#no lore no context i just imagined this in my head and wanted to get it out

[cmentary-drive]

[cno-inbminor]

repertum (pt. 2 - final)

summary: no matter how much you want alhaitham, you don’t think you can ever have him. he may or may not try to prove otherwise. // cameos from lumine and nahida // wc: ~15.1k

a/n: well, here it is! many, many thanks to @allsaiint for being my beta once again, especially for this monster. i love her to the ends of this universe. fair warning though, the smut at the end is un-beta’d so you’ll probably come across many grammatical/syntax errors. sorry, in advance. 

cw: afab!reader, fem!reader, more angst (but with comfort), 3.4 spoilers, probably some incorrect game lore and timing/mechanics, smut (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

smut tags: derogatory/degrading terms (slut, cocksleeve, cumslut, cockslut), referring to alhaitham as ‘sir’, size kink, twinges of dacryphilia, one (1) pussy slap, some overstimulation, light bondage (reader’s wrists get tied together), blowjob, cunnilingus, hints of reader entering subspace (dom!alhaitham, sub!reader), will add more if i remember later but i think those are the highlights lol

please read part 1 for context! | AO3 Link for better viewing if the app is being a bitch

-    

As agreed upon you meet Lumine and Paimon on the walkway leading up to the Sanctuary. The traveling duo go inside first, as you’re sure they have much more private and serious matters to discuss. While you wait outside, you gaze over the ledge at the breathtaking view of Sumeru in the direction of the Lokapala Jungle, and its waterfalls still bright even in the darkness of dawn. Taking in everything around you— the breeze and the stars— you feel some peace in your heart knowing you have a place to call home and return to.

The doors swing open with Lumine looking a little less happy than earlier. Paimon mutters – or  at least attempts to – under her breath, while a man with a wide-brimmed hat trails out after them. The traveler provides no explanation,and instead informs you that Lord Kusanali wishes to speak with you for a minute. Perhaps the time together will let you know more about this mysterious man – child? – and why he seems to have put Paimon in such a bad mood.

“Y/N,” the Dendro Archon greets you warmly. Her voice is gentle as ever and full of compassion. “Thank you for coming here. I simply wanted to see if you had everything you needed for your travels and research.”

You show her your bag with thinly-veiled enthusiasm. “Thank you for the opportunity and your consideration of my proposal. The fact that you took the time to read through it and ask me about it really means a lot to me. It was luck that the traveler happened to be heading in that direction as well.”

“She will be a good companion. Please watch over her whenever you can.”

“Of course, though I imagine she’s going to watch over me more than her,” you jest and Lord Kusanali shares your amusement. “Is there anything else you needed?”

“No. May you have safe travels, and please visit whenever you return. I look forward to your findings.”

You bow with as much reverence as possible before waving goodbye to the Archon and heading out the doors. The man from earlier is nowhere to be seen, and Lumine appears more relaxed.

“Everything all good?”

“Yes! Should we head out then?”

“Very well.”

Those with Visions have always fascinated you with the way they could make their weapons appear and disappear, and materialize things in midair. Lumine does so with what appears to be a map of Teyvat, humming to herself as she pinpoints a location. She waves it away with dainty fingers and holds out her hand.

Though confused, you trust she means no ill will and Lumine grips your hand tight when you take hers.

“Teleportation is always a little rough for first timers. Just hold on and you’ll be okay.”

“Teleporta–”

You disappear in a flash of blue light. For a split, disorienting second, you see nothing, and in the next you’re greeted with a view of what appears to be part of the Mawtiyima Forest, if the luminescent treetops are any indication. Slight nausea overcomes you and your stomach does a small turn – shit, she wasn’t lying.

“Are you alright?” Lumine asks with concern, searching through her pack for a remedy..

“Do you want a cold towel?” Paimon adds on and flutters around you to search for any signs of injury.

“I think I just need to breathe for a second,” you say, collapsing against the cliffside. “And sit for a minute.”

“Take your time. We’re quite close to the border. I would’ve taken us straight into Fontaine, but since I’ve never been before, none of those teleport waypoints have been activated.”

