#lbc lars x reader

[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!!

[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.

[mello-bee]

An Outside Prespective

this is for a weekly prompt thingy on another site!! my prompts were "underrated game" and "abandoned place" (and "genre change" but i didn't have much ideas for that)

[dangopango00]

After Last Night

Waking up with him after a hookup

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 |

FAT/LBC men x gn reader (William Included for all my Aris out there)

CW: very suggestive, maybe dubcon?? (Mentioned that Lars and reader were both drunk in his)

A/N: waking up with cael is waking up behind bars thats croomf, groomf even 😭😭😭 im jp u dk him since ur childhood here ok this is a safe space

Edit: Alkaid rewrite 🥶🥶

more utc

LARS / LUO XIA (罗夏)

- SCENARIO: You’re in a similar or complementary industry to him and he’s had his eye on you a bit, admiring how you present yourself but you never really became too closely acquainted. One crazy night of drinking during a negotiations meeting later and two lonely busy old people get busy (30 isnt old sorry. Uncalled for)

- You wake up first; he is KNOCKED OUT

- He wakes up with the wildest bedhead normally and even moreso today. He’s drooling and sprawled out across the couch with a loose hold on your body (Just his arm slung around you as he sleeps)

- His grip on you tightens if you try to leave the couch but if you’re insistent he’ll just let you go; whine grumbles about it in his sleep

- He has work and he’s very busy so he’ll have to leave soon but he wants to make it up to you because he wasn’t being professional; he makes the effort to at least chat or have breakfast with you before leaving which you don’t mind since you’re busy as well

- He usually doesn’t do hookups since he’s busy, doesn’t want to lead anyone on and knows he’ll get attached too easily so he rlly dk what happened, he was lonely but ayayay this is a mess. He does his absolute best to make things less awkward for you

- This scenario would actually be so wild bc if you wanted to do it again while sober I don’t think he’d say no LOL as soon as you had breakfast/chatted he started to like you even more I think and remembers last night being really great so

- I don’t think he’d initiate it if you did do it again though because he feels really bad about being unprofessional but ever since that night if he ever sees you his eyes are glued to you, your body and all its curves and/or edges; he’s so distracted help him 😭😭

- It’s even worse if he’s pent up, he actually will just. Avoid you if you don’t assure him it’s alright he doesn’t want to be weird and he knows he wont be able to focus so he gets a little nervous around you from then on

ALKAID / LU CHEN (路辰）

- SCENARIO: You’re his classmate and more importantly, his film dealer. You’ve been selling him film and camera repairs for a pretty good price compared to how high the quality is from a small shop that doesn’t get too much traction because it’s more of an antique shop but you do offer more. He was usually standardly polite and short maybe with an extra question out of curiosity here and there before becoming a regular over time. You eventually started tacking on a few more comments and questions than necessary but not so many that it’s noticeable, chatting him up a bit im class as well until you started actively seeking him out, being curious about him and you two became friends. Since this is an edit I’m gonna say like Ayn, you’re probably already in a situationship by the time you hook up but unlike Ayn you haven’t kissed yet (he’d at least ask you out or vice versa before kissing i think) You were over at his apartment to study and help bathe Sparkle; just generally hang out and after a PAINFUL amount of tension building with playful comments and little touches so much so that you ended up kissing him and one thing lead to another !!

- You wake up first but likely go back to sleep and he wakes up during that time tbh. I feel like his home is cozy as hell not to mention Sparkle climbing up and cuddling with you

- He let you wear his clothes to bed since yours got messy and he noticed that you were shivering, freezing from wearing. Well. Nothing. So he let you borrow something and his entire face is red including his ears an neck, it’s quite a view— both you and him

- He ghosts his thumb over your features, his gentle touch almost unnoticeable as he notes each unique thing about you as if trying to identify different stars in the sky

- You had already cuddled up to him in your sleep and he lays in bed with you in his loose embrace for an absurd amount of time until he decides his heart has had enough and gets up to make you both breakfast, you stirring a bit in your sleep in the process

- He kept trying to find an opportunity to get up before but you clung to him so he couldn’t find it in himself to leave you gn but when he did eventually get up he just kissed the crown of your head and gently pulled your arms off of him, then laying you down

- His bed head is just his normal hair honestly and he doesn’t move too much, just snores a little bit and slightly drools

- He’s embarrassed the rest of the day, his usual charismatic persona failing on him when he needs it most and he’s a bit nervous not knowing if you’d felt the same as him or if it was just lust. Though all that is quickly nipped in the bud when you give him a kiss on the cheek and confess properly, holding his hands in yours

- Deciding he’s wasted enough time being a dork He offers to take you on your first date in a nearby cafe since it was pretty impromptu but he still says it with a helpless smile and slight blush. On this date he def took pictures and has them pinned on his wall; they’ll quickly become some of his most prized photos

CLARENCE / SI LAN (司岚）

- SCENARIO: You two went to the same high school all four years and maybe even the same middle school at some point but you never really interacted because he was busy with schoolwork and so were you so you really never felt the need to bother him. Little did you know Clarence had the biggest crush on you since you met and after being acquainted through the student council you became friends. Upon growing closer and some worrying about how little he relaxes later and you mayyy have accidentally made out with him a little in the council room after hours 🥺 then took it back to your apartment 🥺🥺 and ended up sleeping together 🥺🥺🥺

- He wakes up first and just stares at the ceiling. how did this happen oh my god. Not in a bad way but oh my GOD. -Clarence

- He’s so embarrassed by last night especially with his own behavior. Just remembering the sounds he made and the words he said has him reeling; he must’ve told you he loved you 100,000 times

- he just stays completely still hoping you’re still asleep and once you wake up he shuts his eyes so fast kind of trying to pretend to be asleep but with how tightly his eyes and lips are shut you know he’s awake

- You give him a little kiss on his eyelids and lips and he knows he’s caught; he blushes but then kind of just lets a small exasperated smile wash over his face; he really doesn’t know what to do

- His bedhead is basically the same as his normal but more messy around the bangs also he snores a tiny bit but thats pretty much it

- He’s pretty happy and normal when he isn’t thinking about the specifics of last night’s events

- He even goes ahead and makes breakfast for you and him as well as his cats (they’re probably the ones who woke yall up lol)

- He doesn’t do hook ups and he’s liked you so long so he reaalllly realllllllllyyyyy hopes you’ll consider getting to know him more and let him take you out on a couple dates because even if his hands are clammy the whole time he’d be so happy

WILLIAM / CHEN ZIHAN (陈子涵）

- SCENARIO: You two have always been best friends with no question of whether or not your feelings were platonic. Well he had no question. You on the other hand had been crushing on him for a while now but didn’t want to ruin the friendship. That was until college. He started noticing you more and your qualities: how you’ve matured and how you’re there when no one else is, so his feelings have gotten a little bit more than just platonic. He justified it as appreciation and normal friend things all the way up until you two suddenly decided to “test out” what kissing and making out would be like. Platonically of course. Since neither of you had ever been in a serious relationship. The sex part was just testing too, trust 🙏

- You wake up first but that doesn’t stop him from having an existential crisis when he wakes up

- You’re excited although a bit nervous from anticipation honestly since you already knew your feelings were not platonic but you didn’t know what he’d think so instead of worrying you just poke his face and admire him sleeping

- His bedhead is crazy, some of his hair sticks up and he has a pool of drool under him. He snores too— finally getting to release his feelings has him K.Od it was tew good

- You go to make breakfast or shower or something and he’d probably wake up during that time bc he doesn’t feel your warmth anymore

- Like Clarence, Liam wakes up perplexed and embarrassed and he’s worried he may have crossed a line doing what he did last night since you were supposed to be just friends! He’s freaking out so bad! come back he needs reassurance 😭

- When you get back he’s so apologetic and is just so nervous around you until you broach the subject, reassuring him that you don’t mind what happened

- After you sort out your thoughts on what happened and have a loooong talk about it you’re pretty much back to being normal and you even hang out for a bit longer, watching some movies and baking together although he does still blush and fumble his words around you a little

- He’s scared to tell you he would rather be yours than be your fwb (friend with benefits) bc this is his first hookup but considering he’s been your best friend and crush for so long you feel the same way so you end up dating pretty soon after

[floxtingdrm]

𝙊𝙣𝙚𝙞𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙖𝙭𝙞𝙖

(𝙽): 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢.

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Fluff

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Alkaid McGrath, Lars Rorschach, Clarence Clayden, Ayn Alwyn, Cael Anselm.

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞: On

𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞: Headcannon.

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬: They/them.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You called them by a weird nickname.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: ooc characters, please note I made this for shits and giggles and is not meant to be taken seriously, thank you.

𝘼𝙡𝙠𝙖𝙞𝙙

♡ “Hm? Is there something you need, darling?”

♡ Was a bit confused at first but recovers fast.

♡ He might have already guessed it was going to happen at some point in your relationship, however didn't think it would be so soon.

♡ Would tease you back for the weird nickname and potentially use a weird nickname as well.

♡ If you used the weird nickname in public he won’t really mind, however as your punishment for doing so you’re sentenced to cuddles and headpats.

♡ “You’re so cute, my little gremlin with a pencil~” you called him garlic bread.

♡ Nicknames that were used: star stalker, garlic bread, rocky mountain oysters, garden hoe-

𝙇𝙖𝙧𝙨

♡ “Really? Goldie locks??”

♡ He doesn’t hate it, he likes it but he usually pouts when you call him by a very random nickname out of nowhere.

♡ He doesn’t mind the more “tame” versions of your nicknames if you used them in publics, the others? He’s gonna sulk.

♡ Will get revenge by calling you with weird nicknames as well, however is not very creative with them.

♡ Your punishment for these nicknames will usually be no cuddles nor kisses until you comfort him out of his sulking phase.

♡ “That still isn’t enough for me to get out of my sulking phase, snail eggs.”

