#id love to write more of this but i do not....do not have the brain to do so rn....it craves short sweet cute affection

[webism]

oh my holy moly i hit ten thousand disco girls :( i might just cry. woah

ill do a celebration event thingy r an interactive porn or something i promise but just for now for today id like to say a very huge and enormous thank you to everyone who follows me for my silly an inconsistent porn and occasional hiatus of multiple weeks. i love all my anons, and all the FRIENDS that i have made holy shit ive made some friendships on this tumblr that i hold so close to my heart its insane.

i did this when i hit three thousand, and im gonna do it again. these are some of the best writers with the most beautiful souls and i love them all to bits and if i deserve your follow they deserve it ten-fold.

@lotties-ashwagandha stevie my biggest hater since day one. best writer i know, codes interactive fiction like me (read @banyangulf-if trust me)

@beanietopia the actual love of my life i cant do a day without beanie without feeling nauseous now. consistently does better than me in wordle though. beanie is so fucking talented and writes for SHIU KONG EVERYONE . i just came

@yemmuis MIMI MY BELOVED my girlfriend my will to live i will marry mimi one day i love her with the whole of my heart and her choso fics WILL leave you wet and breathless trust. me. (don't flirt with her tho i can fight)

@sqoa sequoia my darling needs to start posting again but if you aren't familiar with her works i very strongly recommend reading her drabbles. she writes gojo so well im frothing at the mouth begging for more from her daily. our discord dms are just me grovelling.

@gojoscinnamonroll yaz my darling my love the most beautful person i have seen in my whole life writes the sexiest shit ever. read her most recent professor rafayel fic trust im ROCK HARD but that might just be her presence im so in love with yaz

@indiewritesxoxo indie is probably my biggest inspo on tumblr, ive BEEN a huge fan forevers. literally just a gorgeous prose and indies general vibe to her writing makes me melt and cry and cum and die and im so obsessed its unhealthy.

@madamechrissy god the talents chrissy has is insane. wish wish wish wish wish i could write like that. i aspire to write like her actually AND SHE WRITES FOR LADS NOW trust you guys are in for the biggest treat ever good lord.

@screampied all of you know vegas already theres no one that doesnt and i am CLAIMING number one screampied fan position its mine suck on that. vegas i could never write the amount that you do and keep it so PRETTY and INTERESTING its witchcraft really.

@fushiguho every single last one of nys ideas and thoughts and feelings make me go weak in the knees i want to live in her brain and build a little house in there and lick her frontal lobe to transfer her thoughts to my head because holy moly. obsessed. number one fan again. my spot bitch!

@wainawtmai BALLS i love balls so much balls is my muse all i think about is balls and HAVE YOU SEEN THE SHIT SHE'S BEEN PUTTING OUT? im in love and kissing her as i write this god she's so talented

@madaqueue everything from quinn that comes up on my timelinei read twice. getting into genshin impact has gifted me a wider range of his library and i thank god every day for it because he is so FUCKING TALENTED and their mind speaks to me in ways no other could.

@buckiverse has a fic called lessons for zayne and i think about it daily. i read it in the car in a hospital carpark ironically and i have not been the same since. GOD the raw talent i cant i CANNOT i don't interact with you enough jupe im so toxic but please know i am so obsessed with you this is caleb level infatuation i have got going on

there are more. there are so many more and ive skipped so many beautiful writers, friends and mutuals so if ur not here i still love you and am inviting you into my bed as we speak. thank you so much for 10k i do NAWT deserve yall. please go check those writers out they're so talented

[mochindayo]

It's Yellow Outside

Platonic; really; i swear; though i guess it could be romantic too? short little 1k fic

From the scene where, Aether’s goes to, boop, Kinich’s nose

—--------

Aether stretched as he walked outside from the housing that he and Paimon were staying in, ready to start the day. Paimon urged Aether to take a slow day, after the rough commissions he encountered yesterday. Even Kinich was ganging up on him.

He finally relented, and Kinich compromised, saying that he would take them on a little hike, just so Aether wouldn’t feel cooped up the whole time. For that, Aether was very grateful. 

“Wow! Paimon can see all the little yellow particles today! Pollen must be really high,” Paimon mused, floating just beside him.

Aether hummed in agreement, absent-mindedly rubbing at his own nose. Tickly. Paimon giggled and blessed him. 

He turned to his left as he heard footsteps approaching him. Kinich!

He seemed unfazed by the thick air, though Aether noticed the slight tension in his jaw, the way his nostrils flared minutely when the wind shifted.

“Are you okay?” Aether asked with a light tone.

Kinich huffed, clearly in denial over something, “Yes, I can handle a little pollen, Aether.”

Aether held back a grin, knowing denial when he saw it. He didn’t push, but he didn’t miss the way that Kinich’s breath wavered ever so slightly as they made their way to a trail. He filed that thought away, waiting.

They were halfway up a gentle incline when the first real crack in Kinich’s composure appeared. A strong breeze rustled through the plants, sending a visible wave of golden pollen swirling around them–

“ihH’Kshiew’shiew!” Aether sniffled, blushing as he lost control of his own nose. He expected a blessing from Kinich, but when he looked over at him, he seemed a little preoccupied. 

His steps faltered as a sharp, yet barely audible inhale was taken. Aether watched in anticipation. Kinich’s brows furrowed, nose twitching as he breath hitched once–twice—

‘Hh’ngkt!-ngtch!-h’kgt!-gt-gt!” The stifles were nearly soundless, barely more than a sharp exhale through his nose. It was so contained, that Aether wouldn’t have noticed had they not been the only three out in the wilderness. 

Kinich sniffled quietly, urgently scrubbing his nose before his chest shuddered with another inhale–

“hH’tchh! Hh’ngktch! H’ngkt! H’ngkt! Hh…” Kinich barely contained the first one, but was able to wrangle the rest in. 

Aether winced. Those had to have hurt. 

“B-bless you,” the blonde whispered out, almost hesitantly. Kinich barely acknowledged it, only giving Aether a short nod and rubbing the underside of his nose with a knuckle. 

They continued on, Paimon was questioning Kinich about various local dishes and restaurants, trying to figure out where to start when they got back into the town. The longer they walked, the denser the pollen seemed to become. There was a hazy layer of dust that came with hiking through the mountainous areas as well. Kinich, despite his best efforts, was not holding up well against the pollen. 

He sniffled wetly every few minutes, rubbing his nose as subtly as possible. However, Aether could see that the longer they were out here, the more irritated Kinich’s nose became. He saw the way his breath hitched ever so slightly before being squashed away by pinching his nose. 

Paimon, for once, was watching quietly, darting glances of concern over at Aether. 

It wasn’t long before Kinich’s control really began to slip. His nose is getting the better of him. 

“Kinich, a-are you sure that–”

“hH’Ngkxt! hH’tchnk! hH’gkt’gktch’gktchh! I-I’m fihh’gktch! h’Ngkxtch! Fine.” A desperate barrage of 7 sneezes overtook Kinich, not really helping his ‘I’m fine’ case. 

“Kinich, really, we can go back….” Aether sighed with concern. Kinich opened his mouth to, more than likely, refuse, but his nose had other plans.

“hH’Tchh’uh! hHh’e’Gtchh! nngh–hH’TSChhuh! ehHeh’gnt!-gnt-gntch’uhh!” He was really beginning to struggle with silencing the sneezes. He let out a slow, controlled exhale afterwards. Breath still a little uneven, but the sneezes seemed to relent for now.

Aether took a step forward, Kinich took one step back.

“Kinich…”

“I’m fine,” Kinich sounded horribly congested now. He avoided Aether’s gaze. 

“You’re really n-”

“hHE’TSChuhh! heH’ATSChhh! hehh’hhh–hehhh!....hhehH…eh…hHh…” Kinich was stuck. All that holding back must’ve messed with him. Kinich’s face and nose were stuck in pre-sneeze misery. An endless hitching cycle. Aether watched endearingly, before giving a small tap to the tip of Kinich’s nose. That seemed to release him from his itchy, stuck misery. 

“A’TSCh’UHh!! heHG’TSChuhh!! H’ATSChhhieww!! HE’TSCHHhoo! hHG’SHOOo!!! hehHn…nnHHeHE’TGSHIeww!...hh…hehH’tschh! eH’Tschuhh!” Aether had never heard Kinich sneeze so loudly before. (not that he’d really seen him sneeze much in general except maybe random single or double, but–). His last two sneezes sounded of his normal volume. 

