#modern blight

[temporary-tats]

Decided to whip up some cover art for my Lumity Soulmates AU, Soul Ties!

I'm currently working on edits and future chapters, as the first 10 chapters are so are due to for an upgrade! Updated chapters will be released alongside new updates. Check Soul Ties out on AO3 if you feel so inclined:

[cat-appreciator]

I’ve just read a fanfic that had me literally actually laughing out loud until I wheezed so naturally I must share it. 37k words Lumity boarding school AU (and they were roommates!), so it’s playing all the tropes the way you’d expect it to - it does what it says on the tin - except that ending. Oh my god. AASJDDJEHSK.

Sometimes you just want to open up the teapot an author is hiding in and give them a little treat for doing a good job (I don’t know why I picture fanfiction authors as tiny gremlin creatures living in teapots but I think we can all agree that I am Correct in this assessment).

[waterfire1848]

Luz: We have decided that if anything happens to me and Amity. We’d want Hunter and Willow to be Azura’s guardians.

Willow: That is great news! Azura, when something terrible happens you’re going to be all mine!

Amity: It really is an ‘if’ situation.

Willow: All mine!

[witteautism]

TOH Modern AU: character summary

Luz: A teenager with an hyperfixation on The Good Witch Azura, a fantasy saga. Goes to Gravesfield High with Hunter, a boy that arrived to the town a while ago with his uncle. When she was a child, she encountered a antique shop called "The Owl House" after visiting Manny’s grave, and found out the owner was a lady with an owl and her dog with a strange birthmark forming a skull.

Camila: Luz’s caring mother. She is a secret nerd who has a Cosmic Frontier group chat. She was a close friend of Caleb, Hunter’s father.

Philip: Hunter’s grieving uncle. His family comes from a conservative town close to Gravesfield. After Caleb’s death, he decided to come to Gravesfield with his nephew in order to escape from the pain and heal. He is an old man who does conspiracies and invents things; despite him being an inventor, he does not understand modern day technology. He tries his best to raise Hunter. He is a bit distant with affection, since he has troubles manifesting his emotions. However, he cares about Hunter a lot.

Manny: Luz’s deceased father. He shared a room with Caleb when they were in the hospital before coming to Gravesfield. They were close friends as well.

Caleb: Hunter’s father and Philip’s older brother. He died of an unknown disease. He was married to Evelyn. Philip refuses to talk about him. Friend to Camila and Manny.

Eda: The mysterious lady of the antique shop; Luz thought she was a witch.

King: Eda’s pet dog, he has a strange birthmark in a skull form.

Hunter: Caleb’s son and Philip’s nephew. He has an hyperfixation on Cosmic Frontier, sharing it with Camila. Thanks to his father and Camila, he grew up close to this saga. He often fights with Luz about which saga is best (although this part comes later in the story timeline). He is in a Cosmic Frontier group chat. He also has a bird whom he rescued when he was a child, and an internet friend.

Willow: Neighbor to Hunter. She goes to Gravesfield High.

Amity: Luz’s girlfriend, shares interest with her.

Gus: He is Hunter’s online friend, they appreciate each other a lot. (Will elaborate on the AU)

Evelyn: Caleb’s wife. She disappeared after a fight with Philip when Hunter was a child. She misses Hunter a lot but can’t maintain contact because she can’t stand Philip.

[ask-beta-lumity]

[sound-under-the-sea]

Look—if you’re having a modern au and the Coven Heads aren’t mob bosses in higher places of society as they turn the wheels of power for their interests, then what is the point?

Cutburn is a highly revered doctor, but spends her nights fixing up fellow criminals. She spends her day doing life saving surgery and doing relief aid around the world, but she isn’t interested as it doesn’t satisfy her actual itch. She also makes sure to check on Belos as she is his personal doctor.

Vitimir is a drug lord sitting in his basement and he barely comes out. He has several lab workers as they take their time making drugs. He may or may not be high while doing this. His lungs are awful.

Mason is now running the construction company to hold underground deals and storage buildings. He has dilapidated buildings on lockdown.

The Abomination division is the black market weapons or weapon manufacturers. Darius never joined because he isn’t interested in crime. The Blights have always been a long time partner.

The Oracle Coven would probably be media, given Perry’s in the same track as Odalia. Where Perry is trying to get the new out, Odalia controls what get in or out. The Oracle division also handle stocks.

Beast Coven would be regulated to animal trafficking. Eber wasn’t for this and left with Darius as they weren’t willing to deal with them.

Graye runs cons on the streets. You know those cheating games where they let you win the first time but after that they take your winnings. He also collaborates with Osran in casinos.

As for Snapdragon, she is more of the positive face as they handle plant instillations and terrariums for tourists while having a separate green house to grow herbs for Vitimir.

None of them get caught because Belos has the police force under his thumb and squealing is a severe offence. Lilith and Steve just glance nervously at each other as another cop goes missing.

I accidentally made an au. Shoot.

[fallenrosepettals]

Sweet Potato

i redrew something from 2021 and omg look at my improvement

[gettothestabbing]

But what a time to study architecture! This was the high modernism era: Walter Gropius, Frank Lloyd Wright, and Le Corbusier were rethinking everything. Breakthroughs in glass, steel, and concrete created new possibilities.

Le Corbusier, or Corbu as he was known, was a major influence for Yamasaki. Corbu was perhaps the most extreme of the high modernists. He had unyielding faith in the power of rationalism and efficiency to improve every facet of society. He believed homes should be “machines for living.” The master planner could create literal utopias by exerting his expert will from the top down.

The Housing Act’s provision of government-backed mortgage insurance meant suburban housing was cheap and getting cheaper. So were cars. President Eisenhower’s interstate highway project, which (arguably) began with the paving of I-70, connected St. Louis with the blossoming suburbs of St. Charles just across the river. Despite the decision in Brown v. Board, white families were taking that same FHA money that funded Pruitt-Igoe and buying homes in the suburbs, and many jobs went with them.

This fundamentally changed the city. De facto segregation soared; the city shrank and suburbs swelled. If St. Louis’ leaders realized their assumption of continued economic growth and population growth was wrong, they kept it to themselves.

It quickly got worse from there.

Planners expected the working poor to live in the complex. Instead, many unemployed families took the apartments, which meant—because families receiving welfare paid the lowest rents—the rent revenue wasn’t enough to sustain the building.