♡ Nicknames that were used: Waffle fries, baby with a wallet, Goldie locks, w a l n u t

𝘾𝙡𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚

♡ “B-Buffalo wings?? What makes you say that?”

♡ Flabbergasted, shocketh, his reaction would probably be the funniest.

♡ Will never get used to you calling him nicknames out of nowhere especially when you call him “buttery croissant”

♡ Do NOT try to call him any of the weird nicknames when he’s at an important event because if you do, I hope your brain has the mental capacity for the extra tutoring from him.

♡ He will try to call you with a weird nickname but will end up snickering to himself when he sees your face and in the end laughs to himself quietly.

♡ “Your answer is wrong, hairless cat.”

♡ Nicknames that were used: Rubiks cube, eight grade math teacher, cat dad, paralysis demon, buttery croissant, buffalo wings.

𝘼𝙮𝙣

♡ "Call me Tsundere one more time, I dare you"

♡ The most unamused out of all of them, he doesn't entirely hate it... later on but it is a nightmare when you started calling him all sorts of things.

♡ He will ignore you in public if you try to call him with any of the names, if you provoke him hard enough consider dodging lessons with the number of times he's gonna shut you up with kisses, or not-

♡ You think he might not call you with weird nicknames but don't let your guard down too quick, he's going to make you regret calling him "short king" (he's not short compared to the average height but since he was the shortest out of everyone on the list I thought it would be funny)

♡ Once you're done and finish with your weird nickname shenanigans it's his turn to attack with the list of weird nicknames he's compiled in secret.

♡ "Where are you looking at, hagfish~?"

♡ Nicknames that were used: emo vampire, batfish, scaramouche kinnie (no offence-).

𝘾𝙖𝙚𝙡

♡ "Breakfast is Crepes with whipped cream and strawberries"

♡ Out of of all the people, he's the one who doesn't seem to have a reaction at all to your nickname shenanigans, he took care of you, of course he's prepared for your chaos.

♡ He doesn't even care what you call him in public, he's that unbothered by it it almost makes you feel bored, however...

♡ Cael seems to frown and has this annoyed look on him, even if it was brief every time you call him by a certain nickname.

♡ He won't treat you out of the ordinary even when you use the nicknames that make him frown a bit, though don't expect to know how he's planning to teach you a lesson in his own way.

♡ "You're drink is bitter? Perhaps I should just give you milk, fetus~" safe to say the war is far from over.

♡ Nicknames that were used: Marinated wine, dinosaur's cousin, princess, great great great great great grandfather.

Au notes: I was bored.

[gepazu]

imagine the boys taking you on your first ever date … lars would be sure to recite everything he’d get you in the front of a mirror as he fixes himself up with a smile and sing-song pitch to his voice. would definitely give you a bouquet of roses with your favorites accentuating the deep greens and reds. he’ll pull a cheesy pickup line that makes you giggle a bit before smiling fondly, holding out his hand—and telling you how darling you look at this very moment <3 also.. if you look closely… you might see a type of longing in his eyes once you catch him staring at your hands and lips. you won’t tell him he got caught or something.. but you will kiss him on the cheek after your date and wave goodbye—not knowing the hand you’re waving with now loudly jingles with the keys to his heart <3.

clarence, on the other hand, would be the fidgety type—hands never seeming to pull his tie right (he almost choked because he didn’t realize he pulled too tightly). despite his stoic expression in front of his dress-mirror, his ears to his nape are flushed a cherry-blossom pink; breathing a bit erratic as he imagines the expression on your face when you seem him prim and proper at the cafe. would you smile? be amazed? be as fidgety as he is right no—wait, he wasn’t fidgety! he isn’t, he tells himself with a cough before looking at his watch, seeing his reflection in it, and groans inwardly. okay… maybe he is a bit flustered.. but it’s probably because it’s you he’s going out with. he’s utterly infatuated with you… and the problem is he wasn’t taught anything about love (until now—until you, that is) <3.

and cael.. oh cael. you’re heart is going to feel like bursting multiple times mid-date from his actions and antics! he knows you inside and out, having taken care of you after you were entrusted into his arms from a young age. despite having seen and known you for what feels like a sweet forevermore—his heart stills manages to spill all over you in some rare moments when your hand slips between his, lips covered with bits and pieces of cotton candy he can’t help but want to kiss to get a taste of you. his thoughts grab ahold of him and reel him in by the baited hook; leaning in to kiss the uplifted corner of your mouth. blue silver strands dawn down at your shoulders, a wave of stiffness and doe overcoming your entire body. a quiet apology snaps you out of your daze, the feeling of daylight dappling heated skin becoming a familiar kiss. you think the sudden apology was strange and out of place, but your fingers entangled with his wasn’t. it was right, and perhaps a silent word of “forgiveness” that the man was grateful for, truly. what else did he realize he felt truly? his growing love for you <3.

© GEPAZU 2023.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — i feel like i should tag @lovebrushed bc she gave me the inspo for writing this (I AM SO SORRY IF U DONT LIKE THE TAG) (plus the fact there was indeed an x reader tag for lbc KBDKDHDKHD) so yea! take this as a sign of me joining the lovebrush chronicle writing fandom! KHSLSJSLSKAKS

[suoncr]

Finally drawing again tday,feeling good that im outta artblock after 3 months >_< Heres a smalllllll rorschach doodle @ school,im super proud of it rn (approximately 45 mins)

Ironically i still hvnt drawn ayn even tho this blog is ayn-dedicated.but oh well,i suppose the luo xia fans will (hopefully) eat tis up :3

REFERENCE (for all time cn)

17/1/24 ©aizyinn - do not repost

[lovebrushed]

hi lovebrush chronicles community! this is a cry for help

would any of you guys mind helping me out with the content in the Fandom Wiki? i'm already in a discord server where people are working on the technical game aspects (event rewards, leveling up cards, etc.) but from what ik i'm pretty much the only person working on the actual descriptions for the wiki.

there's a lot of content i need to cover so pls! if any of you guys would be so kind to give me a hand it would be very much appreciated

feel free to send in an ask or dm me and we'll work from there

[belovedfedya]

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

Lovebrush chronicles masterlist !

───※ ·❆· ※───

Cael Anselm

no content yet !

Alkaid McGrath

no content yet !

Lars Rorschach

no content yet !

Clarence Clayden

no content yet !

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ •• ✼

© 2024 belovedfedya do not plagiarize, modify, translate or repost my works on any other platform - thank you !

[romance-rambles]

modern lars | i. beachside memories

Name: Blobby Gender: Male Nature: Bold Evolutionary Line: Sandygast -> Palossand Lars' first pokemon. They met on the beach while Lars was vacationing with his family as a child. Very possessive of his trainer, but also just as easy to manipulate.

3.1k, pokemon au + fluff, modern lars, reader is mc, series: n/a

DEX ENTRY [ULTRA SUN]: It likes the shovel on its head, so Sandygast will get serious and fight any children who come to take it back.

In all his brief time, Sandygast has yet to come across a sandcastle he adores as much as the ones made by a boy named Lars.

Every day, Lars comes early in the morning—alone, unlike some of the other children who give sandcastle making a try. It's a habit that started a few days ago, when he first arrived at the beach Sandygast calls home.

In his hand was a plastic pail, within which he kept the shovel he used to make the first of his marvelous constructs. It's the same set he's using right now, a beauty to behold, especially after Sandygast learned to ignore their garish flaws. And oh, there are so many.

Like the cartoonish pikachu patterns printed all over. What does a pikachu have to do with sandcastles? And the color.

Sandygast shudders at the thought.

They're a light blue, not unlike the color of Lars' eyes, that looks too much like the force of nature that can seize his hard work away in an instant. Sandygast's spent far too much of his free time attempting to find a better analogy, one that won't have him running for the hills when he observes his new favorite human.

And that, in itself, is such a far cry from his initial reaction that he, the ghost type pokemon, can't help but wonder what sort of enchantments the boy has at his disposal.

Because, back then, he hadn't bothered to learn the boy's name.

Lars was simply just another tourist who would make a mess and then leave. That was how these things worked, after all. And really, how was Sandygast—with his aspirations to become the most beautiful Palossand in existence—to know that the boy was actually the only human worthy of crafting his castle?

This, however, leaves him with a problem.

After all, Lars won't be sticking around forever.

But for whatever reason, children often fear him and he suspects Lars might prove to be no different. He supposes the reputation his brethren have cultivated might play a role in that—but Sandygast is a perfectly nice pokemon, entirely uninterested in run of the mill corpses.

Now, no matter how unlikely it is, if they happened to be in possession of high quality ones—

Which, of course, is irrelevant to the situation at hand.

With a sigh, he peers at the boy in question from his hiding spot among the sands. Lars is seemingly oblivious to Sandygast's presence, too engrossed in reinforcing the western wing of his magnificent castle. There's a determined gleam in his eyes, the kind that makes every bit of sand in Sandygast's body shake in joy.

At some point, as the work at hand grows more delicate and detailed, his tongue sticks out slightly. When his hair begins to interfere with his vision, he drops his shovel temporarily and brushes his hair back. It does not do him much good—he seems to be missing his usual headband, so he is simply stuck repeating the action.

A half-baked plan begins to form in Sandygast's head.

The shovel currently on its head is special only because it is the only one he's ever known. Frankly, he's not too attached though. He'd picked it up because it was the closest one but he's always planned on leaving it for something better.

And Lars' shovel?

Despite how terrible it looks, he's certain he'll never find anything better than that.

So, the next time the boy turns his gaze to the latest prototype for Sandygast's castle, the pokemon sans his shovel quietly creeps up behind him. His bucket, the gaudy thing it is, is left unattended with some leftover sand—there might be no other place as good as this to hide in!

Sandygast can only vibrate in excitement.

