughter laughed even harder, seemingly enjoying herself at her father's expense.

"Father! This is why you don't deserve to be called Father! You are nothing more than an impotent old man!"

"Enough, Aqilah! Enough already. Stop it right now, please," Afiyah pleaded.

"Why should I? He never taught us anything. He only took our mother away from us," Aqilah said as she points at Alhaitham.

"I'm sorry, Aqilah. It was never my intention to hurt you."

"Hurt me? Hurt me? Are you kidding me, Father? That's rich coming from you! Just how many times have you been with Mother? How many times have you hurt her feelings? How many times have you hurt Uncle Kaveh's feelings? Do you think Mother would have gone through with it if she knew that you weren't truly into her?! After everything, you still couldn't admit it!"

Kaveh, Alhaitham's former housemate, who heard the loud noises and yelling from the master bedroom, came to see what the commotion was all about.

"What's going on? I was just about to leave when I heard—" He stopped when he saw how quiet everyone was.

Aqilah took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. "That's it, that's enough, I'm done. I tried putting up with you after Uncle Kaveh told me the truth, and I've given you multiple chances whenever Afiyah told me to. I have no patience left to continue trying. This relationship was already severed to begin with."

Aqilah left the master bedroom pushing past her confused Uncle Kaveh without saying goodbye.

"What?!" Kaveh exclaimed. "Where are you going?"

The girl didn't respond. She simply took her sword and left the house. Kaveh looked at the crying Afiyah with concern before looking at his former housemate mate Alhaitham, questioning what he had said.

Alhaitham shook his head, knowing that he will never hear from her again. And that hurt him more than anything else.

"Aqilah...!"

As he watched his once-proud daughter walk away, Afiyah couldn't hold back anymore. She ran after her sister, catching up with her just by the ramp to Treasure Street.

"Please stop Aqilah! Please! You don't understand what you're doing!"

Aqilah did not turn around. She simply continued walking down the street.

"Aqilah...!"

Afiyah desperately wanted to hug her sister but held back. She didn't want to make things worse. Aqilah stayed not because of her own will, she only stayed because her.

[Author's Note]: Slight change from my last Time to Vote, I managed to finish this first instead of the top voted option. I know, I'm sorry, I'm a big poo poo head. Hey, at least the next chapter will be the last part before the epilogue (if it's not a two-parter like this one :v)

Publication date: August 8th 2023

Taglist: @sunsethw4 @elernity @luningningtala @qaiserarchive @ceylestia @crowleysthings

[bunnyloafing]

