#just a character who means everything to me

[sonknuxadow]

its so frustrating how a lot of scu fans cant handle other sonic fans not having the exact same taste in sonic media that they do. like i feel like you can say something negative about literally any other sonic media on here and people generally wouldnt care that much but the second you say anything less than positive about the movies people start getting all weird about it and trying to argue with you ive had it happen to me and seen it happen to others as well .... like the sonic franchise is very big and has many different media types and writing styles not everyone is going to uncritically love everything. get over it ? im not trying to be mean but idk what else to tell you

[wriokitty]

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.”

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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, ropes 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 weight 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

[butchhamlet]

i also think some of my hamlet takes/interpretations are somewhat inseparable from the fact that i read hamlet as at least fairly young, regardless of exactly how old he is, because the way the older characters in the play treat him resonates very deeply with my experience of being a mentally ill teenager. like, you know something is wrong, you know this thing you're experiencing (in hamlet's case, grief, but also the knowledge of the murder) is real and it's unimaginably painful and it might actually kill you, and yet not ONLY are the people around you telling you to just Be Normal and Get Over It, they are ALSO?? acting like everything is FINE?? they're walking around and living their lives like everything is perfectly normal and the same it's always been, and they're interacting with you like they expect you to live that way too, and at some point you inevitably hear the siren song of "just how much do i have to act out before they're FORCED to acknowledge it?" and then you put on an antic disposition and kill your situationship's dad, you know how it is.

this doesn't mean hamlet has to literally be a teenager. like, hell, you could have your thirtysomething hamlet and still lean into this reading, because it would be really compelling to highlight that a thirty-year-old hamlet is a fully grown adult being shoved into the role of a teenager/youth because the generation above him refuses to treat him like an adult or allow him autonomy. but i do think this is why hamlet as, like, Traditional Handsome Brooding Protagonist man almost always falls flat for me, because your average traditional handsome brooding protagonist man isn't being constantly infantilized, denied, ignored, told his emotions are meaningless, told he can't possibly be an authority on his own experience, etc. obviously some of this is stated in the text (particularly claudius's get-over-it speech), but in performance it falls flat for me if he's just stalking thirtyfiveishly around the castle as Some Guy Who Also Lives Here. no!!! they put that prince in the INCONVENIENT TEENAGER WE DON'T WANT TO DEAL WITH box and you're gonna ACT LIKE IT

[ohnoitstbskyen]

Okay, here’s an interesting one.

Before seeing your content, I’d basically only ever heard the term “power fantasy” used as a derogatory term to describe over-the-top protagonists who are strong and cool, but also boringly devoid of personality so the audience can project onto them. But then some of your League videos talked about skins letting characters like Gragas “inhabit more interesting power fantasies.”

So… when are power fantasies a good thing? The best I’ve got is that it only works in interactive media like video games so that the audience can more directly engage with the fantasy (essentially: Dante from DMC works, Kirito from SAO does not)

I mean, power fantasies are just endemic to storytelling as a whole. There isn't really a hard "this is when they're good, this is when they're bad," they are core to several genres of media and can't be extracted from them. Most video games are power fantasies, just by nature of their mechanics.

Power fantasy isn't a genre (usually), it is just a tool, same as any other trope or convention. It is a means to engage the audience with a story.

An RPG where you level up and become stronger to defeat more difficult enemies? That's a power fantasy. Undertale where you get the best ending by finding some way to spare absolutely every monster and end every fight mercifully? Power fantasy. The Tomb Raider reboot games that take an almost sadistic glee in putting Lara Croft through absolute hell both physically and emotionally? Those are power fantasies about overcoming and surviving those impossible challenges.

They're not just power fantasies, they have lots of other stuff going on, but power fantasy is an inherent part of them. Romance stories also often include power fantasies, specifically about the power of love. "He's broody, dark and broken, but my love can fix him" is a power fantasy, for example, as is "an unjust society keeps us apart, but we will defy everything to be together!"

Even being The Final Girl who beats the horror monster and walks away at the end of the movie can be a power fantasy, if a rather grim one.

If there is a general case where power fantasies become "bad," I think it is when the power fantasy is all there is, and it subsumes all other parts of the story. Shonen manga often runs into this as they get longer, and the power system and escalating battles against ever more powerful foes become the overriding driving force of the story, to the exclusion of everything else. Shaman King comes to mind for me as a particularly egregious example, or Bleach.

Isekai is also riven with this. You can't walk two steps these days without tripping on a "TRANSPORTED TO ANOTHER WORLD WITH MY SUPER OP CHEAT SKILL" premise, where the entire purpose of the story is simply to act out unchallenged wish fulfilment with no friction or tension or character development. Those stories get boring very very fast... unless of course the power fantasy being played out is your specific power fantasy. Yes, OP protagonists winning everything with no challenge is boring, but this OP protagonist is building a sapphic cottagecore witch polycule with an ever-expanding harem of emotionally damaged lesbians, so... y'know. Maybe I'll give it a pass.

It's generally less interesting and useful to observe THAT something is a power fantasy, than it is to observe WHAT KIND of power is being fantasized about. Zombie apocalypse stories are often power fantasies, for example, but there's a pretty noticeable difference between stories where the power fantasy is banding together and building a life with a found family in horrible circumstances, stealing joy from the end of the world in spite of everything... and stories where the zombie apocalypse is an excuse to enact paranoid right-wing prepper fantasies where the hero protects their property (home, land and women) against the verminous hordes of the monstrous Other, and is reified and uplifted by the employment of brutal violence.

[ladyloveandjustice]

I mean, Legend of Lattes did have a conflict, her coffee place straight up burned down? It wasn't a major focus for most of the book but it happened.

I've only read a few cozy fantasy things, and didn't find a few of them super memorable myself, but the definition of cozy fantasy is pretty broad from what I've seen. Emily Wilde is categorized as that and it is FULL of conflict and action and has some great and memorable characters.

But people have always liked stuff that's low tension/stakes/fluffy. See coffee shop aus in fanfic, or fanfic tagged fluff. See slice of life anime where characters are just hanging out. It's not a new thing. People have always wanted to watch or read things that just give cozy vibes and allow them to hang out with characters. The book industry realizing there was a market for that was inevitable. If it's not for you, it's not for you, but it's obviously for someone or it wouldn't be doing well.

I also think this is a good example of how condescending we can get when talking about a genre we don't like. Rather than say "it's not for me, I don't find the characters memorable and want better stakes, maybe there should be more variety" (which was more where OP was at) it has to be somehow bad for people to read it and write it. like...

And so sometimes it feels impossibly challenging to write any book except one where nothing bad happens and nothing is in danger and nobody is really bothered or worried about anything and everything is mostly fine and there aren't any major setbacks…..

That is a hell of a condescending assumption to make about those writers. Jesus. I'm a professional author too, but I would not want to make these assumptions about my fellow writers.You don't know if they're doing it because it's easy, or if they're doing it because they felt there was a need for it, or it was just an idea they liked writing. You don't like it, great. That doesn't mean those writers are slacking off or doing something wrong somehow. You don't know that they don't also write books with tension and conflict. I feel like most of them probably have, actually. Assuming they sat down and thought "omg this will be easy I'm so lazy" is just...do you make the same assumption about romance writers? It can get pretty formulaic, but that doesn't mean it's easy to write. Have you tried to write a cozy fantasy and sell it and make it do well? If not, I don't think you should talk about how easy it is.

But that leaves readers cold.

I mean not all readers obviously, since it wouldn't be doing well or selling well?

And frankly, I don't feel like it does much of anything to nourish either our souls or theirs.

It feels like eating a bag of potato chips for dinner instead of going to the effort of even just heating up a frozen dinner that has a vegetable in it.

Why does reading HAVE to "nourish your soul", whatever that means? What's wrong with eating a bag of potato chips? You teach college, so I wonder if you've ever run into a colleague who thinks this way about regular fantasy and sci-fi. Where they think that genre fiction is inherently more disposable and less challenging than literary fiction. I've sure as hell run into those professors, that look down on readers and writers of "commercial fiction", and I've seen the bad impact they have on their students. Do you agree with them? Because you're sounding a lot like them right now. This is the exactly the kind of argument they'd make.

You don't know whether these people don't also read books with more stakes or a variety of genres as well. Low effort reading has it's place, it just maybe shouldn't be the only thing you read if you want to actually experience the breadth of literature.

And I see this a lot in the book community, but dissing the stuff people are into and saying they need to challenge themselves more or they won't be smart like you (I see this with YA a lot too) is not going to convince them. It frames reading as a chore, and people often don't like doing chores in a life full of them, and reading is a hobby for a lot of people. Rather that say "you need to read this to better your mind" say what can be interesting or intriguing about these books that are more challenging, what kind of cool things you can get from them. Sometimes it seems to me like the point of these arguments is to feel superior, rather than actually convince people.