“Please, let me help you.” Aether gently grabbed Kinich’s forearm, leading him back to the village while Paimon shoved one of Aether’s handkerchiefs at Kinich’s face. He reluctantly accepted the handkerchief, softly blowing into it. His nose twitched again, another breath snagging in his chest, and this time, he didn’t try to stifle it into non-existence.

‘HhH’tSCHh’uhh! …hHt’choo!-hT’Tchhoo!” Kinich scrubbed at his nose with the handkerchief this time, blushing a deep red. 

As Aether led the three back, Kinich continued to sniffle and let out occasional sneezes here and there, though they came softer now. The pollen finally being released from his nose. 

“Paimon now thinks that you should also take the day off,” she said bluntly, “No offense, but you look awful.” Paimon truly meant it in a caring way, they could tell. 

Kinich shot her an unimpressed glare, but the effect was short lived as his breath hitched again.

“Hh’Tschh!! ehhiHHT’--hhHT….HH’GKSHHhuhh!!!” He groaned softly afterward, pinching away a growing headache between his eyes. 

Aether smiled, nudging him slightly, “she’s not wrong, y’know…”

Kinich grumbled, voice thick with congestion,”....fine.” 

“Just, let me take care of you, okay? Our friendship is not transactional. It’s okay to be cared for every once in a while, yeah?” Aether spoke gently, looking up at Kinich with his big, irresistible, amber eyes.

Paimon snorted, “heh, Aether, you should take your own advice sometimes.” Aether shot her a glare, but knew she was right. Kinich smirked, but said nothing. 

This was progress at least. 

=====

It’s on ao3 too if that’s your thing :)…

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63971227

[s0fter-sin]

one of my favourite aspects of supernatural that you very rarely see in paranormal shows is that sam and dean are already versed in the world they live in. there’s no sudden discovery of ghosts and demons and now they have to learn about them along with the audience; they are born into it and already know all about it. it allows the audience to follow their personal story instead of also trying to figure out this new world and its rules

the first season is full of knowledge we never see them learn; “w*ndigoes are in the minnesota woods or- or northern michigan. i’ve never even heard of one this far west.” […] “great. well then this [his gun] is useless.” (1x02), “you don’t break a curse. you get the hell out of its way.” (1x08), d: “it’s a god. a pagan god, anyway.” […] “the annual cycle of its killings? and the fact that the victims are always a man and a woman. like some kind of fertility right.” […] s: “the last meal. given to sacrificial victims. d: “yeah, i’m thinking a ritual sacrifice to appease some pagan god.” (1x11)

almost every episode in the first season is a monster they’ve faced before that they then explain to the audience in a way that should feel patronising; like it’s the same speech given over and over again but instead, the audience almost feels included in the knowledge. it’s stated with such an innate confidence and comfort in said knowledge that it feels like we already knew it too; “spirits and demons don't have to unlock doors. if they want inside, they just go through the walls.” […] “the claws, the speed that it moves; could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog.” (1x02), “it's biblical numerology. you know noah's ark, it rained for forty days. the number means death.” (1x04), “no no no, not the reaper, a reaper. there's reaper lore in pretty much every culture on earth, it goes by 100 different names.” […] “you said it yourself that the clock stopped, right? reapers stop time. and you can only see 'em when they're coming at you which is why i could see it and you couldn't.” (1x12)

they already know and, at least in the first season, already have what they need to kill whatever they’re hunting; already know to salt and burn bones for spirits, fire for a w*ndigo, exorcisms for demons, a silver bullet to the heart for shapeshifters. there’s only three times in the entire first season that they run into something new to them; 1x14 when sam gets his first vision that leads him to another psychic, 1x16 when dean calls caleb for help on the sigil he put together and he tells him about daevas, and 1x20 when they find out vampires are real- and they only don’t know that bc john thought they were hunted to extinction and not worth mentioning

(there’s also technically two half instances if you count one of them knowing something the other doesn’t - sam figuring out the tulpa in 1x17 and dean already knowing about the shtriga in 1x18 - but those still rely on sam and dean having prior knowledge)

even when they’re uncertain about facing something, it’s not bc they don’t know what it is; it’s precisely bc they know what it is and acknowledge that it’ll be a difficult hunt (“i don't know, man. this isn't our normal gig. i mean, demons, they don't want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. this is big. and i wish dad was here.” 1x04)

so much of the tension in paranormal shows typically comes from the main character(s) not knowing what is happening to them/the people around them and having to find out how to resolve it. supernatural is unique in that it operates more like a police procedural. the tension comes from solving the clues and identifying patterns to figure out who (what) the killer is and intercepting before they can take another victim

it’s such a different tone to go for when compared to other shows that came both before, during, and after its run. it sets sam and dean on even footing with each other since they both have the same knowledge going in, and it puts them in a place of authority usually reserved for an outside character

the shows i compare spn to most is charmed, buffy and teen wolf; every main character in those shows are brought into the paranormal world knowing nothing, putting them on the same level as the audience, and they have their mc interact with others already knowledgeable about that world in order to overcome their problem/monster of the week. the audience organically learns about this new world as the characters learn about it. it’s a sound writing strategy that prevents “as we already know”-style exposition but something that complicates it is if your world building isn’t unique or intriguing enough, this slow introduction can become boring

we’ve seen shows like these before; sitting through the same tropes of characters learning to use their powers, struggling with no longer feeling normal/relating to the regular world around them, and not knowing how much they can trust the people already involved in this new world gets repetitive. all three shows eventually reach the same level of comfort with their new world that spn starts with but if the characters aren’t enough to draw you in, you can end up dropping it before they reach that point (and often, before the overarching plot can really kick in and evolve the show beyond the villain of the week format)

it’s the superhero origin movie in tv format; dragged out and overplayed. dropping the audience into an established world of course comes with its own problems but you also have the benefit of pre-existing established character dynamics that let the audience slot in like they’ve always been there instead of just getting to know all the characters while the characters also get to know each other

sam and dean already knowing about the supernatural lets the audience immediately get to the core of the story; the conflict between sam and dean, the search for their father, and the mystery of what killed their mother

[ima-ghost-art]

Fic/ comic idea I've been thinking of,,,,

Leo taking a journey Odysseus style to see Jason one last time in Elysium, I'm thinking Hazel and Frank to complete the trio!

On their journey, the group come across various ghosts, some they recognise, others not so,, like old foes (Octavian), gods (pluto/Hades, Persephone & Thanatos) famed heroes (Odysseus (I have BIG ideas for Ody and Leo talking) Zoey, Beckendorf and Selina), and even familial ones (their mother's, Sammy and Grandma Zhang)

Before it all comes to a head and they find jason, sweet sweet Jason, who when he sees them can't help but beam. Hugging his dear friends with everything he has. When he hugs Leo, tears brimming in their eyes, they can't help but choke on their words as they can't help the painful emotions that it took walking through the underworld to reunite.

Before they have to leave, Jason makes Leo promise on the river styx that it should be a long long time before they see eachother again, he was not allowed to go sacrificing himself so carelessly, and instead live a long happy life

[ambersky0319]

I love and hate getting hit with big project ideas (both of the writing and art variety)

love it bc they seem so fun!! i would like to do them for various reasons! i know finishing would leave me feeling accomplished, id learn some new stuff and practice some skills

hate it cause i have no time to finish and i eventually lose motivation to keep up

[kohakhearts]

hey that pokemon 2000 gifset + your jn dub analysis made me think about the pokemon 2000 dub - I've only seen it subbed once (compared to the hundred times I watched it dubbed as a child) so I could be misremembering, but didn't the dub completely change the themes of the movie with the chosen one ash thing?

i actually haven’t watched the sub nearly as many as times as the dub either :p but i have read extensively about this topic bc it’s personally my favourite pokemon movie and yes! the first and second pokemon movies are both victim to this (like mewtwo’s epic speech we all love so much at the end of the first movie…being a complete fabrication by the dub team :p you gotta give those writers credit - they were VERY good at what they did), largely i’m guessing due to cultural values and expectations. since they were trying to sell the anime to an american audience, not a japanese one.