You point towards one in front of you. “You mean these?”

“Convenient, right?”

“...very.”

-

Distraught, perhaps, is one way to describe Alhaitham’s current state of mind.

By all means, it makes no sense. Did he get to know you well in an alarmingly short amount of time? Sure. Did he really look forward to those initial 36 hours passing, to the point where he felt time was crawling by at a turtle’s pace? Perhaps. Was he trying to satiate a curiosity that he had never really felt before and attempting to answer a personal unknown? In some way.

The attempting-to-resign Acting Grand Sage has read his fair share of historical texts – especially conflicts driven by love and lust. A force so powerful that it could twist the minds of even the brightest and most logical – what was that like? From a young age, he was only ever introspective in an academic sense, and the scholars touted him to be a genius. But feelings, emotions, felt abstract and out of reach as he grew up. He only ever understood his lust as a byproduct of his development as explained in the textbooks. A branch of psychology mixed with biology described everything from why humans feel attraction and the need to copulate to what is deemed healthy and alluring in a potential partner, all in the name of posterity and evolution.

Alhaitham first concluded his initial draw towards you could be explained away by all of these findings.It didn’t quite fit all the checkboxes, but enough for him to deem it understandable and valid. Those checkboxes had been visited once before when he lost his virginity, but that was all there was to it. He wouldn’t be blind enough to deny that it was a pleasurable experience, but there were other, more pressing matters at hand. Yet, even after drawing his conclusion, nothing academic could help explain why his desire to be near you was so strong. The more carnal desires took a backseat to his need to pick your brain, to make you laugh, or to have you challenge him. He learned as many of your little mannerisms as possible, all the while pretending he was completely unfazed by your presence. Your different smiles, your nervous movements, your stressed looks, your interests and dislikes – he wanted to know all of them, and not so he could store it in his brain for cautionary purposes. It was all for the sake of getting to know you.

And then he became greedy.

Another sin Alhaitham didn’t quite understand before meeting you was the growing, bubbling pit of a constant want want want for you to be by his side. To have the fantasies of coveting your soul, retching on the inside at the mere thought of others seeing you the way he did you – he was starting to see why individuals were so often thrown into a fit of rage over their loved ones and why the law has separate stipulations regarding “crimes of passion.”

And even as he sits at his usual table in his usual seat (especially on days when he really doesn’t want to be in his office during work hours), sending glares to anyone who dared to approach him or even come near your seat (which was very much not your seat by any legal means), he finds himself buried in books of philosophy. Not that they are so far out of his usual reading, for they typically align with his understanding that there are universal questions that will never be answered yet should be stated, but he has never felt the need to dive deeper than the tip of the iceberg on different schools of thought. One line in particular catches his attention, however.

“Reason is, and ought only to be the slave of the passions.”**

Moral philosophy, the area where this statement hails from, was intriguing, yet Alhaitham knew the respected experts could talk in circles for days and do their best to argue their reasoning. This particular philosopher suggests that passion is the cause for reason, for understanding why humans do the things they do. And as the word connotation suggests, there is no room to discuss whether or not this line of thought is rational. Just as passion drives reason, reason can also serve as the breeding ground for the passions.

Abstruse to several, esoteric to many, ambiguous to the masses – Alhaitham wonders if he’s found some sort of solution to his internal dilemmas. To have it all summed up in a single sentence resonates deeply with him. Simple and succinct, yet speaking volumes to the implications; finally with a deep breath.

The next day in his office, he leans and falls back into his seat, gaze focused on the domed ceiling above. He’s always hated this chair; far too grand and impractically large. One thing he doesn’t mind is the proportionate size of the desk, as he’s learned over the years that if you give him the space, he will inadvertently cover every inch of it with his materials. Even with their dwindling number of research applications, he manages to fill the voids with his own research, books laid open and aged parchment collecting dust. For being so far above the ground level of the House of Daena, it makes sense that silence is usually his sole companion, as he tends to ignore the other researchers and matra milling around. But there must have been some memo sent out because no one is there today, and no one has come up in hours.