And then—

Lars places the shovel inside the pail, its blade appropriately digging into the pokemon's body. Sandygast wastes no time in claiming it for himself. And then, all that's left to do is wait, however boring an ordeal it is.

He's unfortunately on the shorter side, owing to the lack of good architects coming his way. The ability to watch the boy from this angle is simply out of reach. That's why he's resolved to ask for the biggest sandcastle possible.

Then, when he finally runs into the others, it'll be his turn to laugh. Snickering at the thought, he can only imagine the looks on their faces.

Thankfully, Lars doesn't notice.

Instead, his pale hand reaches for the handle. After a few attempts, each pull carrying more frustration than the last, he finally decides to look inside the bucket. Sandygast, naturally, takes that as his cue and allows the boy to pick him up.

"Huh?" Blue eyes—like the sky, he decides—blink confusedly at him. Uncaring of Sandygast's reputation, Lars pulls the pokemon closer, his scrunched nose a clear indicator of the amount of thoughts running through his head at the moment. "A pokemon? What are you doing here?"

Sandygast wiggles, his eyes lighting up at the boy's casual response. Well, casual relative to the horror stories he's heard, of little boys and girls running away, screaming as though they're about to be eaten. Which they usually are—he has to commend them for their instincts.

The pokemon shakes off the thought just in time to hear the boy ask, "Can you let go of my shovel? ...um, Blobby?"

Blobby?

Glaring indignantly, Sandygast—not Blobby—shakes his body. The nerve to bestow such a mediocre name upon him! Clearly, the boy's talents stop only at castle-making. He'll have to find a way to avoid his current fate, somehow.

Perhaps one of the boy's parents will have a better sense for these things.

"No?" Lars tilts his head, then looks around.

He'd picked a suitably quiet spot, so there are fewer people around. That should shorten the time on his search, whatever it's for, but instead, he aborts his mission halfway through with a sigh.

"Do you have a name then?"

Sandygast pauses his protests. Well, the answer is no. But—

"Well, for now, I'll call you Blobby," the boy decides. Sandygast can only bite back a sob. "So, could you please let go? I need to finish making this castle."

The pokemon shakes his body again and thinks. He's already taken the shovel hostage. Now, to explain his motives...

His eyes narrow at the thought. Wait, why is he meant to explain his master plan? Surely, the boy's already realized what he wants. There isn't a human child out there who doesn't know of the dangers of his evolutionary line.

Upon scrutinizing the boy's awkward expression, he realizes his previous assumption was incorrect. There is a human child unaware of the dangers of encountering sandygasts and palossands.

Now he's even more grateful for his diligence in fending off his competitors! What would this boy do without him? Lars is lucky he believes in open dialogue!

Wait—why shouldn't he just possess him?

Sandygast looks at the boy, then at the sandcastle behind him. The people nearby haven't noticed Lars' mistake in grabbing his new handle; even if they did warn him, by then, it would be too late.

But, he glares at the boy, he won't bring me along then.

No castle will ever be too big for him. He's a greedy ghost, after all—perhaps he'd been that way when he'd been alive too. And one does not simply get over the best castlemaker to ever exist!

Annoyed, he jerks his head towards Lars' sandcastle. The boy seems to get his point only when he points at the shovel stuck in his head.

"You want the castle?" Lars scrunches his nose. The creases in his forehead grow more pronounced when Sandygast shakes his head. "You...like the castle? But you don't want it? Hm...do you want to be the castle?"

Sandygast nods delightedly.

"I wonder what kind of pokemon you are..." The boy frowns. His normally bright eyes seem to darken for a moment as he grumbles something inaudible to himself. "Here's the thing: I can't make one for you today. But...I really do want to finish this one first. If I make one for you tomorrow, will you give my shovel back to me?"

Considering the question for a moment, Sandygast remembers the shovel he'd recently abandoned. He shakes himself free from the boy's grasp and flees in search of it, to sound of Lars' startled shouts. And when he comes back, the boy is still there, looking rather upset.

As he presents the older shovel to him, Lars finally looks at him.

"Is my shovel really that special?" he asks, tilting his head. "Or...is it special because it's mine?"

Oh, what a smart boy. Sandygast was beginning to lose faith in his non-castlemaking abilities.

If not for the language barrier, the pokemon would gladly elaborate further on just how special he is. He settles for vigorously nodding and stops only when a shy smile crosses the boy's lips. Lars laughs, combing through his bangs.

"I think this is the first time someone's said that about me, and not my family," he says, a tentative look on his face. "Do you want to help with this one, Blobby?"

Sandygast narrows his eyes at the boy. He can only hope his expression relays his message—Not. Blobby.

Still, when faced with such a pitiable expression, even he can't help but crumble. With a full body sigh, he scoots closer to the boy and patiently waits for his instructions. Lars' vision is truly something to behold; the rest of the day goes by in a blur of laughter and easy companionship.

And when it's time for him to leave for the day, the boy asks, "Would you like to be my friend, Blobby?"

Sandygast—still resistant to the name, though it's beginning to grow on him—has only one response for that.

He jumps into Lars' arms.

Lars' notes on the memory: That was my shovel first. Thief! Oh, but my family was pretty frightened when I came home with Blobby. It took a while to convince them I wasn't possessed!

DEX ENTRY [SUN]: Possessed people controlled by this Pokémon transformed its sand mound into a castle. As it evolved, its power to curse grew ever stronger.

Blobby glares at the magnificent castle in front of him—built, of course, by his Lars—before him, uncaring of the way the little boy his trainer had inexplicably decided to watch over flinches at his seething fury.

What similarities are there even? He distinctly recalls that boy, whatever his name is, mentioning something about fake blonds to Lars, giving himself away as one of them. Really, the blond hair is one of Lars' most defining features!

Long debates about the matter with the rest of the team had led to the undeniable agreement that his golden hair evoked the image of the shining sun, and what was Lars but a shining ray of light?

Well, technically, they had narrowed it down to a few things, some less flattering than others, but the boy didn't have any of those things either!

...Although—

No, the pokemon shakes his head vigorously. Lars had been cuter, even with his apparent lack of survival skills. Blobby spent years trying to rectify that part, though his trainer's natural curiosity for the world never particularly left him.

Now, you, on the other hand...

His mouth twists into a bitter smile. Naturally, one cannot simply replace the sun—you can only get as close as your wingless body allows. Like that man, Icarus, with his infinite stupidity, but smarter. But the distance between is infinitely shorter than anyone Lars has ever been surrounded by.

Other than Blobby, of course.

That part is implied rather obviously, considering Lars chose him. The same as you, even despite the certain glaring flaws to your name—

His gaze flits to the mediocre castle beside Lars', different from the masses only in the way humans tend to be, shaped by nature and circumstance. It could be much worse, but he's decided to be charitable to the girl who makes the sun shine brighter.

At least you cared enough to ask about his foul mood, though it only infuriated him further.

Huffing, Blobby turns his glare back to the root of the problem, seemingly oblivious to the amends he must make for his betrayal. It's not enough to knock Lars off his throne, but it's tempting.

What was it he'd said? Blobby'll "come around"?

His glare intensifies. The sun, the real one in the sky, slowly shifts to the west, readying itself for its nightly descent. You and Lars occasionally converse in whispers, sometimes half-audible even to him. They almost exclusively take the form of playful flirting, as if the only thing to occupy the space in their maybe empty heads is each other.

And the nameless boy from earlier left in a terrible mood some time ago, with an annoyed young man with gray hair who seemed keen on lecturing him.

Blobby, however, stays in the same spot, the cheerful cries of his teammates only emphasizing his dour mood. Some help out with their trainer's quest, while others play with a beach ball. Only one, the sole non-electric and ground type amongst them, dares to brave the ocean, though the flamigo remains in shallow waters.

Lars—undoubtedly due to the others' childish complaints—doesn't like it when he throws sand at them. Otherwise, that would most certainly be his next course of action. That'd shut them up.

You're lucky, he thinks venomously at the electabuzz cheerfully helping you add some finishing touches to your sandcastle. Noticing his glare, she waves at him obliviously.

Somehow, he resists the urge to scream.

Even when you turn around, gaze softened by pity and concern, the only thing Blobby offers is an expression full of displeasure. To him, it doesn't matter if you try to conv—huh?

You turn away, returning to your tragic sandcastle. He can only gape at your back, spluttering indignantly at the sheer nerve. Really, the sheer audacity—don't you know you're supposed to come and comfort him if you acknowledge him at all?

Even the traitor made a token effort to talk to him!

Were you not forwarded the script beforehand? Someone from the team should've coached you at least! He's supposed to rebuff you, not the other way around. It's just the way the world works.

Eventually, after growing tired of twiddling his non-existent thumbs over your nonaction, Blobby waddles over to the oblivious couple whispering to each other. Surely, they'll get the hint, right?

"Oh, there you are," Lars says cheerfully, looking over his (shaking? Is he laughing?) shoulder. He glances briefly at you, his blue eyes widening with a strange emotion, before he looks back at Blobby. "Did you have fun today?"

The pokemon narrows his eyes at him. It doesn't affect his trainer's smile at all—Blobby's beginning to think he finds it funny.

Oh, how he misses the days when Lars was younger. He wouldn't make fun of his first friend like this. Then again, he wouldn't be hanging around another human so happily either.

A dilemma, certainly.

Blobby frowns.

"You're just in time. Look," His trainer points at his own castle. As he scratches his cheek, he has a troubled look on his face. "Don't you think this castle's missing something? She says it's perfect."

You don't retract your statement. Instead, you laugh—surprisingly, it's a pleasant noise. Blobby nods in approval. It's simply common sense that everything Lars makes is perfect.

Still, he can spot some room for improvement.

Blobby wastes no time going through the list. And Lars, as always, picks and chooses what he wants to listen to. What that means is that their squabbling takes up more time than the actual renovations to the castle.

"Well, I certainly learned a lot," you say once they finish, leaning back.