tangentially, i will say i also think that’s the root of this like…subtle distinction some people have between the characters “ash” and “satoshi.” i don’t differentiate them in any big way myself because fundamentally they still are very much the same, but it is true that in japanese, ash has somewhat different mannerisms and responds differently to events at times, especially in the early anime when it was so much easier to get away with making big changes for…a big assortment of reasons haha.

in THIS movie in particular, some of those things are like…well. the prophecy is probably the most obvious change. the dub team rewrote it to include the chosen one reference, which works great because of the word play on ash’s name. in japanese, it just says “an exceptional trainer will appear to help calm the wrath of the gods.” ash’s response to this is more mild trepidation than outright fear. he doesn’t hesitate like he does in the dub. and tbh? both reactions make perfect sense for his character in my opinion.

in japanese, his concern is more "do you really think i can fit that role?" this...tracks pretty well with his character development by this point. like yeah he said he could win the indigo league, but he's also thinking about dropping out after gary loses; it's that little grain of insecurity he has, which he's normally good at covering up with arrogance (a lot of which is also very genuine, don't get me wrong). but he sees the opportunity to help and he takes it. that's just...what ash does.

in english, though, the prophecy is pretty clearly about him. there's no one else it could be. it has to be him. and he...doesn't like that? that scares him. which, fair. anyone would be terrified by being singled out like that. it's also so much...not ash's thing, even at this point in the series. his character development is about embracing having to work hard to do well. to keep trying until you get it right, no matter how many times you get it wrong. the idea of being a "chosen one" completely robs him of his ability to be so single-minded about what he wants his destiny to be that it manifests as pre-determined; it just...pre-determines it for him, if that makes sense. lol.

the thesis of the japanese version of the film is that no one person or pokemon can stand on their own. everyone needs help. it's about harmonizing with each other and with nature. about letting others help you, and helping them in turn. the english version rewrites that into a story about power and destiny. the title alone says it all, right? it's called "the power of one" - no reference to lugia, no reference to the birds. in japan, the title is about the revelation (or "birth") of lugia.

westerners love a good chosen one story, so this was a really good choice by the dub team in that respect. i mean, it's a narrative that's stuck really well. fandom loves chosen one ash! in general, western fanbases are really into this narrative. it's everywhere. and there's a lot that goes into that, culturally, and especially religiously, historically, etc. so at the end of the day, i don't think the change is so much about conflicting ideas about collectivism and individualism. it's more about goals and ideals, on a personal level.

let me say again for the 273456784th time, i love that they resolved ash's story by having him realize that the goal he's really been striving for all this time is to meet and befriend pokemon. to learn from them. to earn their trust. it's like...he did the thing that everyone else thought represented his goal, maybe even himself included, only to realize that his dream was never about the end of it anyway. it was about everything he learnt and everyone he met along the way. (i also suspect nobody writing in 1997 knew that that would be the ultimate resolution, either. but it makes sense in the entire context. it's kind of a nice irony, even. to only figure it out after writing the story :p)

and i think this little distinction is important to that goal! it's his whole character! which is why even though i too love chosen one characters, i don't necessarily think of ash as one. because even if he is, his whole Thing is that he wants to try. a lot of the chosen one narrative is about characters being reluctant to be used for a "greater good," or about them collapsing under that pressure. ash doesn't really have that. he does what he thinks is right because he...thinks it's right. sometimes, sure, others have to push him into it a bit, but usually they're actually pushing the other way - it's too dangerous, you're going to get hurt, etc. and to me, i don't know - thinking of times he's died, or nearly died, and some legendary or mythical pokemon has saved him at the last minute...i don't think that has to mean he's special in a cosmic sort of way. i think it just means he's special to them. that he did something for them, or for someone else they had come to care for (thinking manaphy responding to may's emotions, not just to the fact that ash was drowning, or in mpm ash convincing latios to trust him because of their mutual desire to save latias, etc.), and so they want to help him. which is completely opposite to the typical chosen one narrative, i think? because he doesn't do those things out of obligation...he does them because he thinks he can become a better trainer by doing them, and he wants to do that. and well. he did do that.

anyway my tl;dr here is YES they changed the theme a lot haha, but i find it fun that they also changed the characters’ responses to that theme. funnily that’s…kind of also what fanfiction writers do all the time, lmao, but that’s a whole other conversation.

[loveforskekgra]

I really wish I was one of those people who knew how to make like perfume oils and stuff because I spend a lot of time thinking about what a collection of perfumes themed after each Skeksis and Urru would smell like

[opens-up-4-nobody]

Listen. Probably my favorite thing about The Terror is that because the story is one planned out season, the arcs and parallel scenes are set up so cleanly and nicely that it echos.

[birdhousemp3]

hi brynn <333 hope you and emilio are doing well xx i wanted to ask if maybe you have the time if you would mind talking about your favorite things about thg + your least favorite + the thing that you feel that people miss about it/tend to misinterpret maybe please and thank you <333

ren i really wish i could give u some intelligent and thoughtful response to this that shows my capacity for critical engaging and impassioned discourse but uh. unfortunately thg is not where i can reach that level of thought processing

my favorite thing abt thg is it brings me back to being twelve years old again and my least favorite thing abt thg is that it reminds me i can never go back to being twelve years old again </3

also catching fire is not the best of the trilogy

[orcelito]

Honestly. OK. It's been some weeks since I did any writing. And I SHOULD push to finish ladue chapter 3. And i will. Eventually. BUT

My brain keeps scrabbling towards trigun, & I know it's inevitable I'm gonna write smth for it, but I still don't know what to write bc Realistically I'm still in the digestion phase. I'm not the type who will write while in the middle of absorbing a thing. I will write only after I have reasonably completed the thing, bc I would DIE if I got any details wrong for the thing

So yes I watched all of tristamp, but im only 20 ish chapters into trimax, so I'm not gonna be writing anything until after I finish that manga. Which you'd THINK would be good incentive for me to push to read the manga. But get this. Wolfwood Fanfic Good.

Also anytime I start reading I can't stop & I have literally given myself headaches doing this reading all of original trigun manga in one go And then 2 nights ago reading chapters 4 through 20 of tristamp in one go. Yes I read a few more last night and didn't get the Brain Grip, but I can tell shit's about to go down HARD & that's what got me getting only 4 hours of sleep the night before last bc i could not stop READING

I have to be cautious. Hyperfixations are a dangerous thing if you don't have the time to commit to them.

.... and I still really wanna write vashwood fanfic 😭

[scarameownya]

tags ran out so im continuing it here JAJSJSDJJD

on a second thought i should have tagged this as nsfw before the tags ran out 💀

#GRANDMA LOST HER SON AND DAUGHTER IN LAW... STOP IT STOP I DONT WANNA GET EMOTIONAL JAIL JAIL FOR YOU

#"grandma filled the roles so well even if his heart bled, not too much blood spilled out" thats its im stealing your brain this is actually insane writing and wording IM IN LOVE

#NO NO NOT HIM REGRETTING NOT BEING TO HELP HER AS A CHILD NOBONONOON

#AND HER DEATH HELLO ?!?!?! ok and ik u didnt intended for it to be but id like to think him brushing off people's remarks

#are somewhat in a way him grieving cause hes knows all of it and in a way because he knows his child self could not reciprocate all of it

#DO NOT TORTURE ME MORE WITH HIM READING HIS PARENTS LETTER AND FUCKING CRYING RIV I WILL KILL YOU HELLO IM ?!?@?@?@?#?@#*×*

#ALSO AUAGAHAHAHA I LOVE THEIR BANTER SO MUCH OMFGGGGGGGG THE FACT THAT HE HAS SOMEONE TO SHARE AND CALL A HOME WITH AUGAHSHSHD

#als his thought process during the smut scene... :[[ poor lil brain boy.. he's literally so happy at how you are so perfect for him

#and just how whole you made him feel... wahhh :"[[[[ riv should get her device taken away signing a petition rn //lh

#THE LETTER AT THE END ?!?!?! OMFG HAITHAM YOU CHEESY ASS //POS ALL POS HES JUST SO ?!?!?! SO ?!?@@??!