Surprisingly, he finds the quietude and quiescence unnerving rather than welcoming, so much so he removes his treasured earpieces and places them in his lap. The white noise he’s often found bothersome is… comforting?

A distraction, perhaps, from the absence of you.

A long, heavy sigh leaves his chest as he pulls himself up and ambles over to a locked filing cabinet with all the approved research project applications. Before he became Acting Grand Sage, the remaining applications had been split between him, Lord Kusanali, and a few other individuals. First sorted by subject area and then by last name, he rifles through with an absent mind until he catches your name on a tabbed folder. Alhaitham wastes no time plucking it from the confines of the drawer and opening it, taking care to make sure the stacks of reports and research diagrams don’t spill out onto the floor. Kaveh would have a field day if he knew just how enraptured he was by the mere sight of your handwriting. He may even take him to Lord Kusanali herself for psychological treatment or interrogation because there was no way this Alhaitham was his same sarcastic, scathing, infuriating roommate – and despite the slight amusement the thought gives him, he cannot ignore the painful pull in his chest.

It’s been five weeks since you were last seen in Sumeru, and five weeks since he had knocked on your apartment door only to be greeted by your next-door neighbor, who announced you’d left early in the morning with no definitive time of return and no mention of your destination. You would be back eventually, but would it be in six days or six months? Nobody seemed to be the wiser.

He had had half a mind to reach out to Cyno and call in a special favor to track you down for his own internal peace, but he knew the request would be irrational and unnecessary. So once a week, he stops by your apartment to see if you’ve returned, and with each unsuccessful visit and your doormat collecting more and more dust, his heart sinks just a little bit lower. If he wasn’t in his current position, he’d be halfway across the desert by now (and ultimately in the complete opposite direction) under the guise of searching for ancient ruins. Merely searching for facts and truth; nothing more, nothing less.

All to say, Alhaitham wishes he had looked through this filing drawer earlier because the file on his desk contained all the answers to his questions of your whereabouts.

The relief of knowing you were safe in a nearby nation surges through every vein in his body, tension in his muscles disappearing with the rays of sunlight beating down from the stained-glass window above. He would’ve been much more concerned if you’d gone to Inazuma – even if this Captain Beidou that Lumine spoke highly of was more than adept at crossing the treacherous seas from Liyue, the mere possibility of you falling overboard or being forced to stay in the nation was still unsettling, to say the least.

Leaning his weight onto the desk, Alhaitham drinks in everything your research has to offer. There are a few mistakes and edits that could be rectified here and there, but nevertheless, it is well done. He remembers now seeing some of these papers before, as notes you had been scribbling down on some early afternoons in the cafe. Pleased isn’t enough to describe the hum in his chest when he notices some of his suggestions incorporated into your application, fondly recalling the moments when you had picked each other’s brain regarding the topic at hand. Never once did you mention that any of this had been in preparation for your big research journey, but he would be remiss not to believe recent events had served as the catalyst for your sudden departure.

“Do come back to me,” he murmurs to no one. As he lifts his head, the cosmical, automated orb— reminiscent of an Auspicious Branch— just above the elevator platform seems to mock him. It’s An inaccurate teller of time as it spins and spins in its orbit, and Alhaitham yearns for the day you return home.--

The day you return to him.

-

Traveling with Lumine is fascinating, to say the least.

Ignoring the fact that feeding Paimon is like feeding three grown adults, watching the Traveler gather and store every fruit and herb and loot in sight makes you wonder what kind of life she had led before all of this. The way she takes down some wayward Treasure Hoarders is a sight to see, like a well-rehearsed dance. It lends to your understanding of why the term is “martial arts” because the way Lumine maneuvers around the enemies and her sword is, very much so, an art.

But more time together means more time into probing the real reason you’ve decided to come to Fontaine with her, and for whatever reason, she is really good at getting you to spill the beans. Lumine’s heard most of your life story at this point.