Lars gives you an apologetic look, but you wave off his apologies before he can even start. Smart girl. If you made him feel bad for enjoying himself, Blobby would throw sand at you, consequences be damned.

You don't really seem like the type, all things considered, but one can never be too sure, after all.

"Oh, but..." You trail off worriedly and chew at your bottom lip. There's something funny about your tone, but he can't quite pin it down. "My castle's looking a bit plain too. Do you have any critiques, Professor Blobby?"

He can't but perk up at the title. Professor? They're usually held in high esteem, aren't they? Like that one fellow, the one who Lars occasionally runs into, with the long silver hair and carefully pressed three piece suit. You know him too, though, for some reason, you're usually not very eager to talk about him.

A rather strange thing, considering most people who run into him can only do the opposite.

Oh, but Blobby would make a great professor—one that's not at all like those terrors that Lars would complain about during his university days. Plus, your castle could definitely use a lot of work. His expression is bright as he nods.

"Really?" You clap your hands delightedly. "I can't thank you enough."

Blobby pulls himself up to his full height at your words, feeling pleased. His earlier bad mood seems to have vanished entirely, leaving not even a white fluffy cloud in sight—only clear skies. He waddles over to your side, vaguely aware of Lars' muffled laughter, and begins the first of his lessons.

As a testament to his teaching skills, you come back again the next morning too.

Lars' notes on the memory: Blobby's always taken a bit of time to warm up to people—but he seemed to really like you from the start. I thought it'd be fine for us to do this, all things considered. Hmm, if he's going to be like this every time I make a sandcastle for someone else, should I start preparing him for the next one? [sound of you hitting his arm]

Extras:

— Blobby hated being called "Sandygast" because he felt it was step down in terms of intimacy, implying he wasn't very important to Lars. By the time he woke up to smell the roses, the name "Blobby" stuck, as there were simply no alternatives that he'd accept.

— He loves lording the blue pikachu shovel over Lars' other pokemon as a sign of his "special" bond, what with him being Lars' first pokemon and all. They have since grown used to it and mostly ignore him.

— His current dream castle is the Emperor's in In Passing. After all, it's a grandiose beauty and owned by a man who looks like his favorite person in the world. However, he believes Lars does not know this and intends to keep it that way.

[romance-rambles]

modern alkaid | 319 roses and a date

Alkaid gets asked on a date by the girl he desperately wanted to ask out, at least before he found out who the flowers were for. You'd like to maintain that nothing you said was a lie.

2.8k, post-alkaid's florist ending [everything else happens the same way, except alkaid's first meeting with mc happens after godheim], misunderstandings + some angst, mc is reader, series: none

ALKAID STARES DOWN BLANKLY AT the bouquet of white roses in his hands. At some point during his stunned silence, he had unwittingly taken them off yours, just as you had hoped for.

All 319 of them, to be precise—which is a number that, put in a different context, can also refer to 3/19, the day of his birth. Even with the limited capacity he has at the moment to sort out the events that led up to this moment, he can't help the way his heart flutters at the knowledge that you remembered, even though so much time has passed.

"Alkaid?" A gentle tap against his shoulder robs the flowers of their spotlight. "Do you...not like the flowers?"

He looks up and sees you, still here—still dressed so beautifully he's once more in danger of succumbing to asphyxiation, with a fretful expression that makes him wonder if he's already there. When he does not respond, you close the remaining distance between them, obscuring all else from his vision.

It is a problem only because he has nowhere left to run.

"No," he croaks out finally, leaning back over the counter to accommodate you.

Obliviously, you move closer, leaving him with no choice but to avert his gaze once more. Alkaid can only hope you aren't offended—that you don't think he finds you unattractive, with how often he does so. It's only that your beaming smile reminds him of what it feels like to stare down the sun.

"They're lovely."

Satisfied with his answer, you pull back. Your hands are clasped behind your back, and your ponytail sways slightly, once more retreating behind your shoulder. There's an adorable star-shaped pin fastened onto the strap of your cross-body bag.

He sighs discretely, relieved, and pulls the bouquet up to his face as casually as he can. The petals, he hopes, will be enough to cover up the deep scarlet staining his cheeks.

"I'm glad!" You clap your hands together. "I was worried they wouldn't be to your liking. Maybe I should've asked you what your favorite flower was before I tried asking you out."

A self-deprecating laugh slips out as you scratch your cheek. An intricate design spans the length of your nail now—shades of red and green shaped into what he can clearly recognize as halves of a rose hugging the edges—against a black background.

Alkaid bites his lip, converting the interrupted gasp into a quiet exhale.

"You guessed right. I like white roses," he says, hoping desperately that his words are nothing less than reassuring. "Though they share that spot with lilies as well."

"Lilies," you repeat, a determined gleam in your lovely eyes. "I'll keep that in mind for next time."

He bites his lip harder.

THE MORNING HE'S DUE TO hand off your flowers, Alkaid finds himself contemplating the benefits of coffee behind the register.

Though his favorite concealer and his usual color corrector have done much to brighten up his undereyes, they can do little for the grogginess that comes with staying awake the whole night (Why such a specific number? Who are they for? Do you remember him at all?). And, by the time the clock strikes nine, he's already downed three cups of strongly-brewed tea.

What pushes him to finally break away from his usual preferences is a simple headache.

The store is empty, and there remains more than half an hour before you're set to arrive. A sharp twinge of pain in the side of his head as he stands up to check on your flowers draws out a careful hiss. Alkaid, with some amount of lingering hesitance, flips the sign on his door to closed, with a note explaining the rough length of absence. Then he walks out the door, his destination the artsy cafe across the street—the one that makes him think of you whenever he walks in.

Allen, the normally deadpan barista on duty, seems to shut down when Alkaid corrects him on his order. Soon, the news spreads to the rest of the employees, who take turns staring at him as he leaves with a warm thermos of coffee in his hands.

But, in the end, it proves to be an unnecessary trip.

You're already in front of his flower shop when he returns, half-crouched and studying the sign the way someone might study a work of abstract art. Today, too, you have a large, dark blue backpack slung over both your shoulders, its surface decorated with various pins and stickers—mostly of a cat, your cat, but also of a popular manga that you seem to like.

In Passing, that is.

It's about a love triangle featuring a tyrant emperor and a well-liked leader of the rebellion. Even without the reviews praising it for subverting expectations, Alkaid would've picked it up anyway.

He's on the third volume right now, and—

Hmm? His eyebrows furrow. Where did I leave it? In my bag?

All of a sudden, the sleep that had been so insistent on dragging his eyelids down vanishes. Alkaid wracks his brain desperately for the answers, stomach churning at the thought of you finding out about his latest reading material.

Unfortunately, you choose that moment to turn around.

"Oh, Alkaid!"

Your confused expression soon melts away, leaving behind only a cheerful smile. Tightening his grip on his thermos, he exhales silently, before flashing you a gentle smile.

"You're here." Time stops as you begin to approach him, your keychains singing a short jingle to accompany you. Your expression softens, as does your voice. "You didn't forget about me, right?"

Alkaid can only sputter out a half-coherent apology.

The words get drowned out by the insistent, purposeful beating of his heart. It's as if it wants to claw itself out of his chest and entrust itself to your hands, as it is, with shattered bones sticking out of it.

You laugh prettily, as always. "It's okay. I'm just joking."

Then, like a moth to a flame, his gaze falls upon your lips. A soft red, with a glossy sheen, one that matches the color of your skirt. On a plain canvas, it's all the more striking. It leaves him wondering about things he, currently a stranger, shouldn't be fretting over.

He's not sure how long he stares for, with slightly parted lips and a series of half-realized thoughts chiding at him to stop—only that it's not long enough for you to grow uncomfortable.

Alkaid clears his throat, holding up his thermos (I should've bought her something too, he thinks) as an explanation. "I apologize for the wait. I went over to the cafe across the street."

"Coffee lover?" you guess, making room for him to open the door.

"I'm usually more of a tea person." As he slips inside the store, he can't help but chuckle self-consciously, remembering all the different ways he imagined this scene playing out. Naturally, his next words are nothing more than the most blatant lie he's ever told. "I thought I'd try something else for a change."

"Is it a nice place?" Upon seeing the puzzled look he sends over his shoulder, you clarify, "The cafe. I've seen the reviews, but I think only experience can beat the testimony of someone you know."

He considers your question for a moment. "The staff is very friendly. I often stop by during lunch for their sandwiches."

"I see..." you murmur.

"I think you'd like it," Alkaid blurts out as he slips in behind the register, happy to note that his copy of Volume 3 is, in fact, in his bag. "The owner enjoys collecting art—there's a lot of different paintings all over the cafe. Um, since you're an art major."

"Well, now I have to try it out." You don't seem particularly startled that he knows about your major; instead, you take to drawing patterns across the wooden countertop. He thinks he sees the familiar curve of an A. "The cookies you recommended last time were really great too."

When he keeps his silence, the complete opposite of what the state of his mind currently is (she remembers?), you look up.

"Hmm?" You tilt your head, confusion clouding your once smiling expression. "Do I have the wrong person? You're Alkaid, right? From that time in the snow mountains?"

He forces himself to nod, but that too is enough.

A shy smile blossoms on your lips, paired with both a brief flash of relief flitting through your gaze and the slight, almost imperceptible widening of your eyes. Placing your hands above your heart, you sigh exaggeratedly.

"You had me worried for a moment," you say. Your eyelashes cast a dark shadow on your undereyes. "I thought we'd never meet again."

For a moment, he wonders if there's more to your sorrow than you let on. Does it have anything to do with the way you disappeared? Somewhere so far away that no one could reach you at all?

Alkaid shakes off his thoughts.

"But we did," he responds carefully. I never thought we'd meet again either, he does not say instead. "Whether it was destiny, whether it was just a coincidence, we did. All we can do is make the most of it."