Nothing's wrong with reading low effort books or watch low effort shows--it's when say, a YA reader says books are inherently flawed if they don't spell things out like YA sometimes does or has more challenging themes. Or a cozy fantasy reader acting like all books should be cozy fantasy and books with tension are bad. Those are the people that ruin the discourse. But, doing the inverse isn't any better.

idk, man. I've taught university classes about this shit, but what do I know.

I teach grad school classes on writing, (I don't like to pull that card, since it's not like teachers can't have flawed ideas about their subject but since we're here) and have taught similar lessons. Yet, here's what I think I do know: telling students the genre they write is wrong is not something a teacher should do. Those literary fiction professors love doing that, and I'm not them.

As a teacher with a variety of students in a variety of genres, I have to read genres I don't like all the time--god I hate most 'dark romance' and man do I not get or like omegaverse, but I sure as hell had to read both. But just because I don't like them doesn't mean they're worthless, or there isn't a market for them, or it's wrong to write them. So I put those feelings aside, think about what kind of help the student needs to be successful in their chosen genre, and what the audience would want, because that will help them improve. (though I do try to hint if something seems like, incredibly sexist, that maybe we should reconsider that, or look at it from all angles and decide if it's something the story needs). And at the same time, I do teach them basic lessons on how to structure a story, and what's good about conflict, stakes, etc.

But I wouldn't tell any of them they're wrong for writing cozy fantasy even if it's not always my cup of tea, because there is a market for it, and I want them to do well at it and do what they love. What pays the bills pays them, and if you actually like what you do, that's also important. Writers do need to challenge themselves, which is why I encourage students to be open minded about all genres, try out writing them, try writing different POVs, different stuff even if they don't publish it, because that can only help them get better at what they do. But if what they publish is cozy fantasy, hey, it gets them good money and they like doing it, that's more than I can say for most jobs.

Cozy Fantasy and Why It Doesn't Work

I think I am among many who feel like they should love cozy fantasy and have found it an incredibly lacking genre.

This newly branded "cozy fantasy" genre that has taken readers by storm since 2020 and while it is new that books are now marketed as cozy, the genre itself isn't new. Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones is a great example of the genre before it was labeled and also how to make it work.

Cozy fantasy is defined by many as fantasy with low stakes. Fantasy aesthetic but less sword fights. On paper, it sounds great. But the execution has been less than stellar for readers like me. The lack of physical stakes has also impacted the emotional stakes of these books, creating forgettable characters with boring problems. As a romance reader, I find this frustrating. Romance is known for being a predictable and formulaic genre, the now defunct Romance Writers of America defined romances as needing happy endings, a term romances have continued to follow. Yet these romance texts manage to have low physical stakes (how to date your neighbor, how to confront your toxic friends, etc) while still maintaining high personal stakes that keep readers invested and begging for more. So I was initially confused why cozy fantasy authors struggle to write texts that connect to readers like me.

I think I have found the answer which is the genre is just here for vibes. It is all about aesthetic, not even worldbuilding that fantasy is known for as most cozy fantasy I read have so many problems as soon as you ask one question. It is hard to acknowledge that a genre that is pitched to work for readers like me doesn't work for many of us. Especially because occasionally there is one that works beautifully to my taste.

I often say my favorite cozy fantasies that are more contemporary are short and visual, which I plays into the idea of the genre being an aesthetic. The Bakery Dragon by Devin Elle Kurtz is a good example because it is a simple story that is given the perfect amount of pages and gorgeous visuals without dragging on when the message is very clear and easy to understand. Books like The Phoenix Keeper and Legends and Lattes have absolutely nothing for me, their very clear message hitting the reader over and over so the readers don't miss it and focusing on the aesthetic of worldbuilding rather than the reality of the fantastic elements within the world.

I guess my point is. . . I realize this genre isn't for me since I have realized it is more of an aesthetic than anything. .. .but I want it to be. Should I let it go and put my efforts elsewhere? Or should I keep exploring this new trend and find the hidden gems?

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 8

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy, seizures, memory loss, hospitals, vomiting, blood and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lando had expected a lot of things Lizzie came home from the hospital—maybe that she’d immediately crash on the couch, maybe that Mara would knock him over with excitement, maybe that he’d have to force her to take it easy.

What he hadn’t expected was the absolute monstrosity of a bed in her bedroom.

He stopped in the doorway, blinking in shock at the enormous, plush-looking bed that took up most of the space. The thing looked like it belonged in a luxury hotel suite, with an obscene amount of pillows, a thick, ridiculously cozy duvet…and at least half a dozen of other blankets. 

Lizzie, who was still a little pale but very much aware of his reaction, snorted. “Something wrong?”

Lando’s jaw slackened as he took in the monstrosity before him. He’d seen king-sized beds before, but this thing was in a class of its own. The sheer amount of pillows alone was staggering. He took a hesitant step forward, his hand reaching out to touch the duvet.

“This is...this is a lot of bed,” he said lamely, turning to look at Lizzie.

She laughed, carefully sitting on the edge of it. “I spent a fortune on this bed, because I’m always in here. If I have to spend half my life in bed, it’s gonna be the best bed money can buy.”

Lando joined her on the edge of the bed, eyeing the mountain of pillows suspiciously. "Half your life, huh?" he said lightly.

Lando’s expression softened. He knew she was joking, but there was an undercurrent of truth there. Between her epilepsy and the exhaustion that followed her seizures, she did spend a lot of time in bed. Of course she would make it as comfortable as possible.

Still—

“You could fit like, four people in here comfortably,” he muttered, sitting beside her.

Lizzie smirked. “Is that an invitation?”

Lando turned red immediately. “I—no—that’s not—stop.”

Lizzie's smirk grew wider at his reaction, her eyes sparkling with wicked amusement. Lando's cheeks reddened even more, his brain stuttering over his words.

"I-You-" He floundered for a moment, trying desperately to regain composure. "That's not—I didn’t mean—"

Lizzie raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying his flustered state. "Didn’t mean what, Lando?" she teased. “Maybe I just want all this space all to myself,” she teased.

She leaned back against the mountain of pillows, letting out a satisfied sigh. “It’s heaven. The best investment I ever made.”

Lando watched her lean back against the mountain of pillows, and he had to admit, it looked pretty comfortable. 

Lando chuckled, shaking his head. "It looks like you’re about to disappear into that bed entirely," he said teasingly.

"God, I missed this be," she muttered as she stretched out like a starfish and he couldn't help but snort

She looked utterly ridiculous, but utterly cute at the same time.  "You look like a starfish," he teased, poking her shoulder lightly.

A starfish wearing a Ferrari sweatshirt.

Lando chuckled at the sight of Lizzie sprawled out in her Ferrari sweatshirt, looking like the most comfortable starfish in the world. 

"A Ferrari-loving starfish," he said, running a hand lightly over her stomach.

Lizzie grinned back at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Hey, I’m just representing my favorite F1 team," she said defensively.

She let out a satisfied sigh as Lando's hand moved over her stomach, a small shiver of pleasure running up her spine.

“You are dating a McLaren driver, and you are wearing Ferrari merch,” Lando said with a sigh.

Lizzie shrugged nonchalantly, her grin widening. "Yeah, but Ferraris are red, and that's my favorite color," she teased. She leaned up on her elbows, a glint in her eyes. "Besides, this is so old that it’s all soft and washed out. Find me a McLaren sweatshirt that feels the same and we can start talking."

Lando made an affronted noise at her words, and pretended to give her a scandalised look. "How dare you!" He said in a mockingly offended tone. "I’ll have you know that the McLaren merchandise is the best in the business. Comfier, more durable, more stylish. Ferraris can suck it."

“This is literally 30 years old,” Lizzie gave back drily.

Lando grimaced. "It's still vintage blasphemy," he muttered.

Lizzie couldn't help but laugh at the look on his face. “You're acting like I've committed a cardinal sin or something."

Then she yawned.

Lando chuckled softly at her yawn, and his expression softened. "Come on," he said gently, lightly tugging at her arm. "You should get some sleep. You're tired."

“I feel like that’s all I am doing,” she complained.

"I know," he said softly. "But your body needs the rest. You know that."

She hummed, pulling up the blankets.

“Could you let Mara out in the garden?” She asked him.

Lando's expression softened at her sleepy request, and he nodded.

"Of course," he said gently, standing up from the bed. He gave her arm another squeeze, before turning towards the door. "Just get some sleep, all right? I’ll take care of Mara."

Lando walked out of the room with one last glance at Lizzie burrowed under the covers, still swathed in her old Ferrari sweatshirt.