Also, under Missouri’s welfare laws at the time, you could receive welfare only as a single parent. This left many mothers and fathers with the grim options of staying together without the state benefits, or separating in order to receive benefits. Many fathers left their families to search for work wherever they could find it. They often didn’t return. Soon Pruitt-Igoe was mostly populated with large, single-parent families. The lack of fathers in the building (and social workers ran regular checks to ensure dad really wasn’t living there) had dangerous ripple effects for Pruitt-Igoe children. Crime quickly became common, and children joined gangs, vandalizing and damaging the buildings. Maintenance workers had trouble keeping up and occupancy dropped rapidly.

The day President Lyndon Johnson gave his famous “Great Society” speech in 1964, residency in the complex hovered around 25%.

And what of Yamasaki’s innovative skip-stop elevators? His wide hallways? Did they foster a sense of community as he intended? Amity Shlaes paints a bleak picture:

[The] elevators… were muggers’ traps. Poor maintenance meant the elevators often jammed, leaving gangs’ victims in with them for long extra minutes. The gangs lurked in the halls and made tenants “run the gantlet” to get to their doors.

Young men threw bricks and rocks at windows and street lamps; the activity was a regular sport. There were no good playgrounds. Because there were no toilets on the ground floor, children had accidents there, and the elevators gradually became public toilets. The community area was a sorry joke; its only function ultimately was as a place for collecting Housing Authority rents. No one seemed able to stop the decay.

ST. LOUIS QUICKLY realized that Pruitt-Igoe was a problem. But it was unclear who, if anyone, could fix it. The federal government, the St. Louis Housing Authority, the state, and the City of St. Louis itself all shared responsibility for the complex. When a problem belongs to everyone, it belongs to no one.

Within five years of its launch, Yamasaki was regularly apologizing for his role in the project. Though the final design of the complex differed from his original vision, he came to question the core assumption behind the project: that people’s lives could be effectively engineered through urban design. He expressed regret for his “deplorable mistakes” with Pruitt-Igoe. By the late 1950s, he was giving eloquent speeches about the “tragedy of housing thousands in exactly look alike cells,” which “certainly does not foster our ideals of human dignity and individualism.”

To the Detroit Free Press, he put it more simply: “Social ills can’t be cured by nice buildings.”

By the early 1970s, the 33 concrete tombstones lining St. Louis’ skyline were a cautionary tale for utopian housing schemes. It was a den of crime and misery, rather than anything anyone could call home. When the decision came to demolish the complex, occupancy was only 10 percent.

[king-and-his-consorts]

Going Somewhere?

Justine Blight Manor (Dark Modern AU) - starter for @kaizokugaris

_____

Luffy couldn't actually remember the last time he had a shitty birthday. Makino, Dedan, and his brothers had always worked really hard to make his birthdays fun and memorable. And well, this was definitely gonna be memorable, but shitty as hell. Luffy was already not enjoying be eighteen.

The hand around his bicep was dragging him, pulling him towards the street. He stumbled, following the police officer pulling him. He looked back at the house. Dadan and Makino stood on the front porch, both looking close to tears as Dadan struggled to keep Makino standing.

A weight settled in Luffy's belly. He was marched to the bus' door. He frowned, narrowing his eyes at the name on the bus: JUSTINE BLIGHT MANOR. Everyone in town knew about the manor, just no one ever expected to actually go to it. It was a place to stick young adults who did not legally have parents. People always whispered how it didn't make sense but still nothing changed.

"Hey!" Luffy cried out with a snarl. He turned around to face the officer that had just taken his hat. "That's mine!"

"And you can have it back if you behave." There was a rough shove, pushing Luffy into the bus. "Now get in."

Luffy gritted his teeth. Hands flexing as the door closed and locked behind him. Bitter grumbles escaped him as he trudged to the back of the bus and took a seat.

This sucked!

[bill-the-dog-for-the-check]

I can't understand how people say with a straight face that 'antizionism' isn't antisemitism in 99% of cases. Seriously. I can only think of two circumstances in which it isn't antisemitic.

You're an anarchist calling for the dissolution of all nation-states, including Israel and Palestine. That's not antisemitic. Extreme, and naive and stupid, yeah, but not antisemitic.

You're a frum Jew like Satmar, who believes Israel is religiously premature but not something which should be destroyed immediately. This position wouldn't even really be antizionism, though, more non-Zionism.

If neither of the above applies to you, and you advocate for the destruction of the Jewish state, you're an antisemite, full stop. Seriously. If you disagree with Israel's actions, that's one thing. I certainly don't agree with everything in Israel's past or present.

But it's obscene to argue it's somehow so evil, such a blight on the world, that nothing short of its complete and immediate dissolution is justified. Especially because antizionists never argue in favor of the dissolution of other states with even worse human rights records--how could Israel seriously warrant destruction but not North Korea? Eritrea? Russia? Palestine, for that matter?

The fact is, Israel is the only modern-nation state with a whole-ass transnational movement dedicated to it's complete and wholesale destruction. Even in the case of other nation-states which have their right to exist questioned or denied, like Taiwan, Ukraine, Kosovo, or Somaliland, to call for the destruction of these states is generally viewed as racist and beyond the pale.

Well, maybe not for Somaliland. 'Anti colonialist' leftists who so passionately fight for Palestine miraculously don't care when the political issue in question is outside of the West, or doesn't involve Jews.

But I digress. The point of this post is, when they hold up 'Antizionism is not antisemitism!' as a shield to automatically absolve themselves of any antisemitism accusations before repeating blood libel, it's just not true. Antizionism IS antisemitism. Calling for the destruction of Poland is anti-Polish. The destruction of Mexico, anti-Mexican.

But calling for the destruction of Israel? Cute, trendy and not antisemitic at all, you Zionist pig! :D

[notebooks-and-laptops]

I just. I really hate that Solas is a companion you can take on In Hushed Whispers. And I Do Not Know exactly how they would have gotten around it but are you telling me that Solas - the Elven god - would just...let himself become a red lyrum growing factory? Like. Yes he's underpowered but hey u know what powers up makes like nothing else? Lyrum. And he's got the powerful stuff IN HIM. yeah he hates the blight and all things surrounding it but he's ambitious and he's driven do you REALLY think that if he had no other option he wouldn't use it? And like. He also needs time to build power fine but it's been a YEAR. After three years he can create a mind blast that goes on for MILES are you telling me he doesn't have the power to...unlock a door and kill most people in that building a year later?

