#lars rorschach

[yuusishi]

GOD BLESS WHAT THE HFUCKDFGHBH???!?

[sparklesfromtheashes]

Memebrush Chronicles

This blog has died for the 10312th time, so I figured I'd share some memes I edited for the LBC fandom!

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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❰･❉･❱━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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[ad-hawkeye]

as someone who has spent the last decade drawing mostly girls, and as someone who has primarily been active in Pretty Boy Fandoms, i leapt at the suggestion of the lbc discord to doodle the lbc boys as girls

[beloxiia]

courtship after dinner

[mello-bee]

trying to reach the specific demographic of lbc fans who also play hsr and have no storage

[s3nk1do]

recreating the titanic scene

[cyanpromise]

LBC drawings from Sept/Oct :)

[k0ushii]

lovebrush mipys

[vivsicx]

*shoujo-fies your cool SSR*

[hydralune]

a delicious meal 🥪

[dreamieotome]

Im so sorry this is my first contribution to this fandom (and also its a few events late) but OH my god i got so distracted every time Lars showed up on my screen idk how does mc form a coherent thought when hes out here like this

[pillbugriot]

I ain't doing this again

[chalkscene]

lovebrush chronicles ⇢ “I CAN HOLD THE WORLD IN MY HANDS”

how they react to you saying you can hold the world in your hands then gently cupping their face

ft. ayn alwyn, alkaid mcgrath, lars rorschach & clarence clayden

note: reader’s cat’s name in alkaid’s drabble is set to beans which i named my mc’s cat because i forgot what the default name was djsjdjsja

just as you expected, you find AYN in the music room, practicing his piece for an upcoming school program. careful not to make any noise, you tread lightly to where he’s sat, slowly sliding into the already little space next to him on the piano bench. without pausing his hands above the keys, ayn scoots over to give you more room. soon he’s playing the last key of the composition and the moment the sound fades into silence, he lets out a frustrated sigh and runs his fingers through his hair. unable to find the right words that would seem helpful, you simply lift a hand to brush his locks, straightening a few flyaways and fixing his bangs before you cradle his face in your palms in comfort. for a moment, you wordlessly stare at ayn, taking in his stunning visage, and he doesn’t miss the abrupt quiet. “what is it?” he asks to which you answer playfully, “nothing. just holding the world in my hands.” the smallest of smiles adorns ayn’s features in an instant but not without a subtle eye roll. still, his crimson eyes turn into rubies as a gleam of affection flickers in his gaze. “you’re distracting me,” he replies in jest. you let go of him as you jokingly put your hands up in mock surrender, “please don’t call your bodyguards on me.” that coaxes a chuckle out of ayn, “tempting.” soon, you feel his arm snake around your waist as he pulls you closer and when you don’t inch away from him, he resumes his practice.

you and ALKAID are sat side by side on the couch as you watch beans and sparkles roughhousing in the middle of your living room. you don’t notice how much time has passed but it feels like the silence has gone for too long when you speak. “you’re an astronomy major,” you tell alkaid. “yes,” he confirms earnestly as if the information wasn’t already glaringly obvious. “can you hold the world in your hands?” you ask him quizzically. alkaid is clearly caught off guard by your odd question so without waiting for a response you know you’re not getting, you raise your hands and gently cup his cheeks, “i can.” alkaid gives you no response and you begin to think he’s put off by the cheesy gesture until a smile stretches across his face and he finally speaks. “so you’re saying i’m about…” he pauses briefly as he tries to recall a fact, “12,756 kilometers big.” there’s a hint of amusement in alkaid’s expression as he relays the information to you but you only knit your eyebrows in confusion so he continues with a sheepish grin, “that’s the size of the earth.” “of course.” you can’t help but roll your eyes at his sense of humor but you also find it incredibly endearing that you don’t bother to stifle the giggle that bubbles past your lips. alkaid laughs at your reaction, “what?” “only an astronomy major would say that.”