He headed for the back door, whistling softly to call Mara. The dog came bounding up, her tail wagging frantically.

Lando let Mara out into the backyard, watching as she darted around the lawn with joyous abandon. He threw her tennis ball a few times, clearly making Mara’s day. After a few minutes, Mara was sufficiently worn out, and came trotting back up to Lando, ball held in her mouth.

His phone rang.

Lando's head jerked up at the sound of his phone ringing, his focus shifting away from Mara. He quickly patted the dog on the head and fished the phone out of his pocket.

It was Oscar.

Lando's brow furrowed as he saw Oscar's name on the screen. He answered the call and brought the phone to his ear.

"Hey, mate," he said, a hint of wariness in his voice.

“I got a bunch of Ferrari dog merch thanks to Charles. Where am I supposed to put it?” Oscar greeted him drily. “I actually brought it to the MCT. I figured you would want to give it to your girlfriend. Want me to drop it off at your house?”

Lando thought about it for a moment, staring at Mara that was happily gnawing on her tennis ball. 

"I am at her place…if you could drop it off…” Lando rattled off Lizzie's address.

“Alright.” Oscar’s voice was light and cheery. “I’ll be over in 10.” 

There was a knock on the door just minutes later. Lando opened the door to see Oscar standing there with a few bags, a grin on his face.

"Hey," Lando said, stepping aside to let him in. "You work fast."

“Special delivery from Charles,” Oscar announced, holding said bag out for him.  “For the dog.”

Lando took the bag with a sigh. “He’s really committed to this, huh?”

“Mate, he designed merch. You’re never escaping it now.”

Lando groaned, imagining the amount of Ferrari-themed dog items crammed into the bags. He could already see the red and white bandana poking out of one.

Lando rolled his eyes and shut the door, following Oscar into the living room.

Lando placed the bags on the coffee table, and started rummaging through them. He pulled out a Ferrari-themed dog collar, a red leash, and a toy that looked suspiciously like a doll version of Charles Leclerc…

"He really went all out, huh?" Lando remarked, shaking his head in disbelief. 

Oscar chuckled, taking a seat on the couch. “You know how he is. Can’t half-ass anything.”

“Lando?” He looked up to find Lizzie in the doorway to her living room staring at them. Mara took that opportunity to come bounding over,  sniffing at her things. “What…”

Lando stood up, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck as he took Lizzie in. She stood in the doorway, looking like she’d just woken up. Her hair was a mess, and she was still wearing her old Ferrari sweatshirt.

“Hey,” he naked worriedly. “Did we wake you?”

“No…” Lizzie trailed off, her gaze flickering over to the bags on the coffee table, her eyes narrowing as she saw the words “Ferrari” written in big font. “What’s this?”

“Mara’s birthday presents. Oscar was nice enough to drop,” he explained.

Lizzie’s expression grew more incredulous as she took in all the Ferrari merchandise, and then Oscar sitting on her couch, her eyes widening. 

“…Nice to meet you, I am Oscar,” Oscar offered, painfully polite as usual, as he looked up from where Mara had stolen Charles Leclerc the dog toy, and then blinked twice at her. “I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before…”

LIzzie just stared at him. “Same,” she finally said drily. “Nice to meet you, Oscar Piastri.” 

Oscar frowned, then glanced at the bookshelf behind her, which was filled with neatly arranged copies of her own books. His gaze landed on the name printed on the spines.

He froze.

Then he whipped around to Lando so fast it was a miracle he didn’t give himself whiplash.

“No. Fucking. Way.”

Lando sighed. “Here we go.”

Oscar turned back to Lizzie, looking personally betrayed. “You’re Elizabeth Treshton? The Elizabeth Treshton??”

Lizzie, clearly amused, nodded. “Guilty as charged.”

Oscar turned back to Lando, shocked. “Mate. You’re dating a bestselling author and you just casually didn’t tell me?!”

Lando just stared at him.

Oscar looked like his entire worldview had been shattered. “You—what?! No! I didn’t know! I thought you were just dating a normal person, not the author of one of the biggest romantasy series in the world!”

Lizzie smirked. “I mean, I am a normal person.”

Oscar ignored her, staring at Lando. “You weren’t just reading her favourite books, you were reading the books she wrote!” Oscar said. 

Lando shifted, looking uncomfortable. “Yeah, well… it’s different when it’s someone you—” He cleared his throat. “Look, can we not make a big deal out of this?”

Oscar just grinned. “Oh no, mate. This is absolutely a big deal.”

Lizzie laughed, watching the two of them bicker. Mara, thoroughly uninterested in human dramatics, was already trying to open her present.

Oscar exhaled like he was processing a life-altering revelation. Then, awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “So, um. Anyway. This is weird now, but—”

Lando narrowed his eyes. “But what?”

Oscar hesitated, then mumbled, “My girlfriend is, like, your biggest fan.”

Lizzie grinned. “I like her already.”

“Yeah, well,” Oscar scratched his neck, awkward. “If I go home without signed books, I might not have a girlfriend anymore.”

Lizzie chuckled at Oscar's predicament. "Well, can't have that, can we?" she said teasingly. “Especially since you brought my dog…Ferrari themed… everything.”

“Oh that’s Lando’s fault,” Oscar said quickly. “He asked Charles for it.”

Lizzie stared at him and Lando looked everywhere but at her. “You…you asked Charles Leclerc for Ferrari merch for my dog?” She asked him, sounding oddly touched.

Lando swallowed. “You said she’s the best thing that ever happened to you. So she deserves it. Even if I still think that McLaren merch is better,” he defended himself.

Lizzie’s eyes softened. "You giant softie," she mumbled, shaking her head fondly at him. “This is the sweetest thing anybody has ever done for me.”

Lando blushed under her gaze, but he tried to maintain some composure

"Hey, don’t get used to it," he retorted with a smirk. "This is a one-time only thing. And only for your dog. I’m still team McLaren."

Lizzie chuckled."Of course, of course," she teased. "McLaren forever, Ferrari for Mara."

[fairestwriting]

Hi! Hope you're doing well! I love your writing, I got so excited when I saw you're rqs were open!!!

Could i request dorm leaders w/reader who sang a break-up song while they're dating w/a happy ending? not for a performance or anything, just listening to music and singing along and a mob character passing by heard it. then suddenly there's rumors around the school saying their relationship is falling apart. the reader doesn't know. the boys don't realize that it a big misunderstanding and think that the reader might not be happy with their relationship and they desperately try to make it up to the reader.

Kind of like this one including malleus and azul https://www.tumblr.com/coralinnii/697097733985730560/singing-a-break-up-song-while-dating-feat

sry for rambling, i really love the way you write the characters, if it's too much, don't worry about! thank you!

fjfejf thank you i hope you enjoy your rq too <3 this one takes me back…. throwback sunday

(Also happy (late) valentines day everybody! i wanted to post that that on time for it but it got. so long

𐙚 Riddle Rosehearts

Ironically, you might have even shown him that song before. Riddle is pretty out of the loop, so he’s always curious about what you’re listening to. He never thought that your enjoyment of the song had anything to do with your relationship. It’s just a song, right? And at first, he thinks the exact same when the rumor arrives at him through Cater, chastising him for spreading such baseless claims.

…But it doesn’t take too long for it to get to him. And wasn’t that one of your most listened songs too? He can never remember the titles very well. His uncertainty feeds on the words of others until they make complete sense to him. If you were really happy, why would you be so obsessed with that specific song, after all? Riddle starts to pick apart his own actions, trying to find what could have made you so unhappy… And the truth is, everything is not only going well, but he probably mixed up the song from the rumor with an unrelated song you’re actually obsessed with. His entire issue is built around an impression that you’ve been secretly wallowing all this time, all due to some awful thing he’s supposedly done— Without even noticing how much he hurt you, no less.

Suddenly, when you spend time together, he’s awkwardly asking if you’re really sure that this or that is really okay, like he did when you just started dating. You ask him what’s wrong, and he quickly, awkwardly, blurts out that he heard the rumors, and he was trying to make up for his actions… And you’re just standing there, confused.

Luckily, Riddle has just enough common sense that saying his worries out loud makes him realize how frankly insane he sounds. And when he hears that he was, in fact, thinking of the wrong song, his whole face is as red as his hair. You might have to hold back some laughter as you comfort him… Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, it does feel sweet that he’s so eager to make you happy. Even if it means having to fix a huge problem he doesn’t quite understand.

𐙚 Leona Kingscholar

There’s probably no shortage of rumors about your relationship. Good ones, bad ones, and a good few that were just weird— Leona says with his full chest that he thinks they’re all a waste of time, that it was just people being bored, or jealous, or both. He does wholly believe his own words. He also remembers every single thing he hears about you two.