A tinge of sadness mars your lovely smile. "I think that sounds lovely."

SOON AFTER THEIR REUNION, DONE properly this time, down to exchanging numbers, Alkaid excuses himself to go fetch your flowers. When he returns, lovesick heart brimming with curiosity over the recipient's identity once more, he finds you've returned to doodling on the counter.

"Here they are, 319 white roses," he announces.

There's a blank expression on your face when you look up. Slowly, as recognition dawns upon you, it melts away to something bitter and rough. Its jagged edges dig into his his heart, leaving a paralyzing mix of sadness and longing to wash over him.

And then—

"Thank you," you say, and take the flowers off his hand.

His hand twitches, yearning for the camera he still keeps in his backpack, for the days where he feels like memorializing something instead. Lovely is the only word he has to describe you as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ears and pull the bouquet close with a faint smile.

Then, you close your eyes, and you inhale deeply. Once more, you are somewhere else—somewhere far, somewhere he can't reach.

"Ah, sorry." You crack one eye open. Now, the bouquet is clutched against your chest, but your sadness remains. "I guess I'm a bit nervous. I don't know if he'll like the flowers."

He? From some far corner of his mind, he recalls the image of your guardian. A tall man, with long silver hair and a pleasant, but guarded expression. Cael, he thinks is the name.

"For your guardian?" Alkaid inquires.

Your smile drops entirely at the mention of your guardian. A complicated series of emotions flash in your gaze, soon averted to one of the potted plants at the display. Scratching your cheek, you offer him a polite laugh.

Today, only some of your nails are a plain black. The rest remain bare.

"No, it's not for Cael." You answer carefully. "Actually—"

Looking down at the flowers, you take a deep breath. When next you speak, your voice has reclaimed the softness it'd shown him earlier—your searching gaze as well. You leave him with the truth, imparting it onto him like a mischievous secret.

"There's someone I'd like to ask out."

His stomach drops, and you leave him with the memory of lovelorn smile, forever imprinted behind his eyelids.

"I hope he says yes."

[3:00 PM] you: Alkaid, do you have any plans tonight?

[3:17 PM] alkaid: No, I'm free

[3:21 PM] alkaid: Did something happen?

[3:22 PM] you:

[3:22 PM] you: I haven't asked him out yet. Gonna do it soon

[3:23 PM] you: All of my other friends are busy rn.

[3:24 PM] you: Is it okay if I stop by after you close up shop?

[3:24 PM] you: I'd want to talk to someone about it

[4:31 PM] alkaid: Of course

SOMEHOW, ALKAID MANAGES TO GET through the rest of the day.

His heart is held together haphazardly with duct tape and carefully-placed staples, though their efforts are thwarted constantly by a popular refrain (You hardly know him. Of course there's someone else.), and he's one stubbed toe away from being reduced to tears, but he manages. Somehow.

He swallows down his what-ifs and maybes and waits, watching the hands on his wristwatch inch ever closer to six in the evening. And eventually, the vaguely promised time arrives.

As he's stepping out from behind the register, a familiar chime echoes cuts through the silence. Alkaid looks up and sees you, dressed still in red and black, your turtleneck and skirt swapped out for a knee-length dress.

"Hi."

The bouquet of white roses—held in both hands, a stark contrast to the black leather jacket you're wearing—covers up its neckline. You smile sheepishly at him, pulling at the mesh of your bright red skirt to mimic a curtsy.

You're beautiful. Even the flowers surrounding them pale in comparison. Even the aurora they'd seen together pales in comparison. You rob him of his breath and leave gasping for a reprieve, but so long as he keeps his memory in even the smallest capacity, that's simply impossible.

The familiar knife called jealousy stabs into his heart, leaving him keenly aware of his longing. He averts his gaze, but the damage has already been done. You are beautiful, and he has waited years to see you.

"Hi." Alkaid swallows uncomfortably, as the sound of your footsteps draws closer. In a panic, his hands brace themselves against the edge of the counter. "Was something wrong with the flowers? I thought—"

A mysterious expression sits upon your features when you pull his gaze onto you, seemingly oblivious to your magnetic power.

With a deep breath, you thrust the flowers at him, knuckles brushing against his chest. You pull back for a moment, taking your flowers with you, and the soft coral of your blush makes it difficult to discern whether you find yourself a victim the of same scarlet blooming across his cheeks.

"That's—" You cough politely. There's a heart-shaped pendant dangling from your golden necklace. The dress is either strapless or your jacket has covered up the straps. "—what I'm here to find out."

Alkaid tilts his head. His confused gaze darts across his surroundings and stops at the glass window of the store's display, thinking perhaps that your mystery boy might be outside. But while the streets are not barren, there is no one outside his store.

You say his name in the same way you told him your secret. Like it's something precious. Like it's something you love. And the truth begins to settle into his bones with a finality that deafens the half-coherent puzzle pieces he's been trying to fit together—he is the only one you could possibly ask out in this empty store.

He has no choice but to look back. At you, and the bouquet you're offering him.

"Would you like to go to the movies with me?"

AND THAT IS HOW HE finds himself with the beginnings of a bruise forming on his lip. He doesn't mind, not when the sting he feels as he wets his lip reminds him that this is not, in fact, a dream (It feels like it though, he thinks), nor a fantasy.

"You...you don't have a girlfriend, do you? It's been a while since then..."

You rub your arm lightly, muttering about something he can't understand, and what else is Alkaid meant to do but take your hand? He squeezes it gently, tickled to find that he can return the favor for all the times you've stolen his breath away.

Your lips part slightly, but whatever you hoped to say does not leave the confines of your mysterious mind. Instead, you draw some of your hair from both sides over your flushed cheeks.

"Nothing like that," he reassures, smiling gently at you. "I'm just surprised. I didn't realize you were talking about me."

"That's a reli—what." In a single moment, your voice goes from girlishly breathless to an irritated flat. Releasing your hair, you blink uncomprehendingly at him. "How?"

Watching you descend into another muttered ramble, Alkaid shrugs. "If you'd still like that date..."

You whip your head in his direction. "Then it's a date!"

The first time he met you, it was when you had fished out of the snow and offered him a warm drink to fight off the cold. They had talked about miscellaneous things, from your half-hearted desire to request a camera for your birthday to who could make the better model between them both.

And back then, he had thought to himself that there was no sound more beautiful than your laugh.

Almost four years after the fact, as he watches you giggle, Alkaid can confidently say his past self had the right idea. Such a specific title leaves him with room to declare your follow-up smile to be just as breathtaking.

[chalkscene]

lovebrush chronicles ⇢ NOT LEAVING THIS GARDEN OF EDEN

you did follow through your plan, you tell yourself. you saved earth and went straight back home. you just didn’t plan on going back to eden. after all, home is where the heart is.

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

note: reimagined eden endings because i’m still sad i didn’t pull a single eden ssr illustra <//3 also i apologize for the big blocks of texts lmao

“hey, chief. remember little leaf?” o’connor suddenly asks. AYN freezes at the mention of his second-in-command’s endearment for you and though he doesn’t mean to intimidate his companion, there’s a permanent glare in his gaze on o’connor which makes the latter panic in fear. o’connor’s hands shoot straight to his head as he begs, “please don’t burn my hair. it was just a question.” the chief stifles a snort, “i’m not gonna do anything.” o’connor sighs in relief before ayn answers his earlier inquiry, “i remember. why do you ask?” “i was just wondering. how do you think she’s doing?” in an attempt to mask the longing he still feels since you left, ayn simply shrugs, “safe, probably. she’s home now.” “she is.” it’s not o’connor who speaks this time and just like that, ayn feels his entire body go tense—he’d know that voice anywhere. unbeknownst to him, you’ve been standing just a few feet behind him. the moment you walked into the busy tavern today, the members of the order perked up at the sight of you but before they could express the slightest glee, you urgently signalled them to hush. you’re grateful that despite their undying loyalty to ayn, they play along. when you finally speak, the room falls into complete silence as every single member of the order awaits ayn’s reaction. his suspicions are confirmed by the smirk from o’connor who’s now looking past him and straight at you, beaming, “hey, little leaf!” ayn spins on his heel to face you, the usually blunt man now rendered speechless. you can’t help but tease him, “i can’t believe i managed to sneak up on you. you’re losing your touch, ayn.” the seconds that follow pass in a blur and you find yourself in the strong yet gentle embrace of ayn’s arms once again. “you’re back…” ayn mutters, clear disbelief in his tone as if to convince himself that he’s not dreaming and you barely contain your giggles, feeling hopelessly smitten with this boy, “like you said. i’m home.”

with the lantern glowing in his hand, ALKAID is strolling along a commercial district—the exact replica of the street he took you to in eden—and like they always do, his thoughts drift back to you. if you could see this new eden, would you be proud of him? he can’t help but wonder. he hasn’t fully regained his capacity to feel a multitude of emotions since he paid the price to rebuild eden into a better place but one thing’s for certain—he yearns for you. but he also knows that if a star were to fall from the sky tonight, it would be incredibly selfish of him to wish for your return. he can only wish for your safety and happiness wherever you are. that should be enough, he tells himself. you already granted him three days to be his lover—much more than what he deserved after everything he had done. he’s not in any position to demand for more. but the universe is quick to differ because sitting on a bench just a few feet away now is your figure. before he can stop himself, alkaid calls your name and you immediately turn to the sound of his voice. both falling in a state of disbelief at the sight of each other, neither of you say anything for a moment. “hi,” you speak first. it takes some effort but alkaid manages to find his voice, “what are you doing here?” “i didn’t know where to look for you,” you suppose that’s not exactly what he meant with his question but your reply still answers it all the same—i came back because i promised i’d find you. your eyes then dart to the lantern in his hands, “you still have it.” “i kept it. i don’t know why i brought it with me though,” he admits bashfully, his boyish grin so childlike it leaves no trace of the master of eden he used to be. and it’s the loveliest you’ve ever seen him. “i was going to give it to you before you left,” alkaid adds, “you can have it now so you can bring it back home… if you want it.” “if that’s the only reason you’re giving it to me then i can’t take it,” you try to sound as solemnly as you can and guilt immediately gnaws at you when alkaid visibly deflates at the rejection. still, out of respect for your decision, he simply gives a resigned nod, ”i understand.” “i don’t think you do.” you can no longer fight the smile pulling on the corners of your lips and alkaid looks nothing short of confused. “alkaid, i’m staying.”