LARS invited you to spend the day with him at work—“i’m feeling lonely,” he said over the phone, the pout on his voice very audible on your end of the line that you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him. so here you both are, tangled up in each other’s embrace since the moment lars joined you on the couch in his office sometime during the afternoon. under the orange rays of the sunset passing through the glass walls of the room, his blue eyes shine more brightly than they already do and his blonde hair have turned golden. he looks ethereal like this. “something on my face?” his voice snaps you out of your reverie, smugness painted all over his visage. you realize he can tell you’ve been staring. earlier in the relationship, it would’ve flustered the hell out of you but now you simply mirror the expression on his face as you gently hold it in your palms and you’re immediately filled with pride when his breath hitches at your affection. “nothing,” you say with faux indifference, “just checking if i can hold the world in my hands.” lars’ ever so familiar cockiness dissolves from his features, instantly replaced by a loving look in his eyes, “well?” “i guess i can,” you murmur. the deep rumble of lars’ chuckle soon hits your ears then he’s pulling you close as a teasing smirk stretches across his face once more, “you are so in love with me.” and you don’t deny it. you lean further onto his chest as he tightens his hold on your body. against your cheek, you feel his heart pick up the pace and that tells you enough—lars rorschach is undoubtedly just as in love with you.

“knock knock,” you say as you poke your head through the door to the student council’s office and CLARENCE immediately turns to the sound of your voice. “hi,” you add with a grin that clarence returns—or tries to return rather. despite the softening of his gaze and the air of authority around him vanishing, it’s easy to notice the stress that has dampened his spirits. “hey,” he replies anyway. he invites you to join him at his desk and you gladly do, although carefully perching on the edge of the table. “everything okay, mr. president?” clarence huffs out a chuckle at the nickname before releasing an exasperated sigh. “what’s up?” you ask again and clarence answers this time. as an insignificant member of the student body, you only understand half of his student council worries—one of them being this year’s stellaris cup not having enough participants. “what if i join?” you suggest and clarence can immediately sense the halfheartedness in your tone. “you’d do that?” he asks dubiously, the corner of his lips now quirked up as he prepares to call you out on your bullshit. maybe you are just attempting to cheer him up but it’s the thought that counts. “i would,” you retort as you get on your feet with theatrical confidence, “for my first trick, i will hold the world in my hands.” clarence raises an eyebrow but he doesn’t interrupt so you walk around his desk until you’re standing in front of him. when your hands softly land on his face, he’s quick to understand what you mean and in your grip, he shakes his head in amusement but a subtle blush now dusts his cheeks. “that’s a winning talent if you ask me,” you jest. that earns you a laugh from clarence as he jokingly agrees, “it is.” in the same instance, you feel him lean further into your touch, closing his eyes as he basks in it then he sighs in pleasure.

[ad-hawkeye]

i know i did one of these for alkaid so i tried to make some more for the other guys

[romance-rambles]

qixi lars | what comes the morning after

The morning after their reunion, Lars wakes up beside his beloved empress. Naturally, he takes the opportunity to admire her before waking her up.

1.1k, post-qixi card story, domestic + possibly toothrotting fluff, reader is mc, series: none

FOR ONCE, IT IS NOT a dream when Lars wakes to the sight of his beloved. And if the warmth of your skin should not be enough to persuade him of such a thing, then his aching arm—burdened with the most important task of all—should suffice instead.

You are, at once, exactly as he imagined you and a fantasy beyond his wildest dreams. The length of your hair falls further than it used to, and there is a scar on the palm of your hand where there was nothing. But the lovely smile you shared with him last night remains the same as ever.

He shifts onto his side, careful to leave the sleeping beauty on his arm undisturbed. His other hand reaches out and carefully brushes through your unkempt bangs, leaving them to lay flat against your forehead.

It is tempting—to poke your forehead as he used to, back on your boat when his world seemed to limit itself to you. But, instead, his hand travels to your cheek, knuckles gently carressing your soft skin.

If yesterday is a day of firsts—the first time he saw you again, the first time he held you again, and the first time you uttered those three words, which, for the longest time, he heard only from the ghost that haunted him—then today, as well, should hold that distinction.

For today is the first day of the rest of their lives as emperor and empress—

And the first time he can appreciate your slumbering visage outside of his nightmares.

The slight furrow of your brows. The faint smile playing on your lips. The way your nose lightly puffs up with every breath you take. And the shadow cast under your eyes by your thick lashes, short though they may be—shorter than his, supposedly.