#seeing haitham this gentle is insane omfg riv i love love LOVE your version of him so much-- lowkey got me blushing at it like-- STOP

#ALL IN ALL HELLO ?!?!?! THIS IS INCREDIBLE IM LITERALLY SO HOOKED IN EVERY WORDS AND THEYRE ALL SO WELL WRITTEN

#eating your brain i need that nutrients PLS I JUST ?!?!?! I JUST LOVE THIS SO MUCH OMFG UAHSUAHDHSDHDHFHDH

#what if i die for just liking this too much-- IM SORRY BUT JUST ?!?!? EVERYTHING FLOW SO SMOOTHLY AND AND ITS SO NATURAL AND I JUST LOVE SEEING IT PLAYED OUT FROM START TO FINISH

#whens the wedding this should be at 28 ill be waiting //lh

like a lotus in spring, you are mine to bloom — ft. alhaitham

synopsis: at twenty one, you’re just a girl he meets as he trains for the role of scribe. at twenty four, you’ve become everything he loves in this world. after three years of knowing you and nearly two and a half decades of life, alhaitham finally realizes why his father left letters for his mother instead of just saying the words outloud

❤︎ word count: 7.7k words — we find ourselves here in the same old situation again, i see LOL pls give it a chance though!! plssss

❤︎ before you read: female reader ; 18+ content — not suitable for minors ; not proof read ; strangers to friends to lovers ; mutual pining but not at the same time for a bit (he falls first <3) ; jealous alhaitham ; hinted drunk sex ; getting together + love confessions ; alhaitham character story spoilers + references to his grandmother and parents ; semi-clothed unprotected sex ; no prep ; some nipple play ; creampie ; the cringiest love letter at the end LOL

❤︎ comments: guys every time i write alhaitham it’s so corny and cheesy but . he is my fav genshin guy of all time i deserve to be allowed this okay

TWENTY ONE. 

You’re still a student when you first meet Alhaitham. (Not a student for much longer, but a student all the same. With a little luck on your side and good graces from your darshan’s sage on your thesis, you’re expected to graduate in just a few short months.)

You don’t have the best first meet. In fact, your impression of Alhaitham starts off entirely on the wrong foot. 

He’s newly graduated, just freshly rewarded a degree for his (impressive) efforts, and is now well on his way to training for the role of scribe—you heard he was offered far more prestigious roles, but for some reason, a genius like him settled for a role like that. You try not to judge. People have their passions, after all, and if that’s what he wants to do, well…who are you to make comments? (But amongst a school that only houses the brilliant, Alhaitham is, very undoubtedly, a standout. It’s hard to stand out in a school filled with only the best minds, but he manages to do so with ease. Sometimes, you’re almost jealous. You can’t help but wonder why he doesn’t aim a little higher than he does.)

He trains in the house of Daena. His first order of training is to fact-check ordinance drafts using books so he can better get the hang of drafting them himself in the future. You’re also in the House of Daena to find the last book for your thesis—after weeks of begging, you’re finally granted access to the restricted section to find it. 

And you do. Except your palm meets warm skin instead of the cold leather cover of a book. You pause, glancing up as sharp, teal eyes meet your gaze, staring at you expectantly as if you should be the one letting go. But you need this book. It’s the final research element to finish your thesis, and you’d like to be done with it. End of story. No matter how devastatingly handsome the man (because he is handsome, you’ll admit at least that much), you will not be handing over the last, final key to your academic freedom.

“Um, excuse me,” you say politely, “I was kind of reaching for that.”

“As was I,” he says, staring at you with a bored, almost uncaring expression. Your eyes narrow. “Now, if you’d please kindly take your hand off of mine.”

“I believe it should be you taking your hand off of mine,” you correct, huffing as you add stubbornly, “I reached for it first.”

He blinks at you, bland and a little irritated, as he points out, “Your hand is on top of mine, which means I reached the book first.”

Well.

Maybe if you were feeling particularly patient, you’d be inclined to admit that, yes, he does have a point. But stubbornness, combined with pure exhaustion, has you at your wit's end, and if you have to play the role of a difficult student, then so be it. You’re pretty sure you need it more, and you’re probably a much speedier reader anyway. You’ll have it done and returned in no time.

This guy, on the other hand…he doesn’t look too bright. You’re not willing to take your chances and let him walk off with a book that you might never see again.

“I started reaching for it first,” you scowl, “you just sped up your hand once you saw me. I should get it.”

“Unlikely,” he scoffs, “I didn’t even see you. Although,” he gives you a once over with his eyes, making you feel uncomfortably seen under his judging gaze, “I suppose you were a bit easy to miss.”

You gape at him. “Just what does that mean?”

“It means,” he smirks, taking the opportunity to grab the book as you stand in shock, “that I got here first.”

“Hey!” You glare at him, seeing red for a moment. What a perfectly good waste of a perfectly handsome face—and such an awful attitude coupled with his ridiculously smug grin couldn’t make for a worse combination. But, before you can even say anything, the book is being pressed back into your hands.

“You seem like you want it more than I do, though,” he hums, “I suppose I can let you have it. It’s a bit outdated for this ordinance, anyway.” With that, he saunters off. You push down the soft flutter in your heart for a moment and force yourself to hope you’ll never see him again. (Faintly, you hope your wishes don’t come true—but you refuse to admit it to yourself.)

Unfortunately (and fortunately at the same time) for you, you do see him again. Many, many times, in fact. When he works in the House of Daena as often as he does, and you like to spend all your free time there to study if you can, you’re both bound to run into each other often. Very often. 

And sometimes, it’s quite literally running into him. 

“Oof,” you hiss, staggering backward and hitting your head against the bookshelf behind you as you bump into a sturdy figure. You drop the books in your hand, blinking before reaching to rub your read as you start to apologize. “Sorry, I didn’t see you—oh. It’s you.”

“It’s me,” he says, looking mildly entertained. Alhaitham is everywhere. Everywhere. You can’t escape him if you try, and now, you can’t even avoid him in your own personal space. “Although, I think I should be the one apologizing this time. I was too busy reading to pay attention. This section is usually empty at this time.”

“How often are you in here to know what section is empty at what time?” You raise a brow. 

“Too often to be considered good for my well-being,” he says dryly, sighing in misery. You crack a smile at that. Oddly enough, so does he—you don’t think you’ve ever heard someone say they’ve seen Alhaitham smile. It must be a rare sight that only you, and perhaps a very few others, can say they’ve witnessed. “I was just about to take a break to buy a coffee—I’ll bring one back for you, too, to make up for the cranial damage I’ve supplied.”

“A most wonderful idea,” you perk up instantly, “I love when I get to drain the wallet of a man.”

He gives you an amused look at that. And somehow, bringing you a coffee along with his own during his breaks is a habit that seems to stick for a long, long while after that. 

────────────────────────

TWENTY TWO.

Alhaitham’s feelings are hurt. Not a lot of words tend to do that—he’s been blessed with thick skin and an unbothered attitude to a fault, sometimes. But something about today, for some odd reason, hurts his feelings. 

Your words to the waiter who took your order keep ringing in his head. 

Oh goodness, no, we are definitely not dating!

Most people mistake you and Alhaitham for a pair of lovers rather than a pair of friends. It’s just the way things go when a man and a woman are seen together for extended periods of time over and over. It doesn’t help that Alhaitham doesn’t really have any friends. He had one before you, but…well, things are complicated now. Far too complicated to think about it more than necessary. He has you, and that’s enough. But the matter still stands that most people tend to assume that something blossoms between the two of you that isn’t just friendly. 

He was starting to think it was true himself, too. He knows it’s true from his end, at least. But you say those words with such a sure, definitive tone that it almost sounds like you’re offended by the notion of being seen as his girlfriend. And sure, he would be disappointed—he’s no liar—if you didn’t feel romantically for him, but he’d understand. It’s not something you can help. But you brush off the idea like it’s an anomaly of sorts in the universe for someone like you and someone like Alhaitham to be a couple. It hurts his feelings. More than it should. 

(He knows deep down, in the depths of his heart, that you don’t mean it that way. You never would. But irrationality is but one of many feelings that bloom when it comes to romance.)

Alhaitham knows from a young age he’s different than most kids his age. This fact doesn’t change as he gets older. He’s brighter than most of his peers—which is certainly saying something because Sumeru is a nation filled with enough sharp minds, it’s as though brilliance were the average trait. People don’t typically like Alhaitham (which is fine by him, he doesn’t like most of them, either. They mostly don’t meet his standards). The kids don’t play with him in the parks that Grandmother would leave him at while she shopped around at the market, and they don’t sit with him on his one and only day at the Akademiya when he is but an elementary scholar. It never bothered him. He preferred reading under the trees and self-learning at home, anyway. When he’s older and enrolled in the Akademiya full-time, they don’t prefer to partner with him for projects for any other reason than simply being guaranteed a good grade, and they don’t spare him a glance when they all converse in groups outside of class. He never cared for freeloaders, anyway—he only trusts himself for projects, and he is at the Akademiya to learn, not make friends. 