Similar to Riddle, his initial reaction is that the rumor is just stupid. You listening to a song meant that you wanted to break up with him? Really? People must be running out of things to say, if they’re fixating on something so meaningless… And yet, he can’t keep himself from getting the urge to watch you more closely when you’re together.

Leona will die before he actually admits this rumor ever got to him, really. Even the people he overheard talking about it said it kind of seemed like a reach. He’s not about to start a conversation about it, or even openly express that some stupid bit of gossip had him so worried— But he still feels the need to watch. Do you get bored when you’re just sitting nearby while he’s supposedly sleeping? Do you look uncomfortable when he comes closer? Questions like that come up in his mind.

The answer, of course, is that you don’t. And that’s the end of it… or at least he wants to believe that. The rumor won’t come up unless you mention it, he just randomly comes off just a little softer than usual. It’d be hard for anyone to make the connection, surely Leona wouldn’t get that affected by something so silly, he said it was stupid himself. And yet, it’s still hard to miss how he visibly relaxes when you confirm that’s how you thought.

𐙚 Azul Ashengrotto

There’s all sorts of rumors going around about Azul himself, but they’re mostly just long debates on whether it’s worth getting involved with his deals or not. That’s easy enough to ignore when he has people coming in and out of the Lounge everyday. People who complain were just mad about the consequences they faced due to not reading the fineprint and all that.

This self awareness doesn’t help that much when the rumor comes to his attention, though. He’ll comment about how childish the people gossiping about you were to whoever tells him the news, but his words are hollow. Logic is already in the process of leaving his brain, entirely skipping over how ridiculous the whole thing was. It’s sudden enough to hit him with every mistake he might have made like a truck. The office door is slammed shut and locked so he go insane in peace. The thought of rumors themselves are what stands out the most. That had to be what drove you over the edge, right? Someone must have told you terrible things about him, and now you were miserable and confused and— And then he’s calling you, urgently asking for you to give him a chance to explain himself.

The whole “song” part of the rumor might as well not exist anymore. You ask him what this was all about, and he’s going on and on about how he swears whatever you heard about him wasn’t actually that bad and how he’s sorry that you’re getting caught up in all of this mess. You have no idea what it’s all about. It takes a bit of a back and forth for him to realize this. Then he’s just silent. And on instinct, as the realization hits him, he just hangs up, mortified.

You leave to go see him in person, worried or confused or amused or all of the above. You knock on his door, asking him what was up, what rumors he was talking about, he’s too embarrassed to answer for a bit. When he finally does, he looks at you so guiltily, you might even expect he’s about to make a serious confession— It does take a little effort not to giggle when he actually explains it. Insists to get you two some fancy dinner afterwards to make up for the “trouble”, no matter how much you insist you’re glad that it was just a misunderstanding.

𐙚 Kalim Al-Asim

Surprisingly, or maybe not, Kalim is actually quite used to people gossiping about him too. It doesn’t mean he’s the best at handling it, but even before deciding to work on becoming a more capable person, he was already a couple steps ahead from quite a few other people. Even compared to the other dorm leaders — or maybe, especially compared to them — he usually doesn’t have a very hard time ignoring what others say about him.

The first time he hears the rumor, it’s from a few Scarabia students whispering to each other in the corners of the dorm lounge. His first concern is calling out how rude it is to spread rumors about other people, and while he doesn’t have much of an aura of authority, people like him too much to not back off. He thought that was the end of it, and was almost succesful at fully ignoring the rumor, but he’s unlucky enough a particularly nasty someone catches on that it did bother him, despite it technically not showing on the outside.

And then it’s not just a problem, but a long running one. Because he doesn’t want to listen to people saying all those mean things about you! You’re always happy when you’re around him, there’s no way you’d be secretly holding a grudge over… what, really? You two don’t even fight! …That’s the sort of thing he’ll be telling himself, as time passes, and without him even fully processing the building anxiety, you start to wake up to… random gifts from your boyfriend, piled up at the door of your dorm room. How long had it been since you forgot about the song, when you reach the point of deciding to ask him what this was all about? Who knows. The gifts didn’t feel that odd at first, he just does that sometimes, but you were starting to run out of space, and Kalim was starting to act weird around you. So you bring it up… And he actually bursts into tears.

Poor guy, honestly. He’s a mess, saying he’s sorry, he didn’t know what else to do to make your not want to break up with him, all that. He’s saying he’ll let you go if that’s what you truly want when you interrupt him and ask what he’s even talking about, and he tearfully mentions he heard those rumors— That at this point might have even died down. You have to assure him it’s all just rumors for a while, and he tears up again, this time out of happiness. He’s not even going to think about how crazy it was that he got so deep into something that had no depth at all. He’s just too glad that you’re not upset.

𐙚 Vil Schoenheit

Vil’s initial reaction mostly depends on what sort of day he’s had. It’s harder to not overthink things when he’s already stressed — Not that he believes it in any case, it’s just unpleasant to hear either way. The whole thing sounds, frankly, just too shallow to truly hit him. How could anyone claim to know how you were feeling just because you liked this one specific song? How could they even confirm you actually liked that song at all, really… But people still talk about it, and that’s how it sticks to his thoughts.

He’s already dismissed the rumor itself, the question is whether it really came up out of nowhere or not. Maybe someone had noticed you were looking down, or you confided in a friend about relationship issues, and that’s what’s really behind all those flashy claims about the song — The idea makes him anxious. You two usually just talk it out if there’s an issue, so what could have happened? You’re caught off guard when he asks you out for lunch, just the two of you, right in the middle of the week because it’s the only time slot he has available.

You think maybe he just felt like doing something nice but still easygoing. So it definitely feels strange when he starts to speak up about how he’s aware he’s not perfect, but he’s willing to work on anything that might bother you, you realize he looks oddly serious for the situation—

You blink, telling him you knew that, but everything was fine. If anything was wrong, you would’ve just talked to him, like you always do. He stops on his tracks, suddenly feeling kind of silly. If it was anyone else, maybe he’d question if you really meant that, but you say it so easily it couldn’t not be the truth— Then you ask him if something is wrong, and he does his very best efforts to circumvent the topic, something about being told you were unhappy… You recall a friend bringing up the rumor to you, before that, and it feels hard to believe something so silly would get to him. It turns out to be a nice date anyway, though. Maybe something you could do more often?

𐙚 Idia Shroud

Honestly, even before he registers that all of this is over you enjoying a song, his brain is already going haywire. When it does hit that this was all over a song, though, he stops, and not because it’s all over a song. But instead because the gossip itself implied that you weren’t listening to it while wallowing by yourself— Then, right after, he wonders if that means things were even worse than they seemed. Did people know because you were telling your friends about it or something? The questions keep coming up, the logic getting more and more complicated inside his head…

Would it be better to check up on you? Straightforwardly ask if anything is wrong? There’s no way he could just do that, what would he do if it all turned out to be right, if you’ve been silently despising him this whole time? In the end, you don’t hear from Idia that day at all. Then Ortho calls you out of concer, not knowing what’s happening beyond the fact his brother is losing his mind. You can even hear him in the background, telling him to hang up.

…And after a day without any texts, and a call from Ortho that sounded like Idia might as well have been stabbed in his room, you rush over to his dorm. You hurry to check up on him, expecting something bad, and he’s actually shocked you’re worried about him. That you don’t outright hate him. Hearing that, you’re understandably confused.

Your reaction brings him back to reality a bit, prompting him to ask if he’s done anything wrong. You ask him what made him think that. He mentions something about a song. Music, of course, is the furthest thing from your mind right now, so you ask him which song— It soon becomes clear there’s been an insane misunderstanding. After relief hits, it’s a little awkward, and he’s apologizing for how crazy he must have looked. You’re just glad your boyfriend didn’t get jumped or anything like that. Details can be discussed later.

𐙚 Malleus Draconia

Malleus takes it all pretty seriously. You probably showed him the song yourself, since he gets curious about the music you like, and it did stand out to him that it’s breakup music— But he doesn’t consider that, by itself, a reason to worry. He’ll always believe your word over others, which is why it’s so confusing to him to hear that you were supposedly unhappy. And people were considering your taste in music as proof on top of it all? Would that mean that showing him the song was some sort of indirect message, then…?

It doesn’t feel in character for you, he thinks, but he doesn’t want to risk it. He does consider doing something to make up for his supposed mistakes, but since the topic of breaking up is on the table, he decides nothing could really be enough. And you were really so upset you were about to give up on him, he doesn’t know what he could do to make you feel better. In the end, he just decided to ask — right at the very next time he sees you, before saying anything else — why you wanted to break up with him.