I just hate it it feels so...just wrong to me? Like it just doesn't feel like it would happen? Especially as Solas is so concerned when you get back into the modern timeline that you hung out with future him. And I just...I just believe wholeheartedly that the future Solas wouldn't be there he wouldn't be waiting for you to rescue him he would find a way - god even if it meant defecting to Corephyus to work from the inside to get his goals. That guy would not be there

[ladythornofrivia]

Kingdom of Fire & Blood || (Part Seven)

🐉 MASTERLIST 🐉

Next Chapter

summary: lady greenstar’s ceremony is all but merry, and the offer that could change the course of her life forever.

pair: aemond x reader

warnings: smut, violence, p in v sex, sexual content, aemond being arrogant, modern reader doesn’t know how the world of GOT works but is a Aemond stan, praise kink, breeding kink, spitting kink, voice kink, fluff, angst—family drama, oral sex, hate sex, stalking, jealousy, virginity loss, obsession, reader is neutral; neither a green or black supporter, reader being sassy and aroused, sweet moments with reader and aemond. Reader is a huge GOT & HOTD fan. Aemond becomes king instead of Aegon. (P.S. Alys who? I only know Aemond x Reader)

a/n: sorry it took forever to write the chapter! It’s finally here! Woo! Reader’s backstory is finally revealed! Woo! If you enjoy, please leave a comment.

Chapter Seven: The Price of Heart

On the proclamation from the Iron Throne, King Viserys granted a ceremony and anointed a young maiden to unite both factions, Blacks and Greens, and renamed her as Lady Greenstar, a star that befell and shook the cores of Westeros, to which have known for causing disruption and awakened in the realm.

Apart from previous accomplishment on saving Princess Helaena and Prince Jacaerys, Lady Greenstar, a newcomer to Westeros, has its gaze is as deadly as a thorn. Upon a gaze of a maiden, men’s hearts fickle in delight, and women’s hearts enraged with fright. And among others, she is nothing but an air of mystery, but her appearance is no more than averagely simple and unimpressive (claimed by Mushroom). Lady Greenstar, whose maiden name is unknown, the time of Viserys’s reign may have yet to be remain, as Lady Greenstar is in an absolute self-merry and encourage the nobles and commoners alike to a celebrate at her unimportant arrival at a tedious ceremony.

~Your POV~

The nightmare hadn’t stopped.

You want to destroy—set ablaze everything into ashes.

In a soundless blight rising in your chest, you managed to gather yourself in the midst of ceremony. You wanted to scream. Heating anger risen within you; you are nowhere near happy with the proceedings. You just wanted to go home, anticipated that this no more than a fever dream, a weirdly filter episodic moment that is meant to be unseen.

Unable to gaze upon the crowd, despite your head is held high, your roundish headpiece wrapped atop your tucked hairstyle; your hairline styled and slicked back, yet your longish manes flowed and adorned your figure, clad in a floor length ivory gown, your arms heavies a wide bishop sleeves, but your forearms are fitted, ends of your v-pointed sleeves rested on the back of your hands. Your bodice, from bust to waist, the ivory corset is encrusted in pearls and gold embroidery, aligned and patterned with black and green stones as your long skirts in mermaid-shaped flowing, not strictly.

Bowing to Blacks and Greens, the ever so watchful gazes on the crowd are perplexed, yet so many spectators are grateful for your deeds. Some women’s gaze directly lanced at your direction with envy, perhaps displeasure of King Viserys’s announcement. As for men, however, it’s unreadable for you, but with unknown gazes may have yet proceed to either have notable rancor or the deepest of illest intentions.

In Westeros, you knew that you could trust no man. For now, trusting the Targaryens is your only option, a sole bargain, a wager to your existence. Nothing has ever come to simple or as festive. All you wanted was to stay in the sidelines, watching the events unfold, not to be a part of one. The real question is: who sent you here, and what was the real purpose? Of course not, you’re just a simple and honest modern woman—or at least what anyone thought of your outward appearance, which prevailed by the designed precision of Queen Alicent and Lady Rhaenyra’s plan of softening image.

You weren’t meant to be here.

The scream emerged.

All eyes snapped away from your direction. One man grabbed—dragged away and pointed it’s knife at Princess Helaena’s throat at the centered floor, the guards had their swords up, as one of them demanded for the man to release the princess.

“None should accept a woman as a knight on the throne,” the man spattered, yellow teeth gleaming, his voice grating with delight, continuing to drag the princess away bit by bit.

“Mother,” Helaena pleaded quietly, the knife pressed onto her ivory skin, trying not to flail.

“It’s either the cause for the great nobles, or the cause of the war.”

Alicent is frightened for her daughter’s fate.

And so, you watched, palm clenched and unclenched. Hands behind your back, your body veiled with a silver sparkling cloak, but one hand seized the spare knife—your knife you had in your clutched purse, moving with caution as you descend the steps without anyone spotting your intentions.

“Let her go,” you said, before turning your eyes to theirs.

Soothe the realm.

The men flabbergasted at your appeased state. “What?”

“Did I stutter,” you said, ambling, the cloak floated a little. “You’re ruining the King’s celebration. Do you want to be executed? You’re in the presence of Targaryens.”

“I won’t lay rest until I see no woman standing beside the Iron Throne. I won’t serve by the likes of you!”

Shaking your head as you said, “Who said it’s about me?”

The man uttered no response but a heaving breath, near Helaena, furrowed with concern.

Unblinking, your head tilted to the side. “You want me, right?”

The man carefully laid his eyes on you.

“You don’t want the princess,” you resumed, drew nearer. “You want me.”

Soothe the realm.

Your eyes indicated to one of the guards to hold him down, but none succeeded on reading your body language. Looking at your side, Queen Alicent’s widened eyes glazed with warning, a reminder to soften the image. Prince Aemond still abide, his violet eye gleamed, his eye stated something more, wanting more of the anticipation of what you’ll do next.

“Let her go, and I’ll give you what you want,” you negotiated.

“What makes you think I could negotiate with such a pathetic woman?”

“Because I’m not a liar,” you declared, hand stretched. “Release her.”

After moments of hesitation, Princess Helaena has been freed into your arms, shaking. You lightly shoved her towards Alicent as you walked onward without looking elsewhere.

And before you knew it, a knife stabbed behind your belly.

The gasps ensued as the fight broke out, leaving the Blacks and Greens emerged with apprehension, still safe and guarded.

Turning around, the knife you held plunged into the backstabber’s throat, but missed—instead it became a slight deep scratch on the cheek and his hand smacked against your cheekbone. Falling down, you pulled yourself back up again and knocked him out unconscious and rushed to Helaena’s side again and escorted her out, leaving the guards to assign fate to the intruders.