You measured them both out last night. He sat obediently with his eyes closed, the taste of your lips lingering on his tongue. As the seconds passed by, you grew increasingly miffed. Though you could grasp his lashes, such a fact did not seem to aid you in proving your point.

(You once heard a woman you'd befriended complain that her husband's eyelashes were long and beautiful, and his skin required virtually none of the upkeep hers did. She said she was sometimes jealous that he was more beautiful than she was—but mostly, it was the fact that everyone else knew to appreciate his beauty that drove her.

Somehow, when a brief awkwardness descended after that first kiss, that was the first thought your mind offered you.)

When he opened his eyes, you were as close as you had been at the start of it all. Close enough to hold, closer still to kiss. His lips had flattened; his smile, behind which he was attempting to smother his laughter, deepened.

Amusement glinted in his blue eyes—as it does now, in the present—and he asked:

"So, have you found your proof yet?"

The word no never left your lips. With the way a scowl crept up onto your face, it wasn't necessary. That was when he laughed, and his shoulders felt so light. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this way—but he figured it must've before that fateful night, when they hadn't even said goodbye.

Before his smile could fade, ever so slight, you were already holding his face. And with that came another kiss—this time, from you to him.

Spurred by the memory, Lars leans down and kisses your forehead. Your eyes are still closed, but your hand manages to capture his own. Your once faint smile has grown uncontrollably, its soft edges cutting into your flushed cheeks.

"Good morning, my empress," he whispers softly into your ear, and watches you bite your lip.

(The truth is, you've been awake for a while now.

Or, perhaps, it's more accurate to say that you never slept at all. How Lars managed to fall asleep with the many thoughts that must've been running through his head is a question for the ages.

But if you'd been sleepy at all, then his little stunt certainly woke you up.)

It's only when he pulls away that you deign to crack one eye open. Squeezing his hand gently, you bury your head into his chest with a groan, any thoughts of waking up seemingly forgotten. He chuckles warmly and squeezes your hand in return.

Outside, the sun has already risen. Gentle winds carry birdsong to every corner of the empire as his stomach—and, undoubtedly, your as well—reminds him of its hunger.

In the previous days, Lars would've already been up by now, a quill in hand while he poured over documents in his office. Even in the short time he lived with you, he was always waking up first. You hadn't been joking when you appointed him as your personal chef, after all.

And even if you had been, Lars finds your smile—and your snack stash—to have been payment worthy of an emperor playing fisherman. There are few things a man wouldn't do a for beautiful woman he was beginning to fall in love with.

So, with great reluctance towards disturbing your peaceful countenance, he attempts to wake you up in the only foolproof way he knows how.

"How does some grilled fish sound for breakfast?" Lars asks.

You pull away, lifting your head off his arm just enough that he could easily slip it away. Propping himself up by his elbow, he watches you quietly contemplate your options. Eventually, you sit up, legs folded and bent to the side.

(You would never turn down food when it's offered to you.

And you would certainly never turn down food made for you by the man you love—who also happens to have proved his skills in the kitchen. Naturally, there's only one choice you can make.)

"Good—" A yawn breaks up your words; you cover your mouth with your other hand. "—morning. Fish sounds good."

And his hand remains still in your grasp. Only that, instead of clutching it against your cheek, you have it resting atop your calf. He can't help but think back to the days when even something as simple and domestic as this seemed to be out of reach—that is to say, up until last night.

"Some grilled fish worthy of an empress, coming right up."

Intertwining their fingers together, Lars smiles softly. You don't fight him when he draws your hand closer—and for his efforts in kissing the back of your hand, you reward him with flushed cheeks and a distracted smile.

(It truly is unfair how beautiful he is, you think, and it is perhaps the only part of your thoughts that happens to be coherent. The rest of it comes in the form of visions—of things one would normally expect to happen the night before.

It's hardly the first time you've thought such things, but it is most certainly the first time it's happened in front of the man himself. You suspect this won't be last time either.)

— happy birthday to @sparklesfromtheashes!!

[mello-bee]

oh hey, it's all of my favorite characters! I wonder what they're all preparing for!

oh wait, I already know! it's my birthday!