”What”,you echo, and for a moment he wonders if you were really so resentful you were making fun of him, but that definitely doesn’t sound like something you’d do. He explains he heard people talk about it, saying he wanted to “hear your thoughts on the matter before believing anyone else”, that he was hoping to solve whatever the problem was. He’s so serious it stuns you, you tell him there aren’t any problems.

That confuses him. What did you mean when you showed him the song, then? Nothing, it turns out. You just liked the music. His worries dissipate soon after that, if you say it was all well, of course he’ll believe you. He does remind you to tell him if it’s not, because he doesn’t want that imagined scenario to become true at all, but he’s ready to just (very) gratefully set it all aside. Simple as that. Won’t get it if you seem to find the situation amusing, but won’t stop you from finding humor in it either.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[a-hermit-pining]

LADS Men as Omegas (🫣😳)

AN: I have no shame. Top reader rights. IK i suck at abo, i'm working on it people. Forgive me 😭 (I do not own these characters- don’t sue me pls)

Pairing: Lads boys x gn reader

Genre: Omegaverse

Rafayel:

Soft, cuddly, clingy, and the perfect blend of bratty, Rafayel isn’t afraid to play into his omega stereotype. He receives endless courtship proposals, but this little mermaid is already sold on his fated mate.

And when you rescue him, his heart only confirms what his soul already knew.

You are the alpha of his dreams. The dream who stepped into reality to save him. The realization makes him swoon.

He falls in love in the days of his naivety, offering you a scale from his tail in an act of quiet, instinctive devotion.

And when you take it, when you press it against your chest like a sacred vow, he knows.

He was always meant to be yours, no matter what trials your future holds.

Xavier:

The treasured omega crown prince of Philos, Xavier has spent years enduring grueling, mind-numbing courting balls, all for the sake of political alliances.

By the time he chooses you, his trusted knight, it isn’t because of love. It’s because he’s tired.

Tired of being a trophy for an alpha he doesn’t want, tired of playing the part of the perfect prince. He just wants to be done with it.

So he takes the only logical escape in front of him. A marriage of convenience.

He never expected to fall in love.

But somehow, through quiet nights and gentle hands, you change everything. Your kindness reminds him that he is more than his title, that his purpose extends beyond the throne.

Just hold him close and let him nap in your arms.

Because in a world of politics and crowns, you are the only place he can rest. For you, he will travel worlds beyond time.

Zayne:

You are both idiots in love.

You grew up together. Playing as children, bickering as teens, having each other’s backs as adults.

He never saw you as a mate. You were just his friend.

His dorm mate, who fended off riled-up alphas, who gifted him the softest blankets and cardigans when his scars ached. Who brewed coffee before med school boards and kept a supply of his suppressants on you at all times. You were kind, reliable, familiar.

That’s it, right?

Wrong.

He realizes it a little too late.

Especially when he wakes up in your bed, your scents mixed together, tangled in warmth that neither of you question.

You were never just his friend.

You were his safe place.

And maybe, just maybe, he was yours too, he thinks as he lays back down, resting his head on your chest.

Sylus:

From the moment you bowed before the Dragon Lord, your heart was his.

He, who owned the treasures of the world, was given you. A peasant beta, tribute by an indebted village.

You had nothing to return to.

Your home, brimming with siblings, had no space for another mouth to feed. At least this way, your family would be given a year’s worth of food.

Sylus did not favor mundane things.

In his den of glimmering gold, you were nothing more than an unworthy servant, bound by duty.

And yet, he could not ignore you.

Not when you, a mere human, kept doing the most human of things: cooking meals (which he did not require), washing laundry (who did that for dragons?), dusting his endless hoard (a futile task).

You were never worthy of being his mate.

And yet, somehow, there was no one closer.

You weren’t even an alpha.

But Sylus didn’t need one.

Beyond ranks and positions, there was simply presence.

And somehow, without ever meaning to, you became his greatest treasure.

In a world that did not want you, he treasured you.

Caleb:

Ever since childhood, your fates have been opposites. His in the skies, yours deep in the core of the earth.

There couldn’t be a pairing more different.

And yet— You were the one who held him when his scent shifted, the one who comforted him through the awkward, agonizing growth spurts of adolescence.

You were the one who fought for him to enter the aerospace academy as an omega.

And then, one day, he was taken from you.

And all that remained was grief. Never ending grief and hollowness.

The one who flew in the skies had been your anchor, and without him, you lost your place in the world.

So when he returns, changed, worn, distant, you find yourself asking the one question you aren’t sure you want answered:

"What did they do to you?"

And more importantly,

"Are you still mine?"

[theteablogger]

You may have already noted this, but Andy's claims on twitter about being able to understand what his sparrow is saying (and thus sparrow language in general) seem to be ramping up in unbelievability- apparently yesterday the bird was able to communicate that it didn't want its conversation with other sparrows recorded and shared. Andy makes mention of several of his followers who have apparently been having FaceTime calls with the bird. There's at least 5-6 of Andy's followers who consistently comment on the bird updates and show no credulity, expressing how much they want to be able to communicate with the bird like Andy does. It's probably not the biggest deal, but the whole thing has just been giving me an odd vibe. Feels like Andy once again making friends/followers by demonstrating abilities and knowledge no one else has.

Yes, his allegedly deep connection with sparrows has been getting weird for quite a while. He says he can understand some of their language, enough to relay things that the flock outside his house is talking about and things that Nuggie communicates to him. On top of that, Andy has written about things like Nuggie watching movies and musicals and following every emotional beat, to the point of showing the characters his malformed feet to offer encouragement when they're lacking confidence. Andy is anthropomorphizing the hell out of that little bird. Meanwhile, his followers praise him for knowing sparrows better than ornithologists do.

I've lived with a parrot before, for many years, and I bonded very closely with him. I agree that birds are much smarter and more emotionally complex than most people realize. But they're not humans. Their thoughts and feelings are not exactly like ours and we have no way to know exactly what's going on in their heads. Projecting onto them can lead to misunderstandings of their behavior and needs. Andy seems to be taking good care of Nuggie, from what I can tell--bearing in mind that we only have his word for it--but that doesn't mean he's right about everything.

Here's the thread you mentioned:

Here's Andy in November, writing about Nuggie's "phone flock":

Here's a thread from October, featuring Andy's musings on sparrow language. Friendly reminder that he is neither an ornithologist nor a linguist.

Note that at the end, he specifies that he's not Dr. Doolittle and doesn't speak or 100% understand sparrows' language...but he's still claiming a level of understanding that no one else has.

And here's Andy in August, wishing that he could communicate effectively with Nuggie and then having an actual conversation with him:

Those are some awfully complex ideas for a member of a non-human species to understand and respond to appropriately.

I'm not trying to suggest that Andy is forming another cult based around his bird, but like you said, Anon, it's notable that he is once again positioning himself as someone who has a special ability that no one else has. He's also repeating an old pattern in making himself the sole conduit to communicate with someone who holds a great deal of emotional significance for people. Back in the day, it was any of 160+ "others", and later, the DAYDverse/Harry Potter characters; now, it's a rescued sparrow with a disability, whom a lot of people apparently find inspiring.

[aliceramblez]

HSR Men Spending Valentine's Day With Their S/O 💌

Feat. Phainon, Aventurine, Jing Yuan, Sunday & Dan Heng!

Tags: GN!Reader & lots of fluff!

Happy belated Valentine's to all my besties out there who've been cursed with having the love of their life be a video game character T_T

Phainon

Doesn't have the slightest clue what Valentine's even is until you teach him. One of the downsides of living in a world disconnected from the rest of the cosmos, you suppose.

Rest assured though, once he gets the gist of it, he's showering affection all over you for everyone to see, much to your dismay.

He asks you to be his Valentine in the middle of Marmoreal Market, kneeling down and offering you a red rose as your face practically combusts from the grand gesture, all while people stop and mumble at the scene.

“P-Phainon, everyone's staring!”

“Of course they are, αγάπη μου. They can appreciate true beauty when they see it.”

Your room has been filled to the brim with presents of all kinds once you come back from training later in the day—flowers, desserts, trinkets, you name it and it's there. Tribbie actually complains to you, wishing you never told Phainon anything in the first place. You can take a guess as to who helped him set everything up.

Once he's done with his own duties, the Chrysos Heir visits you and is ready to take you out to have a romantic evening on the streets, but after seeing how exhausted he is, you can't help but giggle and suggest you stay in and cuddle instead. He's all for it.

“It's not much compared to everything you got me, but here you go.”

With Aglaea's help, you ended up weaving him a new tunic, specifically a chlamys for whenever he went out on expeditions with colder temperatures.

His eyes light up as he grabs the garment, shoves it to the side, and gently pulls you against his chest with a content sigh leaving his lips. You return the gesture gladly.