The fate became crueler; the man separated you and Helaena, shoving Helaena aside the intruder hooked you by the arms, trapped. When another opponent came, you lifted yourself in the air, and punted the opponent’s chest with both of your feet, leaving you and the large man collapsed. Rolling back, you gathered yourself again and escorted Helaena back at the corridor.

A young boy screamed—Prince Lucerys—his arm being yanked through the crowd. Briskly, you aid to their side, shoving the crowd apart, you casted your cloak—aiming at the foe, and lanced the man’s neck, trails of blood exploded, smearing the young prince’s face and placed him back Rhaenyra’s side.

A tall figure suddenly shielded you; the knife flew at your direction; Aemond deflected the attempted shot with his spare dagger. Queen Alicent and Lady Rhaenyra rushed altogether—guards protected all and ushered back into the corridor, leaving you breathless.

The pain has been numbed due to the shock implanted.

Far back at the pillar, you watched Rhaenyra and Alicent exchanging with altercation while you find yourself leaning on the stoned pillar with your left hand clutched your bleeding waist beneath the white dress.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Rhaenyra stated in shaky breath.

“Of course not,” Alicent seethed. “King Viserys should’ve thought of bringing Lady Greenstar to the Iron Throne to soothe the realm before the commotion erupts.”

“I hadn’t known,” Rhaenyra argued back, cradling Lucerys in her arms.

“You did this. Lady Greenstar warned that this would happen. A private ceremony should’ve been suffice.”

“We need Lady Greenstar to unite both factions—father suggested to that.”

“Your ideas may influence others, but you’ll never influence with me from the misguidance of your indulgence.”

“I have made no declarations and decisions—it is my father who has done it so!”

Bellows of altercation continued as Prince Jaecerys stood nearby you, given you an awkward tight-lipped expression with his hands laid rest upfront.

Blacks and Greens watched two ladies quarreled with venom as your chest heaving. Gazing below onto your hand, the gold ring sparked on your fourth finger; you brought it up to your lips and kissed it.

Everything will be alright, a gentle voice reminded.

Lidded eyes hazed as the hand placed on your back shoulder; Princess Helaena walked over to your side and consoled you with diminutive smile.

Instead of returning the offer, you patted Helaena’s hand your half-lidded eyes in a suggestion that everything is alright. The concentration in your mind has been misplaced that Helaena began to tie your strands to tiny braids. You’ve inspected everyone. So far, it went smoothly—you’ve found no wounds, but when your eyes meet Green sons, your head inclined to a subtle bow. While Prince Aegon bowed back with his smugness, Prince Aemond is as elegant and unreadable. His eye still lay onto you as you faced back, watching the princess and the queen.

Altercations and debate went ongoing.

The aggravating pain hadn’t ceased.

“Stop,” you groaned.

The abrasion struck you so hard that you let a long groan, your head hung back, relied on a cold pillar.

“Lady Greenstar,” Jacaerys said.

“I’m fine,” you assured, eyes watery. “I’m fine.”

Daemon, no doubt, is suspicious. Shielding Helaena with your might, you held onto her spare hand.

The quarrel wasn’t far from over as you sauntered, the belly scorched again, pinching your nerves and coiled your stomach to a point of punishment you couldn’t withstand.

The cough unleashed, veiling the spots of blood.

Someone…

And collapsed onto your knees, trembling with cold sweat, fell onward.

“Lady Greenstar,” Jacaerys called aloud, as he caught you into arms, soon follow by your feet, your body weakened, slipped away.

“You’re safe now,” you said, darting at Aemond, offering him your sweetest expression laid on your lips.

Gradually, your eyes fluttered with slow blinks, choking. Then your vision faded to nothing.

~Aemond’s POV~

“My Queen, Lady Greenstar has collapsed,” Criston announced.

Queen Alicent and Lady Rhaenyra halted, and veered back to your lifeless body in Jacaerys’s arms.

Both women’s anger replaced with fear. “No…” Rhaenyra uttered.

“Take her to the Maester at this instant. We can’t afford to lose her,” Alicent ordered.

All the while, Aemond, the king’s second son, is devastated, powerless and hopeless as the life slipped between your parted lips. Piqued as he was eyeing on the golden ring rested on your fourth finger.

~Your POV~

What the hell was that?

“The life flashes before your eyes,” it said.

Your head snapped to the noise.

“Poor little woman, who’s life has been tormented one after the other,” a voice rang into your ears in a darkened void. “A life of a woman is no ordinary, but will soon be free.”

“Who are you?”

“My, you’re just a thing of beauty. A shame that comes price with it—ever so ethereal but with a demonic spirit residing in you since your childhood, all but bad luck,” it taunted. “You have killed and tortured the mundane, both men and women, especially in your days where you were trying to save your dying lover—born a thief and a liar—the evil men have taught you well.”

“What the hell do you want?”

“I want to make an offer, an offer to which it might entice you. Right now, your very soul is on the bridge between life and death.”

“I know that!”

“Of course you knew. But you didn’t believe that we exist.”

“All are anything but real.”

The voice’s rang into your ears with its taunting laugh. “But if you wish to remain alive and well, I offered you choices, one which the cost of your life to be rekindled. One which you cannot turn your back into—and I offer you this; stay in Westeros and serve the realm, serve the dynasty and find a new purpose and bond. Even if it means of forgetting your dead lover. Or, the Gods will offer a sweet and merciful death—your pathetic and tragic life will soon meet its end and face your maker.”

“I want to go home,” you objected.

“Going home is no longer an option; if you go there, chances are your death will be as quickly repulsive and vile; death is near at your doorstep as soon as your consciousness blurred.”

“What do you mean?”

“The men from your former clan are hunting you down. They have found you. You thought running away from a syndicate after burning everything to ashes would be simple.”

“Why Westeros? Why send me there? Who sent me here?”

“Those questions are irrelevant; time is ticking.”

“At what cost?”

“The price you’ll pay, it’s either your eyes, ear or mouth. Or I will decide for you.”

Goosebumps flooded over you, heart struck with quiver.

“I can’t,” you whimpered. “I can’t!” Fell onto the ground, hands veiled your face, walls you’ve built tarnished as your cries echoed through the void, cried longer than you should’ve.

“Sweet summer child,” it cooed. “Time is running short. The elder man of Hightower wants to burn your body.”

Another shiver ran.

“I know everything. Submit yourself to me, and I shall grant the desire—the offer I gave you—your life will start anew. What do we say to the God of Death?”