after a long trip beyond the borders of eden, LARS couldn’t be more ecstatic to go home and get some rest but as he rummages his backpack for his keys, something at the foot of the door catches his eye—a small pot of cactus. maybe his mind is playing tricks on him but the prickly succulent looks identical to the one he gifted you during your time in eden. he recounts the past events, from your arrival in this world down to the moment you left. he’s sure he packed the cactus for you. “at least, put that in a box before you stuff it in my bag next time,” you quip as you come into lars’s view, raising your finger to show him the small bandage over the spot where the cactus pricked you. with the traveler stood frozen and speechless, you take it upon yourself to cross the distance between the two of you. soon, lars is reaching for your hand as if to inspect the tiny wound but that is the furthest thing from his mind right now. he’s trying to process the sight of you standing in front of him and holding his hand and that this is all, in fact, very real. still, he manages to match your teasing. “how about daisies, hm? would that be better?” brazenness drips from his tone but there’s obvious sincerity swimming in his eyes. you can’t even describe how badly you missed those blue eyes. “much,” you tell him. in an instant, the playful atmosphere dissipates until there’s nothing but genuine longing in the air surrounding you both. “i thought you went home,” he says softly but you don’t miss the subtle shiver in his voice as he keeps it steady. “i did.” “why did you come back?” “i wanted to see you again.” “but it’s safer there.” “i feel safer with you.” lars doesn’t have a rebuttal to that. “i missed you, lars.” “i missed you, too,” he mutters as he takes you in his arms, planting a chaste kiss on your forehead, “are you sure about this? i don’t think i can let you go again.” with a giggle, you cradle his face and bring him closer for a kiss that he’s eager to reciprocate. “i don’t want you to,” you mumble against his lips.

eden has begun to live up to its name since CLARENCE took over but sometimes, the falcon in him still comes out and clarence finds himself at a shooting range practicing his aim—not that he ever needs it. he can hit multiple bullseyes in a row within seconds. but better safe than sorry and today is no exception. when he shoots the last of his ammunition, an audible thud shortly follows, catching his attention. he immediately glances at the target and at the center, among his many gunshots, one rubber bullet stands out. on full alert, clarence scans the area to deduce the possible source of the dart only to be met by the last person he ever expected to find in eden—you. “i didn’t think i’d get that on the first try,” you quip. “what are you doing here?” the urgency in his voice contradicts the cheeky expression on your face. “i took some shooting lessons and i wanted to show you,” you tell him proudly, “but i’m not sure if they’re eden standards.” clarence huffs out a laughter at your remark as he shakes his head in amusement. your playful wit hasn’t changed one bit, to his relief. “if you want me to teach you, just ask,” he banters. “i literally hit a bullseye,” you retort but clarence only shrugs, “beginner’s luck.” his mock indifference reminds you of the clarence—or rather, the falcon—you met when you first arrived in eden. it’s only been a few months but it all feels like a distant memory that you can’t help but laugh about it now. not wanting to waste another second apart from him, you cross the space separating you, running into his arms where he catches you with ease. “i was scared you wouldn’t remember me,” you mutter against his shoulder and a soft chuckle escapes him as he deems the mere idea of your confession ridiculous, “i never stopped thinking about you.” when you eventually pull away, clarence’s gaze drops to the gun in your hand. “what kind of gun is that?” “this?” you hold it up so clarence can get a better look at it, “it’s a nerf gun. and it’s just a toy.” you point the gun at clarence and aim for his arm. before he can protest, you pull the trigger to prove it causes no serious injury, “see?” still, the impact makes him flinch. “where did you get it?” “i brought it with me.” the insinuation of home in your reply slightly dampens clarence’s mood. he can’t help but ask, “how long are you staying?” “depends,” you answer in a tone that’s unwaveringly cheery, “how long are the lessons you promised?” the corners of clarence’s lips quirk up at your joshing and hope begins to bubble in his chest, “as long as you want them.”

[chalkscene]

lovebrush chronicles ⇢ THEY FIND THE DRAWING YOU DID OF THEM

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

when you asked AYN if you could drop by the piano room and watch him practice, he didn’t expect you to take a seat on the far corner of the room, nose deep in your sketchbook. you’ve barely had a full conversation with him since you got here and he can’t understand why—you’re usually very chatty. he can’t help but scowl as he glances at you. he’s about to call for your attention when your phone rings and you immediately excuse yourself out of the room, “i’ll be right back.” as soon as the door clicks shut, he eyes your sketchbook which is now unsupervised. he knows he shouldn’t look but curiosity killed the cat. he gets up from his seat and strides across the room to peek at your work then his breath hitches. right before his eyes is a rough sketch of a raven-haired boy slightly hunched over a piano, his back on the artist—you. you’re drawing him. in a state of fluster, ayn quickly sets the sketchbook down in the same position he found it—hell, he can’t remember it. he’s too preoccupied by the fact that you’re sketching him that he registers a second too late that you’ve already returned, catching him fiddling with the sketchpad. before you can say a word, ayn walks back to the piano without sparing you a glance, “i didn’t see anything.” you feel the mortification in your system vanish as quickly as it came, now stiffling a giggle that threatens to escape your lips. ayn being more flustered when it was you who got caught drawing him is actually comical. you don’t even resist the urge to tease him, “really?” “really,” he answers curtly. “then why are you being weird?” “why are you drawing me?” ayn retorts with a tinge of accusation as he turns to glare at you but you’re not even slightly intimidated. you prod, “so you did see it?” ayn looks away from your smug expression upon his lack of rebuttal, doing his best to conceal the color in his cheeks with his hair. “i wasn’t going to,” you explain truthfully, “but you were so in your element i couldn’t help but… ‘capture’ the moment,” you say with air quotes, “i like drawing you.” ayn feels his heart skip a beat but as emotionally constipated as he is unable to handle your admission, he grumbles despite blushing furiously, “just ask me to come to the art studio next time.”

ever since ALKAID invited you to picnics or simple strolls around nature, you’ve developed a habit of making quick sketches of the scenery around you. but today’s an exception. with the cool breeze and the soothing warmth of the sun while you and alkaid sit side by side under a tree, it’s all just too relaxing. alkaid is busying himself with his camera when he suddenly feels a soft impact on his shoulder. when he glances at you, he can’t help but smile, endeared by the sight of you asleep. your sketchbook is left open and your grip on the pencil has loosened enough that a sudden gust of wind flips the pages and alkaid gets a glimpse of the drawing you had done of him. saying he’s surprised is an understatement. he finds it unbelievable that you’d ever choose him as your muse. alkaid isn’t one to pry but he can’t resist turning the pages over to get a good look at your drawing, taking in its rough details and pencil strokes. it looks beautiful, he notes, barely fighting a smile upon the realization that this is how you see him. before you stir awake, alkaid reaches over and with careful fingers, he takes your pencil and inserts it between the binding of your sketchbook like a bookmark before flipping it shut. he decides against mentioning it to you until the next day. alkaid goes out of his way to find you on campus, “hey, i was looking for you.” “why?” “it’s just, um…” he trails off, turning hesitant as if he’s choosing his words carefully, “do you want to make a trade?” “trade?” before you can ask more questions, alkaid takes out what you think is a piece of paper from his pocket until you get a clear view of it and realize it’s a candid picture of you. sounding hopeful, he offers it to you, “this for your drawing of me.”

“there you are!” LARS says, beaming when he finds you working on an art piece in one of the academy’s studios. “hi,” you smile at him, “why were you looking for me?” lars shrugs, “just wanted to see you.” amused, you roll your eyes at his subtle flirting before getting back to work. you don’t mind lars’ company alongside his occasional praises, varying from that looks nice to i’d buy that. you actually like having him around. lars is going through your artworks when he suddenly speaks, “how much for this?” you tear your eyes away from your canvas to find him having one of your sketchbooks in hand. “which one?” you ask and you can’t even begin to describe your shock when lars turns it over. there it is facing you, the page where you did a drawing of him. you dart towards lars but he quickly gets on his feet, taking advantage of his tall stature to hold the sketchbook out of your reach. “give it back!” you snap but lars only snickers. “how much for this?” he repeats the question, more smugly this time. after a few failed attempts to snatch the sketchbook from his grip, lars eventually decides to hand it over. “you weren’t supposed to see that,” you grumble, tearing off that page and crumpling it into a ball out of embarrassment. you’re about to toss it in the bin when lars takes it from you, flattening the paper to look at the drawing once more. “can i keep it?” he asks sincerely. “it’s just a warmup sketch…” you mumble, your tone a clear contrast to lars’ boldness. for a few seconds, lars doesn’t speak as if he’s forming the words in his head, “did you draw me from memory?” when you give him a sheepish nod, the smirk on his face reappears, “you think about me that much?” you simply groan at his teasing which makes him cackle but he soon backtracks before you can grab the paper from his hand and dispose it. “thank you,” he says, “i really like it.”

you’re rushing to your next class when you run into CLARENCE, causing you both to drop your belongings. “sorry!” you squeak, crouching down to hastily grab your things and with a sigh, clarence follows suit. “running late again?” he teases. you throw him a lighthearted glare at the accusation before grumbling, “our professor dismissed us late.” you hear him chuckle at your retort but the sound comes to an abrupt halt. at his sudden silence, you slide your gaze over to him and you immediately realize why—he’s holding a notebook which is now opened to a page with a rough sketch of him on it. before clarence can say anything, you immediately yank your sketchbook out of his hands and rise to your feet. “um…” you begin to stammer while clarence remains quiet save for the sound he makes when he clears his throat. he’s unable to look you in the eye as he stands upright, now fiddling with his necktie with unadulterated focus. “i swear i’m not a creep or anything,” you explain weakly, a surge of humiliation washing over you, “i was just… practicing.” you wince upon hearing your words and you can’t help but apologize—whether it’s for the sketch or your lame excuse, you’re not sure. maybe both. “i’m sorry,” you tell clarence, “i’ll throw it away.” “don’t,” clarence answers a bit too earnestly that he himself is taken aback. “it’s…” he trails off, looking sheepish, “it’s a really good drawing.” you gape at clarence. that was not reaction you expected from him. saving himself from further fluster, clarence drops the subject and points at the time, “you’re already late for next period.” “shit!” “language,” he scolds you in his student council president tone. “sorry!” you don’t wait for a response before you’re running off to your next class. as clarence watches you disappear from view, he wonders if you’d let him keep the drawing if he asked.