“You are too good to me...”

Aventurine

This man will pull no expense when it comes to you. And honestly, would you expect any less?

Want some flowers? He's bought you an entire cart. Chocolate? He scoffs at you saying you only having a ‘small craving’, so he comes home with at least two crates worth. Jewelry? Has no problem in getting something valuable with all his connections.

Despite you telling him he doesn't have to get you all this stuff—even though you're grateful and love everything he gets you—he'll just chuckle with that darn teasing smirk of his.

“If a Stoneheart can't spoil their loved one on Valentine's Day, what good do all those earnings do me?”

Did I also mention he's doing all of this while still at work? He texts you to make sure you've recieved the gift, and then gets back to his own business.

Suddenly, Topaz of all people messages you with a reservation for a fancy restaurant and asks you to “please tell your idiot to focus, we're in the middle of a meeting” and all you can do is apologize profoundly.

Despite the evening being filled with lots of luxury, Aventurine eventually takes you out into the balcony to have some privacy as you relish in each other's presence. Contrary to popular belief, the blond doesn't like big crowds—he can manage being social only for a while for his job, but will then retreat back into the comfort of your arms to relax.

That's when you decide to give him his gift.

“...W-What's this?”

“You didn't think you weren't getting something from me, did you?”

You wrap a bracelet around his wrist encrusted with Garnet—a gem that symbolises love and devotion. Aventurine seems to understand the meaning because for a fleeting moment you can see Kakavasha, the man you fell in love with, staring at you with nothing but utmost dedication.

He places a kiss at the back of your hand with a smile that makes your heart leap with joy.

“You are truly the most beautiful gem I've ever found in this galaxy...”

Jing Yuan

Unfortunately, due to his position as General and being confined to the Seat of Divine Foresight, he can't actually go out with you anywhere for this special occasion, much to his dismay. You completely understand, but he's much more saddened about it than you are.

This doesn't mean he hasn't made arrangements for you to receive the very best on this day—flowers are sent to your house by the time you wake up along with a handwritten letter, all delivered via Cycrane.

“I apologize for my absence for such a marvelous occasion, but hopefully you can find it in your heart to forgive me with the tokens of appreciation I have planned for you. Happy Valentine's Day, my dear.”

The rest of the day is also pretty much luxury after luxury—from a delicious gourmet meal, to beautiful Lafou accessories, to even a beautiful flight via starskiff courtesy of Madam Yukong.

It's at this moment that you decide it's just not fair for you to be getting all the attention, so you decide to enlist some help from Sushang to carry out your new plan.

After visiting plenty of hot spots in Aurum Alley, the two of you are able to come up with a small meal that will hopefully satisfy your lovely general. So after thanking and bidding your friend goodbye, you head for the Seat of Divine Foresight.

It's already dark outside by the time you arrive, so you're almost worried that Jing Yuan might have already left for the day. But you are very much wrong once you go through the double doors.

You see him working his way through paperwork at his desk, a somber and almost exhausted look in his eyes which breaks your heart slightly. Once he notices your presence though, it's as if his energy has been rejuvenated, because he's smiling at you just like he always does, albeit there's a hint of curiosity in his gaze.

“I figured the General of the Cloud Knights didn't have lunch today.”

As he looks at the bag of takeout in your hands, he chuckles softly as he stands from his seat and reaches you in mere steps. A kiss is placed upon your lips and all you do is hum in delight.

“You never cease to amaze me, my love.”

Sunday

He's freaking out by the time the date arrives because he's never had anyone to celebrate such an occasion with—he's never loved anyone as much as he loves you.

Since you two haven't been together for that long, he's asking the members of the Express for insight into what things you might like and just general advice on how to showcase his affections.

You can imagine the chaos that ensues from that.

The whole day he's shifting from one personality to another, presumably to see what best suits your tastes and trying to be as romantic as possible—he tries (and fails) being suave and unbothered as he gifts you a bouquet of roses.

He tries cooking something using Himeko's recipes, and you and the entire crew are pretty sure you'll be dead before the food reaches your plates.

It isn't until he has you cornered in your room and tries (and fails again) to be flirtatious that you finally push away from him and ask why he's been acting weird all day.

He shrinks under your gaze.

“Forgive me, I just... I've never had anyone I've wanted to show my devotion to on a day like this. I only wanted to give you the best, but didn't particularly know how...”

“So you asked March 7th for advice?”

The pink on the tips of his ears is enough confirmation. You're going to have a talk with that girl about taking advantage of their newest member.

“I wasn't expecting anything from you, Sunday. Just being together is enough for me. I love you and I know you love me, so, isn't that enough?”

He stares at you as if you've just uncovered the secret of the Aeons, and a smile instantly lights up his face while he brings your hand to his lips to kiss. You giggle at the sensation.

“You always know what to say. Thank you for loving me, my dove.”

Dan Heng

Always found the tradition to be unnecessary and, quite frankly, sometimes even a scam. There's no need for a specific time of the year to showcase how much he loves you—he tries doing that every day!

But he doesn't want you thinking he doesn't care, so he's sure to knock on your door at the exact moment he knows you'll be awake, where you open up and he greets you with a bouquet of carnations and a box of chocolates he purchased on their latest visit to Belobog.

“Happy Valentine's Day...”

“You don't seem too excited about having to say that.”

“W-What do you mean? I—”

Before he can continue to fumble with his words, you go back into your room and start digging through your drawer of knick knacks, and come back with a book in hand. You hand it over to him and Dan Heng instantly recognizes it.

It's a hardcover edition of one of the books he already owns on the history of Penacony. The Express had gone back a few weeks prior for some business—them being shareholders and all—and you saw the way your boyfriend's eyes lit up in curiosity when seeing for the first time, but he ended up putting it back.

“This is...”

“To be honest, I wasn't sure if we were gonna do anything for Valentine's, so I just bought this as a random gift. You never get things for you, so I figured, why not?”

You then suggest to head downstairs to grab some breakfast to take to the Data Bank so you can eat and have a chill morning of light reading.

The Vidyadhara is looking at you as if you grew a second head, but then he smiles that one smile that's only reserved for you. You return it eagerly as you close the door to your room and interlock your fingers with his.

“Very well. Shall we get going?

[aventurineswife]

This isn't really a request to make anything more just a rant!

I'm just imagining SAHSRAU somehow managing to pull reader into the game and when they arrive they are just the God Emperor from 40k. Like, decked out in gold armor, long flowing hair, 14ft tall (GE is tall as hell), a Perpetual so they can't really stay dead, and some serious psychic capabilities.

It has me giggling just thinking about how some of the characters would react, especially the more devout ones. Maybe the Amphoreus npcs have an actual existential crisis seeing someone so godly compared to the titans, characters like Sunday and Argenti literally kissing the ground reader treads while others like Ruan Mei and Herta are have a singular focus on figuring out all of the readers ins and outs (more so than before).

This is an idea I've been playing with for a while now ever since I found out about this kind of AU and it's finally gotten to the point where I just want to rant on and on about it lol

No, but this is hilarious to think about. Like, imagine you get sucked into HSR, expecting to just be you, and instead, you show up looking like you walked straight out of Warhammer 40K fanfiction. Gold-plated, towering over everyone, radiating sheer divine energy—an actual god, not just a theoretical one.

The believers would either be weeping in joy or having the worst identity crisis of their lives. The Amphoreus people, who already revere the Titans, would take one look at you and just—malfunction. Like, 'oh. Oh no. We were wrong. We were SO wrong.' You’d probably get a mix of panicked bowing, desperate prayers, and people straight-up running because what does this mean for their entire worldview??

Sunday and Argenti? Absolutely losing it. Sunday would be preaching your name before you even say a word, while Argenti—this guy is already ridiculously devout—would be trying to single-handedly knight you with his banner. Probably vowing to crusade in your name while you’re just like, "Dude, chill, I just got here."

And then there’s the scholars. Ruan Mei, Herta, maybe even Screwllum—they’d take one look at you and go, "Science has failed me. I need to know EVERYTHING." You’d be subjected to so many tests, not out of doubt, but because they literally cannot fathom how you exist. Ruan Mei would be poking at your energy like "Okay but why does your aura feel like an eldritch horror and a divine miracle at the same time?"

Also, the Vidyadhara might just spontaneously combust from the sheer scale of your existence. They already believe in reincarnation and divine cycles—imagine how Dan Heng would feel if he realized you’re a Perpetual. "Wait. You don’t die? Like, at all? You just come back??" Meanwhile, Jing Yuan would be sipping his tea like, "Well. That’s new."