“Not today.”

“Good!” the voice rang, enchant. “I knew you have come to made your decision.”

The green light sprang and ran into your heart—your voice reached high into bellows and wails. Nails digging into your chest firmly, nails dragged with blood, already on the floor, knees on your chest. Ears rang in high-pitched noise; ears bleed as nose, and mouth drained in red flow, crying in agony.

“Don’t worry, child, you’ll soon meet the fate that you’ve been longing for,” it said. “You’ll find your purpose here. The history of Fire & Blood, alongside yours, will be rewritten.”

In that moment, you knew the unknown being wasn’t lying.

@ aemondswifffeeeyyy - all rights reserved

Taglist: @daonenonlysandman @toodlesxcuddles @kittendoll05 @omgsuperstarg @xcharlottemikaelsonx @paninisstuff @danika1994 @angeljcca @taintedlovesworld @kukulyarva @namelesslosers @heavenly1927 @snh96 @herathedreamer @fandom-maniac-anime @httpsmenace @velunis @nananeptune @domithebomi @moonseye @valeskafics @faesspace @rxixo31 @tm-starr @xinthia19 @popsycles @naiaaramena @aleemendoza2425-blog @letmehavemyfictionalmen @aracelipf @ammo23 @blackswxnn @buccini555 @watercolorskyy @taangie @wolfdressedinlace @qardasngan @justyelena @jolixtreesunn @runekisses @jmii722 @colored-tr-panels @evergreen9083 @foggypeacestarlight @dixie-elocin @galactict3a @momowhoo @saturnssrings @dani5216

[avelera]

Oh GOD you, too, are an online lectures geek pls consider this your invitation to talk about favs--ones that stuck with you, current obsessions--the more the better! In trade, I'll tell you the two things I'm currently adoring: Yale's Open Course podcast on The Civil War to Reconstruction done by David Blight (man forgot more than ten other civil war historians know even if he mumbles *constantly*) and A History of Christianity by Diarmaid MacCulloch (so! worth the Prime BBC free trial <3)

Hiya! Don't mind if I do!

So 99% of the lectures I've watched lately are on the Great Courses Plus which was recently and stupidly renamed "Wondrium", which I find profoundly stupid because instead of just saying, "Hey, check out the Great Courses, yeah you can kinda guess what the streaming service offers," I have to instead explain what this nonsense term "Wondrium" means, ANYWAY, they've got lectures about basically everything.

Essentially, it's Netflix but for college lectures. YouTube has become so unreliable as far as what's actual information and what's completely made up or even racist conspiracy theory BS that I find it completely untrustworthy. Also, most documentaries are trying to prove something new, or offer a new angle on something, OR they're SO rudimentary and 101 that even for topics I know less about in history I tend to already know everything they're going to say.

So I pivoted to college lectures because 1) it's a whole series so like, dozens of hours I can just throw on in the background while doing something mindless and 2) I know it's going to be trustworthy, reliable, and provide me a baseline on a topic instead of some "new controversial spin" on it. Like, goddammit, sometimes I just want to better understand the history of Ancient Egypt, not your stupid theory about how they were secretly all space aliens or that we've got the carbon dating all wrong or whatever made up nonsense.

So, here's a list of some of my favorites!

Hannibal: The Military Genius Who Almost Conquered Rome - I consider myself about as near an expert as a non-academic can get on Rome and this lecture actually taught me some things, which is rare, so I recommend it as a fantastic deep dive!

How the Crusades Changed History is a pretty good short version that I recommend to anyone who enjoyed The Old Guard's Nicky and Joe BUT, for the best Crusades lecture, I'd recommend this History of the Crusades podcast. Sharyn Eastaugh is not just insanely informative, but her dry wit made me laugh out loud at least once an episode at the sheer hapless ineptitude of the Crusaders.

In the Wake of the Plague is a fantastic new lecture by Wondrium, the lecturer is amazing and it provides a lot of objective insights into how humans react to plagues that is VERY relevant to current events, BUT their lecture on **The Black Death in general is the one that got me obsessed with their lecture series. I watched it in the first week of Covid lockdown and let me tell you, having this super in-depth, objective look into how people behaved during the Black Death was incredibly valuable (and chilling) going into those years because it all played out with astonishing similarity. Also, anything by that lecturer, Dorsey Armstrong, is awesome. She's a Medievalist of the highest order. I also recommend her lecture on King Arthur.

**The Birth of the Modern Mind: The Intellectual History of the 17th and 18th Centuries - this one wins the award for "Lecture I thought most likely to bore me to tears that ended up being the single most fascinating I've heard in YEARS." Seriously, the way it explores the evolution of how we think in the modern era, through the philosophers who first conceived of these ideas, was jaw-droppingly fascinating. I also recommend it to writers of historical fiction and fantasy for a crash course, by proxy, of how to write people who think differently than you.

The Other Side of History: Daily Life in the Ancient World - I once had beef with a post here on Tumblr that claimed that academic Classicists don't care about slaves or normal people during the Roman Empire, which is just profoundly absurd. I pointed out this lecture to them if they actually wanted to learn more about the subject instead of complaining that an art history professor may not have been prepped for a lecture about the lives of enslaved people in Ancient Rome. If that is a subject of interest, this lecture is great.

The Real History of Pirates - a must-listen for OFMD fans who want to get an introduction to historical pirates and the history of pirates in literature, which "Our Flag Means Death" owes as much if not more to than the historical figures.

**Turning Points in Middle Eastern History - One of the first lectures I listened to and still one of my enduring favorites. It's the first one I picked up for writing my Old Guard fic, Lights Out, when I wanted to write Joe from a more informed angle and I learned so much.

Understanding Japan: A Cultural History - One of my favorite lectures based on format, the lecturer picks a literary work or cultural concept as the entry point to explore the timeline of Japanese history. It's a fantastic way to give a wider and more holistic look at each era, pairing it with a cultural touchstone.

Shout-out to "The Mysterious Etruscans" because I just think they're neat. The lecturer is also very good and I highly recommend his lecture on ancient cities as well which taught me a lot that I didn't know.

Also a shout out to, "Warriors, Queens, and Intellectuals: 36 Great Women before 1400" for its subject and the lecturer who is great and she also has a really fascinating talk about the history of Spain.

Ok, I THINK that's some of the top ones! ;D

[genshin-impacted]

Exchange of Rings

(Alhaitham x Reader - 7/?) 