[romance-rambles]

[modern] cael | should've said it to my face

After reading Cael's response to your comment, you eventually give into your impulsive thoughts and call him. It turns out to be a misunderstanding

2k, takes place during qixi event [minor spoilers for the card], misunderstandings + fluff, reader is mc, series: none

DINNER TIME SEES YOU SCROLLING aimlessly through Lofter, in search of something to do.

You're sprawled across the couch on your back, knees bent, with a plate—stacked with airfryer dino nuggets and french fries—balanced precariously in front of you. The hand not occupied with your phone holds onto a half-empty soda can. When you remember to eat, you stick it in the gap between you and the sofa's backrest and pray it doesn't spill over again.

In the background, a movie you'd seen multiple trailers for in your spare time runs on the TV. For the first thirty minutes, it was rather entertaining, actually—for reasons beyond the absolutely stellar writing. It was, and is, filled with so many cliches, all dragged out and played entirely straight, that it makes you wonder if the writers had a checklist.

Then, your editor texted you around the time the couple had their first date and—well.

Though it turned out that the phone call she was asking for had nothing to do anything that would make a perpetually tardy artist quiver in fear, Beanie can attest to what a disaster the fifteen minutes before said phone call were.

Your shirt is still sticky from the spilt soda, and worse, the water you splashed on the stain has left you soaked. And on top of that, your shirt wasn't the only victim in this mess. Now, some of your nuggets carry with them a hint of sweetness—one that can't be attributed to the ketchup.

They're still good, you think stubbornly, glaring at someone imaginary sitting opposite to you.

You pull your legs closer, clearly disgruntled, and sit up straight. The artifacts of your makeshift party for one change positions with you, making you look less like a slob after work hours—even if that is what you were going for.

Because that someone imaginary looks suspiciously like Cael, with that close-mouthed smile that reeks of barely-disguised amusment. A menace with good publicity, though you'd take this Cael over the "old" one any day.

After all, this one is yours—to have, and to hold, for as long as you live.

You think of the characters in your latest manga, and of those last few pages; of the red dress the painter had picked out, and of where the spirit's—and yours—thoughts had gone. The ones you'd added as a bonus after dicussing a much happier ending with Cael. Frankly, it's the most self-indulgent thing you'd written since In Passing, except this time, you didn't bother holding back on your fantasies.

"Wait," you mutter, squinting down at an artwork from one of your mutuals on your phone. The poor dinosaur that gets offered up to your hungry belly this time is thankfully not one of the soggy ones. "Has he seen it yet?"

The answer to your question, once you regretfully pull your gaze away from the beautiful man you drew, and pull up your latest post on Lofter is yes.

hubby: This drawing is great.

A simple compliment, yet your spirits soar to never-before-seen heights. With your free hand, you cup your cheek; your pinkie finger can only partially hide the curved end of your lips. Then, like a thick veil, your hair falls over half of your face, prompting a small laugh from you.

As you tuck your hair behind your ear, you can't help but think it adds to the scene. The lovesick smile. His comment. The affection swelling in your fluttering heart.

You imagine the soft smile on his face when he saw your post and wonder why he isn't here to tuck your hair back for you.

Truth is, you'd never learned how to stop missing Cael, even after he'd returned to being a permanent fixture in your life. The only time you don't miss him is when he's in front of you—when you can wrap your arms around him, in a carefully struck balance of spoiled and loving, and hear his exasperated chuckle as he pulls you in closer.

Maybe that is why the words you write in response lack any double meanings.

you: @hubby But I feel that the person in the drawing is better than the drawing itself.

Tracing the silhouette of his hair, you think this is the Cael that comes closest to showcasing his ethereal beauty. All that practice through drawing the Silver Knight has left you as the most qualified person to make that judgement. It is with this thought in mind, and a puffed chest, that you wait for his response.

And Cael could be busy, for all you know. It could take a while for him to respond, for all you know.

Still, if you play your cards right, when you tell him how long you waited, he'll pat your head. And on your forehead, the heat from his loving kiss will linger for long after he pulls away.

You grin at the thought and scroll down.

hubby: Me too.

At first, you can only blink.

Me too, you repeat dumbly, tilting your head to the side. You must look like quite the catch, with three nuggets and countless fries stuffed into you face. ME TOO?

The vision of his faint smirk transforms your previously lovesick demeanor in an instant. Swallowing your food down, you glare at the snarky comment, thumbs hovering over the digital keyboard without a reply in mind.

It would've been better if he'd said it to your face. You could tackle him—maybe kiss the smirk off his face. Countless letters are typed out and erased within seconds of each other, simply because you can't settle on anything to say. The scowl on your face deepens as you swipe out of the app.

And you're not sure what happens after that, but when you come to, you find yourself staring at half of an objectively terrible selfie you'd taken with Cael—

And Ringing... written underneath.

When he picks up, the first thing Cael says is your name.

"What a coincidence." Your boyfriend chuckles softly. "I was thinking I wanted to hear your voice."

You fear the psychological damage is irreversible. Why did you call him again?

Oh, rig—wait a minute.

"Did you miss me?" you ask, not so much curious as you are delighted. "Wait."

Never let it be said that you don't have your priorities straight. You're sure anyone in your position would do the same thing. So, with a giggle—both at your snarky comment and at the prospect of being missed by Cael—you pull your phone away from your ear and make your earlier wish of seeing his face come true.

"Let me—" You adjust your bangs, knowing well the futility of doing so. "—Let me turn my camera on."

When you finally catch sight of his beautiful face, as the camera turns on, Cael is smiling gently.

Upon catching a glimpse of your current, haphazard appearance—the pile of hair tied up in some kind of half-bun, half-ponytail, the ratty old t-shirt that's simply too comfortable to part with, and, you realize embarassedly, the ketchup stains and nugget crumbs plastered all over your mouth—he shakes his head. Out of habit, his free hand hovers in the air for a moment before he puts it down. Even before he shoots you a helpless look, you can tell he's wishing for the same thing.

"You should—" Gesturing at his own mouth, free of crumbs, he tries to help you out. "Mhm, you got most of them."

For a party of one, you didn't find napkins to be a necessity—so, instead, you have to make do with your oily hands. It's hardly the most elegant side you've shown him, but you also know he's seen worse. And if he can still watch you fondly, frankly, you don't think you have a need to be concerned.

With a grimace, you brush the fallen crumbs off of your lap and onto the couch. You're going to have to vacuum it, unless you want it to be teeming with ants. The thought makes you shudder.

Cael's lovely voice cuts through the horrific visions of an ant takeover and replaces them with much more pleasant imagery. "What are you thinking about?"

"Ants," you say, without skipping a beat, then laugh. "Well, that and I have a bone to pick with you."

He blinks, looking as though he's desperately trying to surpass a laugh. "Alright. What is it?"

Upon studying his expression, you find that it's rather reminiscent of the one that'd pushed you over the edge. This time—perhaps because of the way the amusement glittering in his violet eyes makes them pop—you smile softly. Laying back down on the sofa, with your head comfortably resting against the armrest, you grin and start describing your dilemma.

"The truth is, I was fishing for another compliment," you tell him, as if offering him a carefully-guarded confession.

Your voice is suitably dramatic, with a sliver of faux mournfulness coming through. Unfortunately, you're not particularly good at faking tears—so it is all you have in your arsenal.

Cael looks down at you from the phone's screen, clearly exasperated. You bring your arms down to a more comfortable position and adjust some of your bangs. With the plate of nuggets still on your lap, you can't bend your knees as you'd like. As a compromise, you cross your legs over one another.

Finally, he breaks the silence.

"I'll make up for it, but—" Your boyfriend hesitates. "Nevermind."

Even though the hamsters in your brain have started sounding the alarms, even though you're certain he's messing with you, you still fall for it—hook, line, and sinker. It leaves you incapable of saying anything beyond but.

With an elegance you might've admired at any other time, he ignores your minor break in coherency. But the smile on his face is, for all intents and purposes, a grin, genuine but unfortunately tinged with amusement, and you can't find it in yourself to be too upset. You still remember his lighthouse comment.

You wonder if he'd notice if you took a screenshot. He did say he didn't like to use his deduction abilities on you.

Humming a song you'd texted him without explanation, he begins to ask, "How would you like me to make up for—"

"But."

"I was talking about the girl in the painting," he relents finally, softly smiling at you. You like to think your glare broke him down.

But the person in the drawing...

True, you'd never specified who you were talking about. Neither had he. It really is true what they say about assumptions, you think, aware that you can't quite think of an accusation that won't backfire on you.

So, like a gaping fish—maybe one swimming in warmer weather, if your warm cheeks are any indication—you gawk at him.

"Is that surprising?" he asks.