I also love the idea that even the Aeons don’t know what to do with you. Nanook, who is literally trying to destroy all gods, might take one look at you and just… pause. Like, "Huh. That’s not supposed to exist." Meanwhile, Xipe, the one obsessed with worship, is probably LOSING IT because they finally have something worthy of praise.

This concept is gold (literally). Keep ranting, because I love this! 🤭💖

[respectthepetty]

Seventeen episodes of Perfect 10 Liners and I've finally arrived at couple I'm most excited for because I think they share the same color! It's time to see if I'm actually getting Lapis Lads (two Blue Boys).

But first, this episode has to remind me that other couples exist, starting with Green Guy Gun and Black Brooder Yotha.

Their story just finished in the previous episode, but the show must let us know they are disgustingly in love in case we couldn't tell from the heart on Yotha, the dog and tiger plushies, or the fact that their apartment is bright as hell with Gun's green as the accent.

But that doesn't stop Gun from wearing his man's black.

They're so in love, they invented a new way to share cologne.

Gross.

Don't worry, Red Rascal Sam. I'm judging them too.

And don't worry, Red Rascal Arc, I'm judging your man as well!

First, I cannot overlook that Yellow Yal Arm is in orange simply because I like that his shirt says "God is in control." I will not be distracted by that all powerful being upstairs!

And neither will Arc because he basically asked Arm if he wanted to get married, and Arm was like, "um . . . you can marry someone else if you like them more." SIR! WTF?!

At least Arm's Blue Boy best friend Sand understands what is happening when his Orange Oddity boyfriend asks what his plans for the future are.

Because even if Sand isn't sure what his future holds, Pond made it clear that he wants to be part of it as a communicative Orange Oddity would. Take notes, Arm! If you wanna wear the color, you gotta communicate!

Like if you are a Blue Boy, you gotta be honest. It's in their (color) coding.

Which is why I will love Faifa the most. He is so honest that his face has subtitles.

And because he is so honest, people don't realize he is hiding some big emotions underneath all his happiness.

So it's time he met his match in another Blue Boy because only another Blue Boy can help him see the error of his ways by being a mirror reflection of his errors.

And it seems the universe agrees since Faifa ran into Wine's life and changed his fate (and his name).

But this is really a group effort. Arm made sure Yotha had the gifts for their newest member since we all know Yotha is too distracted in love to remember that other people exist.

And because Yotha is a Black Brooder and Wine is a dark Blue Boy, they could easily stand in silence, so Faifa and his special peacemaker skills were needed to be the middle ground between the two.

Because, once again, Faifa is the epitome of a Blue Boy.

But Wine is also a Blue Boy who is going to make Faifa see that always stepping in to help others only hurts himself.

Because Faifa wants to give everything to everyone else, even if it means he dies (allergic to milk, sir), but Wine wants nothing.

Faifa wants to give everyone all his love, yet Wine wants to be left alone.

Because in a world of colorful characters, it's the Blue Boys who ground people and ask the questions that need to be asked, like how possible Blue Boy Jay with his blue phone immediately questioned why Wine was hanging out with Faifa when his mentor was Yotha.

It's Blue Boy-to-Blue Boy communication, and only they can see through the bullshit of another Blue Boy, which is why they are great friends.

And it's why these two are going to be great friends.

But that's also why they will have the biggest problem because this is a love story.

So in the battle of Blue Boys, once they realize nothing between them is friendly, will they be honest about their emotions or sacrifice their love for some form of noble idiocy?

They're already in the danger zone and don't even realize it.

I love it here!

[yesihaveaobsession]

Dress to Impress

Alastor x female!reader

Summary: With only owning one dress and a hotel event coming up, Alastor declares to go shopping. with the reader (you)

A/N- Hope everyone who did celebrate Valentines Day had a great one! Just wanted to say I appreciate each and every single one of you!! Thank y'all so much for all the support! This turned out longer than I was expecting, BUT I love it ha-ha.

You stood in front of your closet, staring at the one and only dress you actually liked and owned. It was modern, sleek, and just perfect for you. That’s what you were planning to wear to the event Charlie had been planning and talking about all week. But according to Alastor, owning just one dress simply wouldn’t do—especially not for the grand event at the hotel.

“My dear, you need more dresses!” he had declared with a dramatic wave of his hands as he strolled into your room, stopping beside you in front of your closet. “A lady of your stature can’t be seen wearing the same thing twice!”

And that was how you found yourself in a fancy little boutique in the heart of Hell, with Alastor. He stood behind you, looming over your shoulder, offering unhelpful commentary.

“Too plain!”

“Not nearly enough flair!”

“Ugh, modern fashion is so dull.”

You just rolled your eyes and held up a sleek black dress with elegant gold detailing. “I like this one,” you said firmly.

Alastor’s nose scrunched in disapproval as he eyed the dress like it had personally offended him in every way possible. “It’s so… boring!” It wasn’t. But to him, it was.

And there he was, grinning from ear to ear at the other end of the store, sifting through dress racks. You regretted coming with him and probably should’ve asked—well, anyone else. Maybe Rosie for help.

But you could tell he was having way too much fun.

“Ah-ha! Now this—” He turned around, holding up a vintage, puff-sleeved, polka-dotted nightmare straight out of the 1920s. “—this has character!”

You wrinkled your nose. “Okay, first, it has way too much fabric. I’d suffocate in that thing. And second, I don’t want to look like I belong in the Haunted Mansion. And third the polka dots-"

“Oh, pish-posh! You modern girls and your lack of appreciation for timeless elegance.” He placed a hand over his heart as if your rejection of his taste had truly wounded him.

You sighed again and held up another dress—something sleeker and more stylish. “This is what I like.”

“My dear, I must say… that lacks a certain flair,” he said with a slight tilt of his head.

“You mean it lacks your flair,” you teased, stepping closer. “Not everything has to be vintage, Al. I like modern fashion.”

Alastor let out a dramatic groan, still grinning, a hand over his heart like you had mortally wounded him. “Oh, the tragedy! My dear, your taste is simply tragic!”

You smirked. “And yet, you adore me anyway.”

Alastor huffed and straightened his tie with a reluctant grin this time. “That I do. Fine, wear your drab little dress—but I’m choosing the accessories. And ONE dress.”

You narrowed your eyes. “One. And no polka dots.”

His grin widened. “Oh-ho, deal~!”

You regretted it again. Because fifteen minutes later, Alastor held up a deep red, dramatic ball gown with layered tulle, embroidery, and enough vintage detail to make it look like you had stepped out of a 1920s film.

“Alastor—”

“Try it on!”

With a groan, you snatched the dress from him and disappeared into the dressing room.

…And you hated that it actually looked stunning.

When you stepped out, Alastor’s grin softened into something more… admiring. His eyes took you in, the usual mischievous glint giving way to something else. Something warm.

“Well?” you prompted.

He chuckled, stepping closer. “Ah, darling, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to impress me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up, Al.”

But as you turned back to the mirror, you couldn’t deny it—you looked amazing. And for all his dramatics, Alastor did have an eye for fashion… even if it was a century out of date.

Once you got changed back, you glanced at the price tags on both dresses.

Oh, sweet Satan.

You winced. That many souls?!

Peeking at the modern dress you had picked, you did some quick mental calculations and nearly choked. Both together cost more than your entire wardrobe combined.

You slowly turned to Alastor, who was grinning at you like a cat that had caught a particularly juicy canary.

“Al… I don’t think I can justify spending this much on two dresses,” you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck. “I mean, they’re beautiful, but…”

“Nonsense, my dear!” He waved off your concerns, his smile unwavering. “You deserve to look like the queen you are! Besides—” He took the dresses from you and practically waltzed over to the counter. “—I insist.”

You nodded, wondering if he even had money and how he planned to pay.

You followed him hesitantly, already dreading the total as the cashier rang up the dresses. You nearly had a heart attack when the final price popped up on the register. You had calculated correctly, unfortunately.

Alastor, however, didn’t bat an eye. He simply leaned forward, resting his hands on the counter as his grin widened, his teeth flashing unnaturally sharp. The air shifted.

The poor cashier, a meek little demon with trembling hands, gulped as static crackled faintly in the air. Their fingers hovered over the register, hesitant to even breathe too loudly. You felt kind of bad for them.

“Sooo,” Alastor drawled, his voice dipping just enough to send a chill down your spine. “How about we… reconsider the price?”

The lights flickered.

The radio distortion in his voice deepened, low and spine-chilling. The cashier’s eyes darted around nervously before they let out a shaky laugh. “O-Oh, y-you know what? Haha! I just remembered there’s, um… a promotion going on today! Yes! A very generous one! And you, sir, and your lovely lady here, are in luck because, um…”

Their hand smashed the register’s button, deleting the total.