૮ • ﻌ - ა 1

it wasn’t really a matter of who fell out first, it was the matter of who could tolerate longer. the answer in the end was that neither of us could tolerate each other for much longer than was required. they finished the project and i guess that’s where they both thought they’d never see each other again, thankfully. obviously life has its ways of proving us wrong time and time again and when i least expected it (and somehow most needed it), you appeared again. it was kinda like how when you don’t need something, you see it so often everywhere, but when you need it, you can’t quite seem to remember where you last left it. where did they last leave it at? probably throwing empty but sharp and cruel insults to each other. one thinks too hard and it too rigid to want to try to show that he knows basic human emotions. the other thinks with his heart instead of his head, it could be a good thing, but i just don’t see how it could help him in the long run. they both are wrong, if we’re being honest. you can live through life without acknowledging it’s beauty and wonders and you can’t life through life bare feet and without preparation for its cruel and harsh environments. balance, is what we need. but balance means tolerance, balance means peace, balance means being okay with not being okay. and god, that’s hard. so hard, in fact, that we needed to part ways in order to survive. that’s how it felt like anyway. we couldn’t stand each other, we really couldn’t. heartless and so cold that even when we were together as friends, i felt so distant. it pushes people away, you know. being like that. being me though, being so open and vulnerable around those who don’t always ask me to be, is also a form of isolation. throwing myself onto others is scary for them. but i would rather speak my fears of feeling alone to everyone than to actually be alone. now, they live in the same house, their home. it hurts to call it that because in a way, kaveh knows it’s not actually his home. it could have been, if not for the messy and deadly end between them back then. he regrets that sometimes but wouldn’t do anything differently because of his fear. his fear of what they could have been now if he didn’t explode then. what would they be now? where would they be? how funny to think his entire life could have been so different if he had just tolerated a while longer. it kills him inside at night, a wall away, but a galaxy of distance. tells himself he’ll talk to him in the morning, but never really does. it’s not worth it anyway. he assumes too much but that may be the only thing keeping him alive right now. if not for the small part of his mind that tells him to be careful, he wouldn’t be here now. he is so emotional. be careful Kaveh, it can hurt to be deceived, as you may know by now. he’s lonely but at least he’s not alone yet. his friends make life a little better, but the bitter taste in his mouth remains even after they all part ways when meeting at the tavern. it could be the alcohol, he doubts that, but he’s sure it’s jealousy coursing through his blood. why do they get to live so happily? maybe if he took tighnari’s place, even with all the stress of being so important in the community and taking care of collei and balancing everything, he would be happier. anything would be better than this. ‘this’ doesn’t truly refer to anything in specific, it’s more of like a loop of his life. wake up tired, go to work, come back, work, argue with alhaitham, stay up until the sun shows up, sleep, wake up tired and start again (to be fair, he does sneak in a drink or two whenever given the opportunity). it’s fine for now. tolerance is what kills them both, but the balance is what brings them together. kaveh wouldn’t change anything of what he did because if he would have done things differently, he’s scared of the results in doing so. would a ‘sorry’ from both of them kill them? maybe that was all he needed. but for now, he can repeat doing whatever he does forever. he will get out of this one and soon, out of haithams mind (or so he thinks).

i didn’t check this for spelling mistakes sorry

[cwl190]

Week 10

BENJAMIN PERCY & ADDONIZIO and LAUX: 

In “Set Pieces”, Percy puts a lot of emphasis on the set piece of a book/movie. He talks about how Charles Baxter states “we write to make sense of the widowed images in our lives” (41). Something that we want to get down on paper is centered around an image that was unforgettable to us. Percy also introduces his corkboard, which is used to compile several of these images so that he has several scenes of inspiration to draw from. However he also warns against describing every single little fact in your story in great length because the reader’s attention begins to waver. As a result, when it comes to presenting your set piece, the audience is not going to be as affected by what is supposed to be an impactful moment. Percy advises that you should make sure that you are building tension to the attention grabbing moment rather than making every single moment a hard hitting one. 

Similarly, in “Images”, Addonizio and Laux talk about the important of sensory details to invoke a certain feeling in the reader. According to the text, “Poets need to keep all five senses- and possibly a few more- on continual alert, ready to translate the world through their bodies, to reinvent it in language” (86). This ties into Percy’s corkboard because he describes he draws inspiration to write from everywhere. People’s conversations, magazine cuts, all and anything can be used to enforce his own work, and this constant vigilance definitely carries over to a medium that relies on connecting with its readers with less words. The set piece that Percy describes is the entirety of a what a poem is. Addonizo and Laux use examples from the poem “Where You Go When She Sleeps” where the poet uses the hair of the woman the narrator loves and associates different, grander things with that same color to make us understand how the narrator feels about something so simple about her. 