The feelings you and Alhaitham hold for each other run deeper than either of you think. Many things are left unsaid. OR affection + artistry + comfort

Word Count: ~4.2k

Notes: afab!reader, second person pov “you”, gn!reader, switches pov with Alhaitham, modern au, arranged marriage, fall first/fall harder, slow burn, ft. Sumeru crew

[Previous - Next]

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More than half a year into the arranged marriage, Alhaitham finally decides to provide an update to his family. Being overjoyed would not be an exaggeration, though Alhaitham can tell even through the phone that they are trying to tamper their elation as though he were a skittish animal prone to running away at any sudden movements. Halfway through the conversation his mother gives up and starts to gush about how happy she is for him, among other things. The other things include wondering about the wedding, how you would want to celebrate, when should the wedding be, and oh gosh, what type of theme would the two of you want to have?

His father is better at feigning nonchalance, but then he begins to reminisce about how Alhaitham used to turn his nose up at romantic dramas when he was younger, a tone of warmth seeping into his words. (Alhaitham thinks of telling his father that his relationship with you is nothing like a drama where misunderstandings and tragedies blight the couple like a plague. His union with you is peaceful, though not without its own hiccups, but otherwise... lovely. Serendipitous.

Alhaitham finds that to be the best-suited word.)

Alhaitham updates his grandmother in person. He expected her to be happy for him, smug even, so he is surprised– mildly alarmed– when her eyes grow misty as he describes how his life has been with you. She bats his concern away, a gesture to continue his stories, but her hand holds onto his with a loving tightness that speaks to her joy more than anything. 

You had planned to come with him but then your workplace calls you in for an emergency. You are more disappointed than he anticipates that you cannot go, so he simply reassures you that there is always a next time for his grandmother to meet you. Only, this seems to upset you more: something about how this meeting is important to you because you want to make a good impression.

Alhaitham is unsure how this meeting is any different from a meeting, say, two weeks from now. But you worry—unnecessarily, in his opinion, though the last time he said that to you directly was the first time he has gotten a cold look from you, so he tries to keep it to himself if only to not earn your ire too often. 

(Alhaitham doesn’t recall what the topic was about– unimportant in the scheme of things– but you were worried about something, bringing it up various times during the day, and he had told you that your concern was extraneous– inefficient. Which is true, he thinks. If there was something to be fixed, then it would be done already; if there is nothing to be done, then why worry about it?

You had stared at him, face blank, before you looked away quietly. He could see the hurt flicker in your expression before you quickly made an excuse to be alone.

Alhaitham had believed the first real fight the two of you had was a difference in philosophy. Later, when the two of you had taken some time alone, you reported back to him that it was not the case.

“I know some things I can’t fix,” you had told him, “but I still worry about them anyways. You might call it ‘inefficient-” it only dawns on Alhaitham then that the wording may have been abrasive if you can still quote him, “but I talk to you because I process things better that way.” 

He remembers that you had fidgeted with your hand in your lap, your words evidently hard to come by during conflict but you still worked through them until you could convey what you felt. “I just like being able to talk to you about it,” you say, “I want to be able to tell you about things that worry me, even if there’s no solution.”

Alhaitham is a problem-solver. It is his default for everything. He is used to being abrasive and hard-to-swallow, and he had believed that someone who could marry him would be someone tolerant of those traits. 

But something has to give. If he is truly to live a life of peace that he desires with you as a part of it, then he must compromise so that you can fit in with it. It is easy for him to make that decision. He does not want to imagine a life where you do not wake up next to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he had said, watching as your lips wobble with emotion in just two words. “I’ll learn for next time.”)

You had professed that he often keeps you grounded when your thoughts tend to go awry, so Alhaitham keeps this in mind and strategically anchors you down whenever he deems necessary. It seems to work so far; he just has to hone in on what words can help soothe rather than aggravate. Holding your hands is step one to calming you down. You squeeze his hand when he does, this gesture so familiar that he no longer bats an eye. (Not that he does not enjoy it still; your hand in his is a comfortable feeling that he will never tire of.) 

“You don’t have to worry about making a first good impression,” Alhaitham tells you. “But if you’re really worried about it, we can meet up all together during her birthday in a few months.”

Your shoulders lose tension slightly at the prospect of a future meeting. You still look skeptical at his first statement, but you are reasonable even at the worst of times, so you allow him to elaborate. “Okay, the birthday sounds good. We definitely should get a present,” you say. “But what do you mean ‘don’t worry?’ Why not?” 

“‘Treat my other grandchild well,’ she told me.” Alhaitham feels your hands squeeze his again, more tightly this time, and he looks up in time to see your smile wobble precariously. “So you’re fine,” he says, letting you laugh off the tender emotions to save face.

The year is in the throes of summer now, so it does not take long for things to grow hot and uncomfortable. But still, Alhaitham does not let go of your hands as you swing them back and forth happily– not as long as you won’t. 

(What kind of things has Alhaitham been telling his grandmother? ‘Must be only the good things,’ you try to convince yourself, tempering the bubbly feeling of pleasure from bursting. But Alhaitham is nothing if not honest– so what does that mean for what he thinks of you that his grandmother is able to welcome you with open-arms into the family?)

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The two of you hold hands very often now. Alhaitham thinks it's convenient to not be separated and to keep you from wandering off: two similar but distinct situations that occur every time the two of you walk anywhere. If it's not to lose you in a crowd during a popular bakery's rush hour, then it is to keep you at his side before you run off to buy yet another houseplant. It's easy to guide you away from the busy streets when you are close to him. Knowing your inability to walk in a straight line (you always lean into him), he feels more at ease if he were the one having to dodge bikers or errant puddles. 

You notice this eventually, and you are enamored by this action of his. Alhaitham can understand where you’re coming from, though he can’t say he truly ‘gets it.’ It is only natural that he keeps his mind from being preoccupied by extraneous thoughts such as whether or not you are safe. If he can keep you near the sidewalk walls, hand in hand, then he can save space to think about the prose of the latest literature he has read or focus on answering random philosophical questions that you happen to blurt out that day. Your questions are borne of boredom and a dash of 'silliness' as you say.

You make the excuse often, despite being very intelligent and serious whenever it is necessary. You are good in a crisis, he has noticed, though you tend to downplay your abilities during these times. ‘Modest,’ he thinks, though he has always found that concept quite pointless. Alhaitham, on the other hand, has never found the need to showcase less than what he is. (Then again, that may be why you are more likable than he is.)