“…THE DRESSES ARE ON THE HOUSE! FREE OF CHARGE!”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Excellent!” Alastor clapped his hands together, his usual cheerfulness returning as he grabbed the bags. “See, wasn’t that easy?”

The cashier gave you a desperate look that screamed take the dresses and RUN.

You did not argue.

As you both stepped out of the boutique, you exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, glancing at Alastor with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“You literally just terrified someone into giving us these for free,” you deadpanned.

He let out a hearty chuckle. “Oh, darling, don’t be so dramatic! It was merely a friendly negotiation!” He turned to you with a grin, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Besides, you look absolutely stunning in both of them. And isn’t that what truly matters?”

You sighed, shaking your head with a small smile. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, you love me for it.” You did.

[loderlied]

hey all i think i may deactivate this blog after all just making this post and leaving it up for maybe a day or two so people know that i like haven’t blocked them haha.

[dreamsteddie]

Who Will Catch Me When You're Gone?

Content Tags: Platonic Sobin, major character death, grief, depression, major character undeath

Inspired by this beautiful art by @tarraing

------

When they found Steve, broken and bloody and scraped raw from the bats, all Robin could think about was that Steve's favorite sweatpants were ruined. She'd never understood those things or how someone so obsessed with fashion could wear them, but he'd always loved how comfortable they were. She razzes him about it every time he wears them.

Now they're ruined. Dirty and ripped.

She can hear Nancy ordering them to help her and Eddie freaking out but it's all just white noise to her right up until the moment everything comes flooding back in and the world has never been louder. Her breathing is deafening like she's trying to breathe for both of them.

Steve isn't breathing.

Steve isn't breathing but somehow she still is.

One moment she's stuck watching Nancy Wheeler try to patch her soulmate back together the next she's doing it for her so Nancy can start CPR. Eddie has stopped freaking out, she is dimly aware of him standing behind her, hovering because he doesn't know how to help. Doesn't know if there's any way to help.

Robin knows she's talking but it doesn't matter what she's saying. She doesn't think Steve can hear her. How could anything she says matter when her best friend isn't there to hear it? But she can't make herself stop, just in case.

But Steve never hears her. Nancy pushes on his chest and forces air into his lungs until her arms are shaking and she doesn't have enough strength to move his chest anymore. Then Robin takes over even though she has no idea what she's doing. Even though Nancy and Eddie are trying to tell her it's no use, that they need to go.

Like she could leave him here.

Then she's kicking and screaming because they're trying to pull her away. She's biting down on Eddie's ringed hand and kicking out into Nancy's ribs. She's not leaving, she's not. She can't do that to Steve, would rather lie down next to him, take his hand, and let the bats find her than leave him behind.

The last thing she sees before someone knocks her in the head is Steve's eyes, open and empty and staring right at her.

------

When Robin wakes up she's surrounded by people, but no one says a thing. She sees Dustin, red-eyed and empty standing in a corner across from the couch she's been placed on. Max won't look at her, Erica is glued to her side, Eddie looks lost, and Nancy looks like a block of steel. Steve isn't anywhere to be found.

But then again, Robin knew that. She'd know if Steve was her because their hearts beat as one, but now her chest feels empty. It's Max, brave, scared Max, who breaks the silence. Robin doesn't hear it. Doesn't listen as people start explaining plans around them. Can't channel the righteous fury she sees in Nancy, Dustin, and Max or the barely concealed fear in Eddie and Erica. All she feels is empty.

She's going to do whatever they want her to do because she knows it's what Steve would do. Knows without a shadow of a doubt that if she was the one lying dead in the Upside Down he would be on a war path in her name, so she needs to do the same.

When she launches that last fire bomb into Vecna's ugly head, it's a hallow victory.

Everyone else survives. The Byers move back to Hawkins. The town starts to rebuild. The big bad is gone for good.

But it doesn't mean anything to her. She lies in bed most days without saying a word. She lets her parents dote on her, listens passively as they try to remind her of the college acceptance letters waiting for her on the kitchen counter. Manages to sit up and smile just a little when Eddie brings Dustin and Erica by to see her. Cries with the two of them tucked under her arms, all three of them aware of how vulnerable they feel without a strong pair of arms wrapped around their other side.

Robin asks Eddie to hang back one day and makes a request. The next day he comes by with a clean needle and a pot of ink and Robin sits motionless as he engraves a sunflower inner her wrist, somewhere she'll always be able to see it. She always swore to Steve that she would never get a tattoo, too freaked out by the possibility of an infection, but those fears feel so distant now that the worst thing that could happen has come to pass. She catches Eddie with one of his own to match the next week.

------

A month goes by. She doesn't leave the house, even when Dustin comes by to beg her.

Then two. She can tell her parents are starting to really worry. They've given up trying to get to college and started trying to get her to think about therapy.

Then Five. She started going to work again. She puts on her Family Video vest and thinks about Steve. She walks through the door and imagines Steve leaning over the counter. Keith turns on Back to The Future and she goes home with a panic attack. She doesn't speak unless it's necessary, but she's trying to move forward. She knows it's what Steve would want for her, even on the days when it's not what she wants for herself.

And then Six months pass. There's a tap at her window.

She ignores it, at first. She refuses to go to a shrink, there are too many things she can't say to the ones her parents recommend, and she won't accept anything from those government goons who turned her best friend into a soldier. Into cannon fodder. Instead, she writes letters.

She sits down at her desk once a day and pours her heart out to Steve. She lets herself pretend for a few moments every day that he's just been dragged away by his parents for a few months. He's out there somewhere in the world relying on her to keep her updated on the kids and the drama at work and herself until she can go out and join him, wherever he is. Some days she writes about nothing at all, some days she rages at him for leaving her behind, sometimes she speculates about their future where she goes to college wherever he is and they get an apartment and two dogs. She seals every one in an envelope, tucks them in a drawer, and lets herself breathe in that perfect fantasy for just a moment. It's the best part of her day, and nothing can tear her away from it.

Except the tapping doesn't stop.

And Robin lives on the second floor.

And everyone she knows would just come through the front door.

She turns, so slowly, toward the window. The glare from her bedside lamp makes it impossible to see anything through it, but she doesn't need to.

There are fingers, claws, forcing their way under the sill. She sucks in a sharp breath as they curl upward, crashes to the ground as they start to pull.

She's scrambling back, getting ready to scream and make a run for the walkie she leaves on silent on her desk to call for help. To warn the others that their monsters are back before it mows her down.

But then the window gives way and she stops. Stops everything.

Because the thing in her window is wearing her best friend's face. It's wearing his hair and his moles and his stupid fucking sweatpants.

And at the end of the day it doesn't actually matter what he looks like. It doesn't matter if there are new hinges in his jaw to show off new, shark-like teeth. It doesn't matter mater if he can't say anything besides a hissed, garbled rendition of her name. It doesn't even matter when he latches onto her wrist, right above that little sunflower, and sucks, taking just enough blood to make her light-headed.

Because she can feel his heartbeat pounding along with her own, perfectly in sync.

Because she's not alone, anymore.

[danieyells]

Upcoming Card

(Tarot Subaru)

Subaru's birthday is February 20th! So, as expected(by me and maybe a few other people) the next card is going to be his birthday Tarot card! I'm not sure if it's coming out later today or on the 20th but it's coming this week either way!

How are we feeling about the pics being under the cuts so far? I'm not sure how I feel about it lol but it's working well enough for now. Hopefully it's working for the anon who asked and everyone else too 👍🏾 as usual, card stats at the end! Somebody who knows tarot should tell us the meaning of the card and how well it relates to Subaru!

He looks a little sinister. . .or maybe it's just me getting my hopes up for that kind of thing lol. Either way he has a more 'cool' look to him for sure--the 'looking down on the viewer' angle of the warding card is also working well for him. . . .

Character Card: The King Of Cups(「聖杯のキングの誘惑」  "The Allure Of The King Of Cups") Skill: Parasol Wielder(「番傘の使い手」  "Bangasa User") Fully Awakened Skill: Graceful Ghoul(「淑やかなグール」  "Graceful Ghoul") Warding Card: Sensitive Lost Property(「繊細な銀河の落とし物」  "Delicate Galaxy's Lost Property")

No new cosmic bonds! Just the card coming out it seems.

Yada yada yada. You know this part probably. Still important though!

Gacha is gambling, banners rerun, and if you miss the card this time around you can get it another time! Don't go crazy with spending--if you decide to spend at all, try and keep an eye on it and exercise moderation!

My Japanese isn't the best so take my translations with a grain of salt!

I know it's hard not to worry these days. It's okay to worry. It's normal. It's to be expected with everything the way it is. But try not to let the worry consume you. Try not to let the fear and feelings of others get to you either. Surviving is a victory too.