It’s not until he meets Kaveh does he consider the idea that friendships are meaningful enough to spare some effort into. But the end result of that only solidifies that he is best when in solitude. 

But then he meets you. Some part of Alhaitham knows very early on that you would never be just a friend to him. If it was friendship that he craved, he would have looked for it elsewhere before running into you. Something about you from the very beginning makes him yearn for things much deeper than that. Things that remind him of his parents. 

Friendship is fleeting. People at the Akademiya go their separate ways and meet new people. They fall out and have arguments. They grow up and grow apart and become different. But love blooms like the Kalpalata lotuses on a vine, timeless as time itself. It starts and never ends, one root stemming into more and more vines until they never stop growing.

Alhaitham has fallen in love with you. Logic tells him it’s only a recent development, but his heart has known this outcome would be brought about for a long, long time. And, in all truthfulness, your words have hurt his feelings. 

And yet, he still loves you through it. He thinks that even if you crushed his feelings with a cold, indifferent smile, he would still love you through it. 

A hand waves in front of his face, pulling him from his thoughts as you take a sip from your coffee. Puspa Cafe is not as busy at this hour, most people are in the middle of a work day, but Alhaitham is allowed to pick his lunch hour, and yours happens to be earlier than most.

“Sorry, I just have to ask—are…are you upset?” you ask gently, making him pause. 

Yes.

“No,” he says simply, “why would I be?”

“You seem upset.”

“I’m not.”

“You were fine up until…I don’t know, a few minutes ago. Is something on your mind?”

You know him so well, he thinks. How could you not see how perfect the two of you are together?

“I’m simply concerned about your sugar intake is all,” he eyes the cold, iced drink in your hands with more syrups than he deems necessary. You always have a penchant for choosing the sweetest drink off the menu, and Alhaitham will never understand how your teeth don’t rot.

“Well, that’s very funny,” you roll your eyes, “because I was just thinking about how low on vitamin D you must be—do you ever leave your study to see the sun?”

He spares you a soft chuckle at that, shaking his head before taking a sip of his own coffee—hot and black and with two spoons of sugar. Simple, like how he prefers. You make a face at his drink as he sets it down. 

“Have you ever thought about what you look for in a partner?” he asks suddenly, making you blink in shock for a moment. He flinches at his own forwardness just a tad. 

“Umm, I suppose a little here and there…why do you ask?”

“No reason,” he shrugs, “just curious what your type was, that’s all. You’re painfully single, so I figured your taste was rather distinct.”

“Rude,” you scoff, rolling your eyes enough that he thinks it’s safe to assume you’re not suspicious. “Are you here just to poke fun at my choices today?”

Alhaitham should not be asking you this. Not when the answer so clearly is going to hurt his already very bruised feelings. Of course, your type won’t be him. And, of course, he is going to mourn your answer the second you give it, which is his own fault considering he’s the one who asked. (He has to wonder, for a moment, if this constitutes as an undiscovered hidden kink of his and whether or not he really just gets off on some unnecessary pain. Why else would he willingly subject himself to this?)

But, he’s caught off guard when you shrug and simply say, “I suppose someone who’s intelligent. I’d appreciate some good discussions. And…and maybe someone who’s kind, y’know? I would be rather sad if they were mean,” you pretend to sniffle dramatically.

“That’s…that’s it?” He tilts his head in equal parts shock and equal parts confusion. 

“What did you expect me to look for in a partner?” You snort, “A three-story mansion? A rock-solid, chiseled chest to lay on?” 

“Well, no,” he rolls his eyes, “Maybe something a bit less generic to narrow down your pool, I suppose, but if that’s your bar, so be it. There are far too many men who are intelligent and kind, you know.”

“Yes, but none of them show me any signs of interest,” you pout, “I must be undesirable or something.”

I desire you, he wants to say. He can’t quite find the courage to get the words out, though—and as if the universe has it completely out for him, the same waiter from earlier who is responsible for asking you the question that kills Alhaitham’s mood for the day comes back with the bill. And something else, too. 

Something that kills his mood for the week. 

His jaw clenches a tad when you flush at the note scribbled on a napkin for you, eyeing your flustered reaction while you read over the words: I get off at eight if you’d like to find me. You stare for a moment before you murmur, “Well, look at that. A sign of interest—it must be the Dendro Archon’s divine power.”

“The Divine have no say over who you fall for,” he insists.

“You don’t know that,” you hum thoughtfully, “The God of Wisdom knows her people better than anyone else, you know. I’d like to think she knows when love is bound for two people.”

You fold the napkin carefully and keep it in your pocket, and Alhaitham fishes out his mora pouch with stiff fingers. He leaves a very shoddy tip on the table before he exits after you. 

────────────────────────

TWENTY THREE.

You wake up in his bed. 

It’s a foggy memory, but you know you fucked Alhaitham after more sips of wine than you can count and one flirty comment too many. It happened in a blur last night, and you can’t say you’re surprised that it finally happened at all. Alhaitham is a man just like any other, and mingling pleasure with friendship is a normal thing to do. Falling under him on his mattress is not something you never had daydreams of—but the truth of the matter is that your daydreams don’t just stop with the bed.

They end with a toothbrush beside his in the bathroom. A mug next to his in the kitchen. Your shoes kicked off along with his at the entrance of a home. Your laughter and his bouncing off of the walls. A ring, maybe. One on your hand and one on his. 

In your imagination, it starts with pleasure, but it ends with love.

Falling in love with Alhaitham is a peaceful ordeal. He’s dependable and inherently kind. Strong and impressively capable. Intelligent and objectively handsome. You’d bring him home to your mother and father, and they’d thank Lord Kusanali for smiling down upon their humble little family and their darling little daughter by sending such a divine man your way. 

You don’t think you can pinpoint when exactly it is you started to love this boy, but you know loving him became as simple as breathing. You never thought about it. Never learned to do it. Never questioned it, even. You inhale the scent of his spicy, woody cologne and exhale the warm breath of your affections stored in your lungs. He lives somewhere nestled so deep in your ribcage that you think you’d have to crack each of them one after the other before you could pry him out.

You love Alhaitham. You think you know everything there is to know about loving him. You think you’d do it right—better than anyone else. 

He only drinks his coffee when it’s piping hot, and his wine can never be one degree less than iced. He has dry hands, but he hates the feeling of lotion. He doesn’t like raw onions but he doesn’t mind them cooked. When the sun is in his eyes, he’s in a foul mood, but he enjoys napping under the warm rays, much like a cat. He laughs surprisingly boyishly from his belly if you manage to deliver a dry yet clever enough joke, and he clears his throat and gets a bit shy once he’s realized he’s let it out. He twirls his pen in his hand when he’s bored, and he only uses the kind with gel ink because they write smoother. 

You love Alhaitham. For you, it’s always been him. 

When you wake up to his bare, warm body next to yours, breathing peacefully with an arm thrown over your waist, you can’t help but selfishly wish he’d stay asleep all day. Just for a day. Just for the amount of time you get in between the sun’s departure and the moon’s arrival. Just so you can watch him exist in this moment where it’s you, him, and the liminal space between friends and lovers. Just so you can admire how beautiful he is without worrying about his eyes opening and the inevitable conversation of what you’re both doing is brought up. 

People (like Kaveh, or Dehya, or Tighnari, or…anyone) tend to insist that Alhaitham loves you. It’s obvious, they say, just as obvious as your love for him. You never believe it. It’s not because he’s bad at love or because you’re bad for him. You think he’d make a good lover—contrary to popular belief, you don’t think Alhaitham is uninterested in intimacy or affection. And you think you’d make a good girlfriend—unlike other people, you understand him and like what you see. 

But he doesn’t love you. That much is a fact you’ve long accepted. It’s not because you’re bad for him or because he’s incapable of feeling—but rather, it’s just that bitter, soul-crushing reality that you can’t help who you love and who you don’t. Alhaitham doesn’t love you—it’s not something either of you can really change. Because if he did, he’d waste no time. He’d get to the heart of the matter and quit dancing around the issue. 