Deliberately, you turn your head away. To make yourself feel like a productive person, you pretend you're searching for your beloved cat, who must've slinked away at some point. Then again, you're pretty sure bribery goes a long way with Beanie—and no one's better at it than Cael.

Maybe Beanie would side against you instead.

"Maybe I haven't said it enough. That you're the most beautiful person I know."

As your mind slowly registers the words, you blink. Clearly, Cael hasn't spent enough time staring at a mirror. If he'd said woman, you might've debated for a bit before folding. You might've even seized the opportunity he's presented you with immediately.

Instead, you squint at him.

Surely, he hasn't forgotten how the students of St. Shelter Academia hold his beauty in high esteem. Or the many, perhaps unnecessary, compliments to his beauty in In Passing, even after you'd returned to Godheim. Sure, he might not have registered your unsubtle crush on him back then, but surely, now—

Surely.

Maybe I'm the one who hasn't said it enough.

"That's right." You nod your head solemnly—as if you're unbothered by the thoughts running through your head—and hold up your pinky finger with a smug grin. "You should say it more. Pinky swear."

Despite the distance, he still holds up his pinky finger for you.

[romance-rambles]

godheim alkaid | in which he has (almost) nothing to hide (anymore)

Years after you settle down near New Godheim, your sons take part in a scheme to distract their father before the big surprise party. Unfortunately, Alkaid is observant—and his sons take after him.

1.4k, post-canon, birthday surprises, really domestic stuff with slight angst, children of characters, reader is mc [mentioned only], series: an eventful first meeting

ALKAID IS TENDING TO HIS garden when the door to the quaint house he shares with his wife and three children creaks open.

Hushed whispers descend upon his blossoming garden, but he remains deliberately immersed in cooing over the flowers. His gloved fingers hover over, but never touch, the stems of the purple flower he once brought to life for his wife—back in the snow-buried Godheim he once called home.

Whatever silence his sons can scrounge up lasts only until someone starts shoving—from the yelping, he can guess it's Leo, the older of the two. They sort out the argument between them quickly, then wordlessly set out further into his garden.

And this is, apparently, how some siblings act, particularly if they're close in age. You've vouched for the statement with anecdotes of your school life, but even almost thirteen years later, he finds it hard to wrap his head around it.

He and Ehlonna were never so rough with each other—or at all. But then again, they could only ever dream of the only kind of childhood his sons know.

This is only another difference in a terribly long list, one he hopes will only grow longer.

"Hmm?" Alkaid pauses in his act, pretending to have only just noticed his sons' arrival. "Who is it?"

Silence greets him in return. He waits. A second becomes many, but they do not keep him waiting for long. Instead, they join him by the flowers, almost solemn in the way they gaze at his hard work.

And the way their eyebrows pinch together reminds him of you.

"And what brings the two of you here?" Resting his hands on his knees, he cranes his neck to greet them, one by one. A hint of amusement trickles into his tone. "Will you not be helping your mother this year?"

The two attempt to glance at each other. He leans back a little, disguising his short laugh as a polite cough. The remnants of a smile, however, linger long after his gloved hand retreats. Pressing the back of his bent fingers against his lips, he allows it to return to its former glory.

Behind his back, they converse wordlessly. He pretends he can't hear the rustling of their clothes as they gesture at each other.

"No," Leo huffs out. Forest green eyes narrow at him, carefully gauging his reaction. "There's no point in trying this year."

"Yeah," Sirius grumbles.

Unlike his brother, he's nearly the splitting image of his mother. The title is out of reach only because of the occasional reminders that Alkaid is his father—in the color of his eyes. In the thickness of his hair. In his love for gardening, and in his quiet perceptiveness, one that would leave him wise beyond his ears if he had been born into any other life.

"You always know what we're up to for your birthday."

Indeed, Alkaid thinks privately, settling down onto the ground, with his hands back on his knees. Without delay, his sons mimic him. Today is no different. But he'll pretend it is, though it remains to be seen if his youngest son will buy it.

"Oh," he utters instead. "You didn't get me a present?"

"Not a physical one," the blond says quickly. His words take on a biting quality at the end—the message is clear, both to his brother and to Alkaid, though it's aimed at only one of them. Say something. "We're going to do whatever you want to do, Father."

Turning his head to Leo, Alkaid pretends to think, "Well, I did plan on spending more time on the garden."

"Urk." His next words slip out through gritted teeth, not quite an affirmative, but neither is it a denial. The blond leans forward, unamused gaze pinned on his snickering brother. "Ahem, it's your birthday, Father. You should relax for the day. Somewhere far, far away from here."

"Your mother once did something similar," Alkaid says wistfully, obliviously. "How nostalgic."

In unison, with an ease that suggests much practice, the twins gag at his words. They cap it off with a bland, but insistent, "We know," having perhaps grown tired of hearing the same things over and over again.

"Have I mentioned it before?" he inquires innocently. He hasn't, by the way. Nor has he mentioned the ending, where you did manage to surprise him. Such a trick can only work so many times. "I must've forgotten."

"It's possible," Sirius agrees amiably, having recovered in remarkable time. His fingers lightly caress the soft petals of Alkaid's flowers. "It only shows how much you care about Mother. You make her tea whenever she wants and you've been growing these flowers because they remind you of her."

Less amiably, Leo grumbles, "And you've told us so many stories that we could recite them in our sleep. You and Mother both."

Alkaid smiles faintly. If that is the worst of his sins, of their sins, then surely, they're doing something right. That he has to listen to his children complain is a small price to pay.

"So, when are you going to give them to her?"

"I'm not sure," he admits.

It is the sense that he's being watched that spurs him to glance back at the kitchen window, but the curtain remains drawn, void of any silhouettes that would give the game away. He thinks of his wife, of the awkwardness that's settled into their home—a genuine mistake they don't feel equipped to fix, one that isn't even their own, not entirely.

But they should've expected it. They should've realized that people would carelessly bring Ehlonna up in front of the twins. They should've known better than to try and hide her sacrifice, her—

In that moment, the dark-haired boy nudges him, pulling his attention back onto the flowers. Carefully, a smile slots back into his pleasant expression. Alkaid unclenches his hand—and when had he done that?—and resolves to focus on the current matter at hand.

"Then, do the two of you have any ideas?"

"You'd know better," the younger blond mumbles, his spirits having noticeably dampened at the direction the conversation is taking. "You've known her for a long, long time. Longer than us, since before—"

As expected, Leo was—is—the bigger problem. And Alkaid understands it. He does. But he's allowed to hope that, one day, Leo will realize he has nothing to compensate for, even if he is a bit more withdrawn than his siblings.

A lot more withdrawn, actually.

Perhaps oblivious to the slight tension in the air, though that seems unlikely, Sirius interrupts him without a care. "Give them to her on her birthday!"

A sound option, but—

Alkaid glances at his oldest son. Lips jutting out into a pout, he glares at the unsuspecting flowers in front of him. Under the sun's warmth, his hair takes on a more golden hue, as if it was gold spun into delicate strands.

Brushing the boy's bangs out of his face, Alkaid asks, "And what about you?"

"Isn't it your birthday today?"

He holds his forehead and scowls. At his father's words? At his actions? The older blond remains uncertain. Scarlet blooms acroas the boy's cheeks, the color intensifying as his brother snickers.

Gently, Alkaid offers his younger son a rebuke.

"You're right. Why don't we change the subject then?" He chuckles, tapping his chin. A hint of amusement slips into his words; his next words come out almost song-like. "Now, what shall we talk about?"

"Anything else."

"From before you met Mother!"

As requested by his boys, the topic shifts. The garden soon forgotten, they talk about his childhood.

He talks about Zack, who he'd reunited with shortly after New Godheim had been established, who they knew as "Uncle Zack". He talks about Ehlonna, focusing on the happier memories—on stars, and how he thought she might appreciate the company.

He talks about the Archmage last, telling them close to everything but the period in between, where their relationship grew distant. Wording his sentences carefully, so that they won't look unkindly upon his mentor. Focusing on the happier bits, like the time he and Ehlonna threw him a surprise party, even though they—and the emperor, as well—knew nothing about the day of his birth.

And in the garden they remain, until the ringleader behind this surprise birthday operation comes to fetch them herself, when Alkaid utilizes his best acting skills to be nothing less than thoroughly caught off-guard.

They don't really believe him, but that's okay.

There's always next year.

[gepazu]

in dreams, lars meets you in warm conversation.

(no doubt those are warmer words than the ones he exchanged with you personally.)

in those dreams, he was sat beside or across you — a pitcher of your favorite drink and a bouquet of forget-me-nots between you two as you ask him how he is and has been. if the sun still shines the way it did when you were younger; when your hands treaded his hair like familiar lands and knotted them into anthuriums. if clouds still came in the shape of lions and gave him bravery through wisps of sunshine and breeze.

(he remembers how his hand was in yours as he pointed to the outlines of the animal, squeezing your hand tightly to get your attention,

— then he remembers how you only let him take your faltering, and limp hand; musing on how it felt as if he were preying on a dead bird.)

akin to the other dreams he’s had of you — like clockwork, you would shift in your seat by the second inquiry — gaze sweeping over any answers the blond had ready for you, wilting pathetically as mere syllables back into his throat before you pour yourself another glass; eyes fixated on the way his expression softens straight into a solid flatline.

and lars watches how you never finish.

the liquid spills out of the cup, it reaches out and over the table to spill into running waters, flooding him to the knees in a near-desperation to soak into the living for something- anything that could live on— but the sun bleeds into his eye, and the morning starts again.

a cold cup of your favorite drink by his bedside table, your voice in mind; and like clockwork — he gets up solely to meet you in warmer conversations than the one he held with you on your deathbed.

✩ love notes — thank u vv much to alexie mi love ( @alexisomnias ) for proofreading hehehe 💕

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ⓒ GEPAZU 2023 — 2024.