For one, you possess a creative soul that Kaveh bemoans is absent in Alhaitham. You try to deny it, but then he reminds you that you have dabbled in far more artistic pursuits than he has with great fervor. You point out that he has a degree in the humanities and a greater grasp on semiotics and linguistics than anyone you know, but knowing is not the same as doing. ‘Art is beauty with human emotion– something you would never understand in a million years!’ or so Kaveh keeps on telling him when he has to carry the architect back to his apartment drunk. Despite it all, you seem to believe that he is capable of it, so Alhaitham obliges. 

During break, he writes a poem for you on the notepad that you bought him for his office. Alhaitham thinks you must like it because he has seen you keep it on your night stand since, rereading it at least once before you go to sleep.

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Alhaitham believes that he does not have an eye for beauty or an artistic soul, but you think otherwise. Perhaps it is not the same sense of aesthetics as most people, but you know at least that Alhaitham recognizes beauty and acknowledges it. You think it is the same with creating art. 

If art is made of emotion, you know Alhaitham has what it takes to make something beautiful. You are rewarded for this belief when, a week after you try to talk him into writing something, he gives you a small slip of paper of less than five lines in Arabic and its translation in English. You never gave Alhaitham any prompt to write, but he writes you a love poem anyways.

If eyes are the windows to your soul, then what do these few words of raw emotion and tender allegories tell of the artist’s heart?

Alhaitham would ever call himself an artist, but you at least think he’s a poet if the words he writes about beauty, longing, and love etched into your heart is of any indication. 

You aren’t sure if it is a direct result, but you get back into photography– and consequently, scrapbooking soon after Alhaitham writes you his poem. You print out pictures you’ve taken over the years, chronologizing the memories you’ve made in the past few years. With only about half a year with Alhaitham, you don’t have as many photos together with him, but you scrounge enough to make at least a page or two. Most of them are candid ones, selfies, and maybe it is because your fiancé is a handsome man, but you think they turned out pretty good anyways.

Though you jump between hobbies often, you are nothing if not dedicated to these whims of yours, buying pages for photos and printing several dozen of them to find a proper place for them in your album. You are delighted when Alhaitham offers you some picture frames to place photos in and decorate the house, so you corral him to look at the photos you printed to pick a few. 

One of your favorites you intend to put into a frame is a photo of you and Alhaitham with his friends at work. You slide it into view and hold it out for Alhaitham, and though he lets out a small huff at your suggestion to put it at his desk, he still takes the picture frame from your hand. "You can take a few more," you tell him, beaming. You watch as he sifts through the photos, and you can't help the way you flit to and fro, excited to share a hobby with your fiancé– a little bit of you.

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Alhaitham sees the way you attempt to give him privacy to choose the photos he prefers in his periphery. You are too eager for your own good though, your enthusiasm winning out your desire for discretion. You hover at an arm's length, watching him intently ever so often before forcing your eyes elsewhere. 

You're… incredibly endearing. He has to turn his head away to hide his amusement. 

Alhaitham puts more effort into scanning the table instead of watching you then. The array of photos that scatter the table summarizes his time with you well. Though he is not one for sentimental displays, Alhaitham appreciates it now when he can pinpoint the very moment captured in the pictures like it was only yesterday. The first hike on a sunny day– you had drunk two bottles of water in the first hour. What seems to be one of the many trips to the supermarket– Alhaitham cannot quite tell which trip it is, but his eyes catch your phone's camera not a moment before you stick out your tongue and snap a photo. 

You're surprisingly good at taking photos when he least expects it. Alhaitham recalls how you've complained at how he looks good in every photo you take. 'Photogenic,' you had sighed at him, not that he would know; you're the first one to take as many photos of him. 

And the first he does not mind taking a photo of. You seemed as equally awed as you were envious the first time you asked him to take a photo of you at a scenic destination, and it turned out, in your own words, stunning. "I never look good like this," you had argued, though you were pleased enough to like it immediately.

If you had asked him, he would have said that you looked charming in every photo you're in. If Kaveh had been there, he would have said something along the lines of beauty in the eye of the beholder. Loath to admit it, Alhaitham thinks he may have to concede to this point.

"I'll keep this one."

"Which one?" You ask, sidling close to him almost immediately. His heart stutters for a moment in surprise before it settles again, hyper aware of your arm pressing against his. "Oh, this one…"

Alhaitham looks at you when you go quiet. You have a complicated look on your face that he has yet to decipher; it is there and gone the next moment.

Alhaitham doesn't think it's an unflattering photo of either of you, and you must agree having printed it out in the first place. In the selfie, you look up into the phone with your eyes gently closing, a smile stretching wide– the perfect embodiment of the type of person you are to him. He hears you mumble that he isn't looking at the camera in this one. He doesn't mind it; whether he's facing the camera or not is irrelevant in his selection.

(His gaze is softened in the photo, his lips upturned just the slightest bit to showcase his contentment in the moment. You don't think anyone has looked at you as gently as Alhaitham does in this picture.

You remember looking at the photo for the longest time with a sense of yearning, imagining that Alhaitham looked a little bit like he was irrevocably in love with you.)

“The angle for my face isn’t that flattering,” you say instead, smiling, but you don’t do a thing to try and take it away from him. “But you look good for someone not looking at the camera, Mr. Candid. Are you going to put it in the office?” 

Alhaitham takes the photo and slides it into a coffee-colored frame. “Yes,” he says, and if he was any other person, he would have jumped at your sudden shout. Instead, he turns to you with a brow raised in question. 

You scramble through the photos before tapping on one of them– a photo the two of you took at a candlelit dinner that you had a gift card for– with much vigor. “Why don’t you choose this one then? I look so much better in this one!” You bemoan, looking up at him. 

Alhaitham can’t help the huff of laughter that escapes him. “No,” he says.

“Then this one?”

“No.”

“How ‘bout this one?”

“No.” 

You huff this time, though a smile tries to peek from underneath your banter. “Why not?” 

The picture soothes him, Alhaitham thinks suddenly, but he hesitates on admitting this to you. It is very funny to him to see you whine and gripe, and you know just as much. Saying something as sentimental as this would undoubtedly change the mood.

Alhaitham prides himself on knowing what others may think, predicting their next move and countering it with great ease. With you, he is not too sure. Partly because he has yet to know everything that makes you the person you are, but mostly because he knows he’s been compromised. He wants to make you laugh. He wants to be the one to put you at ease, reading books until you fall asleep at his side. Though Alhaitham suspects that you would be happy hearing that the image of you has the same effect on him as he does to you, he can never be sure when it’s with you.