RACHEL ELIZA GRIFFITHS: 

In “Death and Grief”, Addonizio and Laux state that when you write about death, you need to make sure the reader understands what the context of your poem is about, or at least have a general idea of what the theme of the writing is. In Rachel Eliza Griffith’s poem “Good Mother”, I think she’s successfully able to connect to the readers through what is a commonly universal association with mothers, which is their unconditional love despite outside circumstances. According to the text, despite being completely strangers to the narrator, she “didn’t wipe my snot from her shirt, my tears from her collarbone, who did not tell me to pull myself together while everything inside me dropped”. This type of care in this form is something that most people would associate with something only their mothers can give to them, or once did. I think that part of the poem works really well because the narrator doesn’t explicitly state how a notion like this would be important to the narrator. However, in terms of subtlety I think that’s where it ends. The readers definitely understand what the grief is about, but I think that the way the narrator was grieving was too hammered in. That might have been the point, but the repeated “mom” mantra, and then the poem being turned into a general statement about appreciating mothers just felt overdone to me. Readers will know the loss, but I’m more ambivalent on whether or not they feel it with this poem.

HEATHER SELLERS: 

In Heather Seller’s “Accidental Practitioners”, intimacy is created in the poem through name association. Everyone knows the feeling of being reminded of another person closer to them when someone has the same name. People’s identities are tied down to their names, and the Sellers uses that as the concept of the poem, because the students the narrator is teaching are all painful reminders of people she once knew. I believe the reader may feel the loss through quotes such as “I say his name aloud to alter my relationship to grief”. We can understand the narrator is struggling to change that association to the student rather than her brother. And although the narrator plainly states what happened to her brother, ex-husband, and father so the reader knows exactly why she feels the way about them, the narrator also shies away from stating how they have truly hurt her, just as she avoids seating those students with the names together. For example, when the narrator tells the student with her ex-husband’s name, “You can lose me, I tell him. Pretend you will lose me”, this creates a feeling of desperation because we know that her ex-husband has clearly moved on from her. The readers can interpret that she says this because she wants her husband to feel as though he has lost something and that she meant something, and that idea could be saddening to the reader.

KAVEH AKBAR:

One of the most effective things about similes and metaphors are that they transform the literal meaning in a sentence into something deeper to express a certain feeling or idea. Intimacy is created in Akbar’s poem through Akbar’s daily surroundings. According to Addonizio and Laux, the magic behind the use of similes and metaphors when used in poems such as “Finding Something” is that the poem is written in a way that combines both senses and emotion alike. The narrator states that his “heart is as helpless as crushed birds” (Simile and Metaphor, 98). Beings that fly being constricted and harmed shows the magnitude of the grief the narrator is feeling. Akbar does something similar in his poem where Lydia is represented by orchids that are in everything the narrator sees. The reader comes to expect to see orchids described in every line, and when the last two lines are revealed, the reader understands that it’s not really about the orchids. This creates a feeling of claustrophobia and helplessness because no matter where the narrator goes, they will be reminded that Lydia is gone.

ADDONIZIO and LAUX, JANE SMILEY, & CATHERINE POND: 

Some “seeds” I noticed in Pond’s poems was definitely the way she wrote how them and their friend would react to the funeral procession if she had been with them, to drawing us back to their reality. I think everything about Kayaderosseras moves smoothly, from the flower petals hitting the windshield to the narrator inexplicitly expressing how uncomfortable they are passing by the funeral procession by describing how their fingers felt against the wheel.

However, I thought that “As If” was not as neatly executed as the previous poem. This one was more of a pebble for me because the narrator mentions lots of seemingly unfinished ideas and thoughts. They jump between mentions of Ontario’s fires which didn’t fit the theme of the poem and made it feel out of place, and it’s difficult to tell who is being addressed to in the poem in a way that is more confusing than interesting. For example, the narrator states that “Now we stare at the lake not speaking”, but who the “we” is is never specified, and right after she’s turning on the blinker. It’s nonsensical, but we can tell that there’s real grief behind what the narrator is saying. This makes me think that it’s what Addonizio and Laux meant when they stated that although a poem may seem to be well written, there were definitely feelings behind it that may or may not be polished and refined in the future.

**Professor Gaudry if you happen to be reading this, did you know that I make dollhouses? I know you mentioned liking miniature furniture so here are some of mine (house 1 | house 2 | house 3)**