It’s just the kind of guy that he is. 

So, because this is your first and likely last time seeing him this way, you slowly reach over and brush a few strands of messy, unruly bedhead from his forehead before cupping his cheek in your hand. His skin is soft and warm under your palm, much more delicate to the touch than you anticipated from how chiseled his features are. Your thumb gently brushes along the slant of his cheekbone, eyes softening at how he lets out a puff of air as he sleeps. 

“Morning,” he says hoarsely, eyes still closed and making you jolt in surprise. He lets out a quiet, sleepy chuckle that would make you melt if not for the way your heart still pounds from the shock. 

“You’re awake?”

“Mhm,” he hums, nodding before finally cracking an eye open. “For a while now.”

“Why pretend to sleep then, you creep?” You scoff, glaring at him as he sits up slightly and glances at you with a teasing glint in his eyes. No part of him seems to be shocked about you being nude in his bed. Or the fact that you’re even in his bed at all, nude or not. 

“You’re the creep if we’re being technical here. It’s undoubtedly a little on the creepy side to study someone with such careful touches while they sleep.”

“That’s your main concern…?” You stare at him—and for lack of better words, you’re dumbfounded. You and Alhaitham have been friends for two years and counting. You’ve never once crossed the line or even toed at it to step beyond the border of anything more. And, yet, here you are. In his bed. Completely nude. He was lying there and felt your delicate touch along his skin, felt you act like a lover and not a friend on a quiet, intimate morning when in fact, you both should be shamefully avoiding each other’s eyes in a moment that’s anything but intimate as you leave. 

He makes no move to ask you to leave or even question why you’re still here. You make no move to really leave—it’s not like you want to. 

“What should my main concern be, then?” he looks at you expectantly, like he really doesn’t know.

“Oh, I don’t know, Alhaitham—shouldn’t you be a little more panicked by the idea that I’ve trespassed into your bed and seen you…bare?”

“Well, to be fair, you didn’t trespass. I let you in—and also, to be fair, I saw the same for you, too, so we’re even.”

“You’re oddly calm about this,” you hiss. “This doesn’t bother you even a little? That things might change?”

He looks at you funny—like you’ve just told him a joke that hardly makes sense but makes him want to laugh anyway. “You’re too brilliant to be this dense,” he murmurs. “Maybe I’m quite open to the idea of change.”

You take offense to the first part enough to completely miss the second part of his statement. 

“I am not dense,” you huff, “I’m incredibly bright. I’ll have to send you my thesis sometime.”

“No need,” he responds through a low hum. He pulls you closer, flush against his chest. Bare skin on skin. Intimate skin, at that. You shiver for a moment as his warm, large hand wanders lower and lower before stopping just at the small of your back, rubbing slow circles at the dimple where your spine ends. “I’ve read it plenty of times. It was very insightful.”

“Well, in that case, you should know not to insult my intelligence—”

“If you don’t notice my affection for you, I’m afraid you might not be as observant as I initially thought.”

You pause. Your heart flutters. Then it feels like it decays. Your eyes widen a fraction. Then they feel like they need to be squeezed shut for fear of tears. You feel your fingers twitch to reach for him. And yet they stiffen in distrust. 

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you whisper. Because you don’t.

You really fucking don’t. You thought you knew. His feelings and how to read them. His thoughts and how his mind works. Every little quirk of his and how he approaches every damn thing in this world. You thought you knew.

Now you feel like you don’t know much of anything, especially not what he means right in this moment. 

“You don’t?” He whispers, hand moving to grab your wrist and bring it to his cheek so his lips can brush along the delicate lines of your palm prints. (If he was brave, he’d tell you that his destiny and yours are written in those very lines. Maybe someday he’ll build the courage.)

“No,” you say through a shaky whisper. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I love you. Just like you love me.” He says it so plainly, that you almost feel like it's a dry, cruel joke. (You know him a little better than that, though, to know he’d never.)

“How do you know I love you?” you challenge just because it’s all you have left to cling to—easy, instant denial. 

He laughs. Soft. Quiet. Melodic. So fucking sweet. “I’m too smart to act dense,” Alhaitham teases. And then, for a moment, his eyes soften enough that they almost look vulnerable. “And only someone who loves me could deal with my… peculiarities. Though, I will admit, it took me quite a while to reach this conclusion. You made me work for it.”

“If you’ve known all along—” 

“Not all along,” he corrects, “like I said, it took me a while to come to this conclusion. But once I did, it was rather obvious.”

You scowl with a finger prodding into his chest, eyes misty with relief and the faintest traces of agitation, “Well, regardless, why haven’t you said something all this time? Obviously, I wasn’t as aware as you seem to be, so the least you could have done is spared me the pining and heartbreak of wondering if you’d ever look at me—”

“I wanted to make sure I could offer you a peaceful life first,” he says gently. You blink. He smiles, eyeing something in the distance—you don’t quite catch it, but you think it might be the old, worn-out stack of envelopes sitting on his desk. 

“What?”

“When you’re with me,” he whispers, leaning in so that his lips brush over yours, “I can lead a peaceful life. I wanted to make sure I could give you the same.”

“And what does that consist of?” you raise a brow. 

“Well,” he murmurs, pecking the corner of your mouth, “A stable job with a generous income, which I now have. A fixed schedule, which I have also negotiated. A proper home to house the both of us, which you are comfortably laying in. And…” he grabs your hand, bringing it to his chest where his heart is beating erratically, “A rock-solid, chiseled chest to lay on, which I have dedicatedly worked to add to my physique for you.”

“Haitham!” you squeal, shoving him away with a horrified shriek as he laughs with a wide grin. You don’t even know why he still remembers that comment to poke fun at it, but you suppose that is the tragedy of falling for a prodigious scholar. His mind is sharp. And so is his memory. “Enough!”

“Okay, okay,” he grins smugly. “I want us to lead a peaceful life.”

“There’s not a lot of peace I am counting on with you.”

“I will elect to ignore that statement,” he says dryly, “But that’s why I waited this long,” he buries his face into your neck, nose pressing into the skin as he inhales, “I’m afraid I can’t wait any longer, though. Won’t you accept my frugal attempt at a serene life with you?”

“Perhaps I can make do,” you fight back a stupid grin.

He smiles into your neck. You can feel it. You can practically see it. You hope you’ll grow old with it, too. 

“Then I suppose I’m forever indebted to your graciousness, my love.”

────────────────────────

TWENTY FOUR.

When Alhaitham was eight, Grandmother told him the story of how his parents had fallen in love. It was a typical love story, he thought at the time—nothing overly special or unique. A simple, sweet bond between two people who became friends and something more along the way.

What stood out were the letters. Not very much at first, but with time, he’d realized how special they were. 

Grandmother handed him the letters with a soft, melancholy look in her eyes that made him realize he hadn’t just lost his father and mother. She had lost her son and daughter-in-law. Alhaitham felt the absence of his parents often. It was hard not to at that age—he didn’t have a father to throw a ball to or tag along with to the market. He didn’t have a mother to hum him a melody or make his favorite dish for dinner. But Grandmother filled the gaps in those places well enough that even if his heart bled, not too much blood spilled between the cracks.

But he was no son. Not a proper one for her at her age, anyway. She raised him like he was her own, but she grew older every day, and he didn’t grow fast enough to keep up. He couldn’t take care of her in her old age the way his father would have. He couldn’t do much besides bring the vegetables for her to cut or set the table while she cooked. He couldn’t offer her the mora when she went to the market or carry too many of the heavy bags while they walked home. He couldn’t let her rest in her old age too much because, regardless of how mature and bright he was for his age, Alhaitham was just a child. Her child, nonetheless—Grandmother didn’t let him forget that fact. But a child.

When she died, he arranged the funeral alone. He didn’t cry throughout the whole ordeal. Her old colleagues from way back in her Akademiya days came, as did some of his parents’ old acquaintances. No one he knew too familiarly, though—no one who really mattered when they clasped his shoulder and told him to hang in there.

She was a good woman. He knew that already.

She was very intelligent. A very obvious fact.

She was exceptionally kind. A rather unsurprising observation.

She loved very deeply. Well. That one stung—as true as it might have been.