(How can he accurately deduce the heart of someone he is fond of?) 

“It’s the easiest way to introduce you to everyone who hasn’t seen you at work,” he says. “So they can finally stop asking me what you look like.”

“You really don’t have any photos on your phone?” You gape. “Maybe we should start using your phone. It probably has the better camera anyways…” You trail off, looking less despondent than your words would convey. The smile on your face says everything as you turn away to fondly look at the other photos. Alhaitham looks down at the one you’re looking at, and he is surprised to find that it’s a rare photo that he does not remember when it was taken. 

For one, Alhaitham is asleep. Based on the light coming from outside and the angle, he can probably guess that the photo was taken mid to late afternoon on a weekend that you were home with him. He must have fallen asleep while reading on the couch because his book is on his chest, one hand still holding onto it. 

It is a strangely vulnerable picture. It is a culmination of the time he has lived with you: the ease in which he finds himself in your company, and the trust he has to not stir even as you, he assumes, quietly laugh to yourself while taking the photo. It is a photo taken with a little bit of whimsy and lots of affection. Alhaitham finds himself oddly embarrassed. His face, luckily, remains impassive, though he can feel his ears getting hot. 

You look back at him, as if only realizing he was still there, and put the photo to your chest protectively. "I'm keeping this one," you say teasingly.

Warmth settles in Alhaitham's chest. "Aren't you embarrassed, taking a peeping photo of your own fiancé?" He asks, his lips twitching into his own small smile when he hears you sputter. 

Sleeping photos aside, Alhaitham is pleased with the photo he has chosen for the frame on his work desk. He was telling you the truth when he said that having the picture would save time for him when people want to see what you look like. His picture frame is turned outward for ease of visitors, but considering how little he encourages visitors, it is hardly ever used for that purpose.

The times that it has been used for that reason are more than likely for the people who have already met you. Dehya comes in his office to hand in a report and always turns the frame toward her, staring at the image for a moment before leaving– though not without throwing Alhaitham a knowing look that he ignores. The first time Nilou sees the photo sitting on his desk, she asks after your well-being and, good-natured as her questions are, Alhaitham can only answer honestly.

But otherwise, Alhaitham likes the convenience of having your smiling face at his desk. That should be reason enough to keep that photo there, isn’t it? (And if he looks at it periodically during work, and more so when work begins to unnecessarily pile up on his desk, then who is there to tell him not to?)

“Working hard as usual, Alhaitham?” 

Alhaitham looks up from clearing his desk of paperwork to see Cyno walking toward him. The clock on the wall reads 4:55 PM. “Only as much as I need to,” he replies back, snapping his briefcase closed. “I have never worked overtime and I don’t plan to start. Besides,” Alhaitham continues dryly, “detective work is more in your wheelhouse than mine.”

At this, Cyno scoffs, his gaze landing on the briefcase with what the both of them know to be papers more important than anyone could ever know. “I’ll have it settled as soon as we get additional evidence on Azar,” Cyno says. “Candace is working on writing the investigation report. Dehya should be able to go through the past transactions the company has made in the past financial year by next week. I’m assuming you’re keeping the other paperwork safe?” 

“There’s always a papertrail in one way or another with embezzlement,” Alhaitham states. “I’d rather not have the company go bankrupt from the recklessness of one man. That sounds rather troublesome, and I’d rather not have to find another place to work.”

“So you don’t have to work overtime?” Cyno smirks at him despite the rather somber topic. “Or because you have someone you want to provide for at home?” 

You have been saving up money to buy a better coffee machine at home, he thinks. “I’m quite comfortable with the salary they offer for my position,” he says instead. Alhaitham adjusts the frame at his desk and checks the clock again– 5:00 PM. “I’m off,” he tells Cyno, standing up. “Don’t call me unless something is urgent.”

Alhaitham vaguely hears Cyno’s response as he heads off, driving as soon as he is able. The car ride is nothing different than the usual traffic. With summer underway, the sun is more likely to shine directly into his eyes with its longer days, but Alhaitham hardly notices the inconvenience as he wonders if you have already started to make dinner at home. And which apron you have decided to use today– the lemon floral design or the funnier one with a phrase that always makes you laugh a little under your breath. 

The thought follows him from his parked car into his shared apartment with you, and when he sees you greet him with a smile, he thinks no photo can compare to the real-life you. It’s a curious thought; your smile is no different then and now, but he feels it inside him that he will always be more satisfied with seeing you in person. 

Alhaitham wonders if he is quieter than usual, sitting with his thoughts because he looks up mid-meal and sees your concerned expression. “Are you alright?” You ask, voice warm and affectionate. He feels his cheeks prickle with a tell-tale sign of an oncoming blush and he cannot understand why. “Did something happen at work today?”

“...It’s busier,” Alhaitham says. He has no intentions on bringing his work home especially now when it may become more complicated than he would want it to. With law enforcement possibly being involved and the company’s livelihood… Candace has advised him to keep it among those in the company and Alhaitham is inclined to agree. He would never lie to you though; he’d say everything if you ever asked, and the realization is abrupt. “I’ve been told I can’t say too much because it’s confidential information, but if you would prefer if I told you-”

“No, it’s fine.” You wince, waving your hand. “I mean, unless you want to tell me. But I don’t want you to get in trouble. I appreciate you telling me though.” Warmth seeps into your voice again. You gaze at him with just as much heat, if not more searing, as though you have something else you want to tell him. 

You don't, though, dropping your gaze to the plate in front of you. (Alhaitham can definitely feel his upper cheeks warm, and he continues to eat again too, hoping to blame the color on the light.) “If there’s anything I can do for you,” you say, “just let me know.” 

You look up again to flash a small smile at him, and he returns it. 

“Thank you,” he says, and finds that it is genuine.

“Of course.” You nudge his leg underneath the table with a twinkle in your eyes. “For you, always,” you say and laugh as though your promises do not have a hold on his heart. 

The quicker he gets this company problem out of the way, Alhaitham thinks, the faster he can start planning for the wedding, financially and logistically. He remembers that you wanted a large wedding, after all, and he will only provide the best for you on your wedding day. His wedding day. Both of yours. 

Alhaitham supposes a few hours of working at home won’t hurt if it means that day can come more quickly. The reason why he feels this way sits on the precipice of his mind, but then you ask him about his opinions on preferred cleaning products for the hardwood floors and the thought is pushed to the back where it will surface when he least expects it.

(And by then, his thoughts will have rearranged everything into three simple words.)

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