He remembers it so vividly still. How he had walked home alone after it all. How he had taken off his tie (a very poorly tied tie, at that—Grandmother had always helped him before) and silently entered his room.

It wasn’t until he had eyed his desk that finally, it all sank in. The notes—the ones his father had so carefully written his mother while they were still just starting to fall in love, sat there as if waiting for him. He read them one by one, just like he had so many times before. He didn’t realize he’d started crying until a rivulet of his sorrow landed from his cheek to the page, staining the paper a darker shade of heartache. 

Alone. 

That’s all Alhaitham had ever been since the tender age of four. At least, that’s what people had always thought—but he’d never felt the sorrow people tended to feel for him. Not having a father and mother was okay. Hard at times, but okay. Grandmother had been everything he needed. More than what he needed, in fact. 

Grandmother was everything. And she had left him just the same way his parents had. He’d cried that night—alone in a house that was nothing more than just a house. Not a home, not a place where he could return to and look forward to it. Not a place where love was waiting for him to shelter him as soon as he came back from the cruel, outside world.

Grandmother was gone. Mother and father had left so long ago. But they all had each other—in whatever world they’d crossed to, they’d had each other. 

He remembers it all so vividly still. How he’d read his father’s words, and for the first time in all his life, he’d craved it. What his parents had. 

To my love, my soul, my heart. I am yours, always. 

He wondered that night, through teary and blurry eyes, if love like that would ever find him. If he’d one day be able to call someone his love, soul, and heart.

He thinks now, as you laugh with your head tilted forward and a tweezer in hand while sitting on his lap, that he can. 

“Hold still, you,” comes your teasing remark, “you said this would be nothing. Now look at you.”

“You’re being too harsh,” he grumbles, pouting slightly. With a smile, you bend your neck down and press a soft kiss to his jutted lips, humming before pressing an extra one to the corner of his mouth for good measure. (And yes, the grand sage—acting, you can almost hear him correct in your own head—can pout. He is rather frequent at curling those lips of his in your presence when he wants something, in fact. Or when he is teased too much. Something about you brings about a side of him that is much less stoic and far more dramatized.)

“You can just admit it hurts, you know,” you say through an amused snort.

“It won’t hurt if you just do it right.”

“I’m an expert at tweezing eyebrows,” you huff, “I do mine all the time. And I would know that it hurts.”

“It can’t be that painful,” he clicks his teeth, “just be gentle.”

“I cannot gently pull out a hair from your follicle, Haitham—I don’t know what you want me to—hey!”

He grabs the tweezers from your hand and pulls you close, hugging you tight enough that his nose digs into your skin a bit as he buries it into your neck. It’s Saturday. His first out of two days off for the week—standard scribe work weeks are nine to five on weekdays, and he very much appreciates his weekends away from the bustling, lively Akademiya nonsense. 

Saturday happens to be your day off, too. 

“Where is Kaveh?” you ask quietly, playing with the hem of his shirt. He raises a brow, eyeing the suspicious movement of your fingers.

“Working with a client in Aaru Village. He won’t be back until tomorrow evening. Why am I not enough company for you?”

“Oh, be quiet,” you roll your eyes, and this time, your hands wander under his shirt, palms slowly dragging along his chiseled, planed abdomen while he shivers slightly under your touch. “I was just asking if…”

“If…?” he urges you to continue.

You know he knows. But, for the sake of indulging his smug, teasing little game, you huff and push his shirt up to expose his chest before murmuring, “If we would be interrupted or not. I don’t fancy such awkward run-ins with your roommate.”

“Our roommate,” he corrects, “this is your home, too.”

“Yes,” you smile, brushing your palms over his pectorals, watching as he stiffens when you graze along his nipples, “I suppose it is.”

“Well, he’s not here. And he won’t be, so kiss me,” he demands through a breathy whisper. You do. You kiss him instantly—because kissing Alhaitham is what you do best. When he’s happy, sad, angry, distressed, or just plain tired, kissing him is how you know him the most. When your breaths exchange and your life force and his mingle to become one, singular unit. 

You sigh into his mouth, letting his hands cradle your jaw and tilt your head to better meet his mouth, all while your hands still explore his upper half. He moans under your touch, cock springing to life slowly below you through his pants. You angle your hips forward, inching higher up his lap to drag your crotch along his and help the erection grow against the friction. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, hard and heavy between his legs in no time. 

“Haitham,” you breathe, feeling that familiar ache build between your own thighs. 

You kiss him like that for a bit. Messy, deep, sloppy, and so, so slow. With all the time in the world. Languid strokes of your tongue against his as he rolls his hips up from underneath you, dragging his clothed, bulging cock against your dripping cunt. The fabric separates you, rudely so, and it’s not long until you both grow tired of it. 

“Off,” you whine, tugging at his pants, “off, off, off!”

“So demanding,” he chuckles, pecking your nose sweetly before he lifts his hips, letting you slide off his sweatpants. “Satisfied?” 

“Yes,” you beam, “You always give me what I want. It’s my favorite thing about you.”

His gaze darkens at that—not for any other reason than it makes him so incredibly filled with lust when you speak to him like that. So spoiled and happy about it because it’s him. Him. You’re happy that it’s him. And he’s happy that it’s you. 

You don’t even bother undressing yourselves fully—he pulls down your own pants just enough to expose your pretty, leaking folds, and his hands wander under your shirt, where he almost short-circuits for a moment. Braless. Because you just love to drive him mad, he thinks. This much easy access to your soft, delicate breasts and the pert nipples that decorate them is enough to make him curse under his breath as his thumbs tease over them. 

“You’re a tease.”

“For simply existing?” you gasp, making him crack a small grin. 

“Yes,” he hums, “Your existence on its own teases me at all times. I’m afraid it drives me mad.”

You hum, reaching forward to gently take his hard, leaking cock into your hand and give a light, teasing squeeze. “Maybe my goal is to turn you completely into a lost cause.”

“Then,” he groans, throwing his head back against the couch cushions while he breathes harshly, “then you’re definitely succeeding. Is that what you wished to hear?”

“Yes,” you whisper, kissing his jaw, “It is, actually.”

It doesn’t take long at all before Alhaitham has tossed you back against the couch, laughing as you shriek at the sudden change of position. You glare at him, fighting back your own chorus of giggles as he moves to hover over you, kissing and biting playfully along your cheeks. 

“I love you,” he mumbles.

“Aw, so sweet,” you coo, “say that again.”

He rolls his eyes. His lips curl into the brightest grin at the same time. My love, my soul, my heart—the words are ingrained in his memory always. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” you whisper.

He leans in for a soft, slow kiss as the tip of his leaking cock slides against your folds, tapping against your clit before rubbing along your entrance. You gasp, shuddering against him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. 

“You know,” he murmurs, “I could get used to this.”

“Sex on the couch? We can do that any time—”

“A weekend with just the two of us,” he groans, dropping his head to your neck as you laugh loudly. Bright. Airy. A sound the wind carries to him in his subconscious. He hears you even when you’re not there—even when you aren’t around, he searches for you. 

“Oh,” you say playfully, “Yeah, I guess that’s nice too, isn’t it?”

“I’ll show you just how nice it’s about to be,” he hums. The tip of his thick, blunt head is pressed against your folds—you’re leaking just as much as he is. You slick, and his pre cum mix for a messy collision of arousal as he presses into you slowly, so carefully, you feel like you could break at any second with how he handles you. 

He’s patient. When Alhaitham fucks you, he’s patient enough that you feel like his other half and not his means of pleasure. Like he fucks you for you and not for himself. 

“More,” you insist, impatient as you add, “I can take it.”

“Patience is a virtue,” he clicks his teeth, “I want to take my time feeling you.”

And he does. He rolls his hips slowly. So slowly, you feel delirious. It’s a painful, gradual build-up of pleasure that has you trying to roll your hips into him to meet him halfway, a pathetic attempt when he’s on top of you to press his weight down on you to keep you in place. 

“Please, Haitham,” you whine, sweat shining across your sweet, pleasure-hazed face as he stares down at you, “Please more. I need it—need you. Need all of you.”

“You have all of me,” he groans, feeling the tight walls of your cunt squeeze around him, the squelching noise of his thick girth bullying into your folds in and out, in and out, in and out, driving him to the brink of insanity. “You’ve always had every piece of me.”

“I want more,” you hiss. 

He lets out a breathy laugh that turns into a soft moan. “If that’s what you want.”

The next thing you know, two strong, muscled arms are grabbing your thighs and bringing them around his torso to wrap around him, and his large hands grab your hips and pull, practically manhandling you deeper onto his cock. You shudder, letting out a shrill, high-pitched gasp as he intrudes further into your cunt, nudging the head of his cock against your sweetest of spots and making your body tremble. 

“Haitham,” you gasp, “Haitham, fuck—fuck, you feel so good. So deep—love when you fuck me like this.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, kissing in between your pretty little scrunched-up eyebrows, “I love fucking you like this, too. When you take me so well, squeeze so tight, and let me feel you like the good girl you are.”

His words make your folds squeeze around him, and fuck—he’s close. So fucking close, the pad of his rough, callused thumb meets your clit as he rubs circles, trying to bring you to the edge before he goes plummeting himself. 

“‘M close—almost…almost there,” you pant.

“Me too, baby,” he groans. He slams into you, skin slapping against skin and the glistening sheen of it mixing your sweat together. His mouth parts with pretty, low sounds of his pleasure, and your face twists with the devastating rush of yours. 

Once. Twice. A third time, and you fall apart as he thrusts into you and presses the tip of his thick length against the spongey spot in the back of your walls. 

“Haitham,” you gasp, legs tightening around him as your nails press crescent shapes into his back. “Fuck, I’m c-cumming…oh, Gods.”

“Good,” he gasps, and with one last roll of his desperate hips, he spills into you, too. A thick, sticky, familiar rush of heat fills your cunt, topes of cum painting you white within with every twitch of his aching cock. “Fuck—you feel so good. So perfect—you were made for me. Me.”

“You,” you whisper, breathless. 

You let him shudder over you, fingers running through his hair as he finishes releasing his load into you before he slumps his wait over your body. It’s a small couch—decorative more than functional. (All thanks to Kaveh, of course.) But you don’t particularly care when you’re under him. It feels right all the same. 

“We have the house to ourselves this weekend,” he reminds you after some time of catching your breaths. “So…so we can do this all you want.”

You giggle, rolling your eyes as you poke his forehead. “You’re obscene.”

“I’m romantic,” he corrects, “I just want to be with you and nothing else. Can’t blame a man when he’s been gifted such a beautiful sight before him.”

“And cheesy, too,” you huff. 

He smiles. My love, my soul, my heart. 

——————————

You wake up Monday morning to Alhaitham already gone—it’s rare that he’s ever up before you. He leaves the house just in time to make it to work exactly on the dot and not a moment sooner or a moment later. But, as is with any Akademiya position, there are quarterly meetings that even the scribe can’t avoid. You giggle at the image in your head of a grumpy Alhaitham carefully tiptoeing around the room as he miserably gets ready for an early morning of extra work, all while making sure he doesn’t wake you. 

You yawn, sitting up to start your morning for your own day of work ahead—but it catches your eye before you can fully rise from bed, making you pause. 

A note? No, you realize almost instantly. Not just a note—a letter. 

To my love, my soul, my heart: Kalpalata lotuses will bloom soon. I forget how beautiful the world is sometimes, and I suppose it’s because I am always distracted by your beauty alone. Will you laugh as you read this? I suppose you might because even I must admit, it is a rather cliche thing to say. I can just picture your smile now, and I am certain I will have it memorized until my last breath. It’s easy to remember it so well when it’s all I see in my dreams. Have I told you how often I see you in them? It’s difficult to think that there was once a time in Sumeru when we did not dream. It seems like sleeping beside your body is no longer enough—your presence is required even in my slumber for me to truly be at peace.  Perhaps when the lotuses bloom, we can take a trip to the deeper parts of the rainforest to catch a glimpse of a few. They say the vines are blessed by The Lord herself. I was never one to seek out the divine, but perhaps with a gift as sacred as you, I should take the time to thank Lady Kusanali for granting such brilliance to take bloom in my presence. Only, the difference is that here with you, there are no cliffs to climb or seasons to await. You are mine to bloom, always—my precious, beautiful lotus.  Forever yours,  Haitham ♡

ITS DONE. HAPPY LATE BDAY TO MY FIRST AND LONGEST LOVE. YOU MEAN EVERYTHING AND MORE TO MEEEEE

[snow-and-saltea]

it is a bit scary but ive been in the limbo between not allowing myself to do anything until i get my shit together for too long, which means i havent been "indulging" in anything i really like but only things i've cycled through routine to the point of tastelessness. i am somehow so adamantly resistant against escapism through hobbies or from making myself feel better but also very cowardly in the sense that i'm too afraid of looking at my problems in the eye because my bad mental health bars me from being honest and hopeful (to inspire myself to fix it) to myself because every time i try, i can only hear the "brutal" part of the "brutally honest", and i don't even know if i'm being honest because it's as though i go into this dialogue against myself with an intent to kick myself down. which, i do understand why it happens, but i currently have no energy to "fight" back against it so i just go "yeah. you're right. i AM trash and worthless. i already know this, can we stop bringing this up please?" perhaps from an outsider pov or through a friend's pov i am seen differently, but imagining myself being seen in a positive manner somehow feels delusional because i "know" i'm not being very umm. valuable. i guess skhdjshfjdjf there's definitely stuff going on there

[yandereshingeki]

WHERE IS YOUR GOJO FANFIC? i can’t find it :(

anon dear I haven’t written a gojo fic yet 😭 Are you confusing me with somebody else? I reblog gojo fics sometimes on my side blog, maybe what you’re looking for is there? Or, I know this is specific but it’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to writing for gojo, are you possibly thinking about the time I sent a kinda long ask about yandere gojo to @/ryukatters?? either way, I hope you find what you’re looking for and I’m sorry it isn’t here

[abyssalpriest]

unrelatedly.... Refreshing pickled ginger palette cleanser bc as Ive said Lev uses my english and habits for writing a lot of the time (and im heavily influenced by him lately), and lately ive been like "ugh god i dont know if im just not getting him across..." no lmfao, looking at how Hermes speaks in that last piece YEAH NO IM NOT CRAZY

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 222

Adjective: Crimson

Noun: Writer

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Crimson: of a rich deep red color inclining to purple

Writer: a person who has written a particular text; a person who writes books, stories, or articles as a job or regular occupation; a person who writes in a specified way; a composer of musical works; (computing) a device that writes data to a storage medium; (stock market) a broker who makes an option available for purchase or sells options; a person who has a specified kind of handwriting; (historical) (British) a scribe; (archaic) (British) a clerk, especially in the navy or other government offices

[strawberryfloofs]

i wanna be treated like the age i regress to!!! (toddler based) if you have something to do, set up an activity for me to keep me occupied while youre doing grown up stuff! help me get dressed, even if i argue im a big girl and i can do it! (i cant and if you believed me, id whine and make grabby hands for my mama to help) im fussy about bedtime? "oh i know doll, but lets get those teethies brushed and mama can read you a story, hm? how about a warm baba too?" instant distraction = no fussiness

give me snacks and cut up my fruit for me! bonus points if its cute shapes :D if im being left alone, check on me time to time and feel the dread if you hear no more giggles and playing (better hope im feeling sleepy or watching a show and not getting into trouble...) try to answer my random questions about everything like "wy mama has big gir cup an no floofy?" "Because mama is a grown up that doesn't spill drinks, and you're her little baby thats a little clumsy n she loves you just the way you are!" - "doeses dinosaurz hab woving mommies and daddies toos?" "Hm, I think so- how else would they have gotten so big and strong back then?" you wanna watch a grown up show on the tv? get me some toys ands set up a little area in the living room for me, or even give me a device temporarily understand my big emotions over seemingly small things and comfort me! (totally not projecting because i also didnt totally call Clovey the lion a big meanie poo head [she is not one] bc I wanted Bingo as a nini stuffie instead of her [Bingo was across the room] and started whining and getting upsetti spaghetti) make me hold your hand or something else (like a grocery cart buggy) in public because if not, I might get distracted and wonder off. understand it might take a while to get my attention and be hard to sustain it/get me to listen because im really tiny! "bubs, can you look at mommy? you can play after this, i promise, but its reallly super duper important!" (i cant be the only one whos brain is totally clouded with tiny thoughts and urges right? who wants to listen to a grownup when you can stack blocks instead-) just writing this makes me feel sorta tiny eee