“Who are you running from?” she asks one night. After checking in with the Adventurer’s Guild in Fontaine’s capital, you’ve joined Lumine in her journey around the nation to activate the rest of the teleport waypoints. You send her your sheepest look, begging with your eyes for her to not ask anymore. But you’ve skirted around this topic the last few weeks and you figure it’s time for her to know.

With a heavy breath, you set down your bowl of biryani on the grass. “Promise you won’t judge?”

“Promise.”

“...it’s Alhaitham.” The crackling of the little campfire Lumine had put together is deafening, even louder than the ripples and waves of the river crashing onto the sand in front of them.

Naturally, Paimon speaks up first, though speaking is an understatement.  “Alhaitham?! You mean that– that super mean Acting Grand Sage? The know-it-all? Can’t really care less about others? Condescending?”

“That’s a pretty big word there, Paimon–” Lumine cuts in.

“Hey!”  

“See?” you respond, the smile on your face small, awkward, and bittersweet. “Things happened and well… I thought it’d be better if we stopped seeing each other.”

“You were seeing each other?!!”

“Paimon, stop!” Lumine interjects and shoots the floating fairy a disapproving glare.

You really wish you had some alcohol with you right now.

“Well…”

For the next several minutes, you provide a detailed summary of how you came to meet and learn more about Alhaitham, the nature of the budding relationship, how all your insecurities came to a head on that night, and how you ended up here. Lumine remains silent when you finish explaining everything, clearly thinking through all the information and trying to find the right words to say.

“You know,” she begins, “Alhaitham may be one of the most infuriatingly logical men that I’ve ever met. And a really good actor, too. Remind me to tell you the details of what he did when we rescued Nahida.”

“...I don’t think that makes me feel any better.”

“I’m just saying, but I also think you know by now that Alhaitham isn’t someone who does anything that isn’t for his own benefit, in some way.”

“Again, not helping.”

“What I’m trying to say is if he just wanted to get his dick wet, I’m sure there are plenty of other people who would agree to help out in much less time.”

To which, Lumine has a point. A very good point. But still you say, “He’s super picky though, I don’t think he’d just sleep with anyone regardless.”

“Which brings me to my original point: he picked you for a reason.”

“Because I’m easy?”

Lumine flicks your forehead before you can even blink, and with a decent amount of force as well. Your resulting indignant yelp pierces the atmosphere as you rub the sore spot. “What was that for?!”

“For being unreasonable. I’m trying to say that you must be special to him, that’s all.”

“... but what if he didn’t want to see me again after sleeping together? Sure, let’s say that I am ‘special’, heavy emphasis on my air quotes right now, but I want more, an actual relationship. How do I know that’s also what his end goal is?”  

“You don’t,” Lumine affirms. “But there’s no use in wading through the what-ifs. You know what you want, and I think you’re allowed to communicate that to him, regardless of what he says.”

It’s hard to come to terms with the underlying implication that you’re being something of a coward, with not a whole lot of reason to be. You’re grateful for the open water before you, its lullaby comforting with the breeze it brings. Years of academic research have made you painfully familiar with the concept of trial and error, but to apply it to human relationships? It leaves much to be undesired. Five weeks, in the grand scheme of things, are certainly nothing more than a miniscule blip of time. But in your limited life with the overhanging unknowns of the world, it was a sizable enough amount of time filled with passive rumination and downward spirals.

“You’ll figure it out when you get there. But I’m warning you, we’ve still got a lot of ground to cover.”

You can’t help but laugh in relief. “That is completely okay, I promise you.”

Running away might as well be your newly developed skill at this point.

-

A few weeks later

“I mean, I could stay with you there in Fontaine, right? You know, extra set of hands and all?”

“You’re not getting out of this.”

“Lumiiinneee,” you whine, petulant pout making itself known.

“Just talk to him – whatever happens, happens. If it’s not meant to be, then it’s not meant to be. But you owe it to yourself to say your piece, as well as to him for an explanation that he needs to hear. Now go.”

She all but (gently) shoves you into the Akademiya, watching over you with an encouraging wave of her hand. When you’re less than five steps away from the door into the House of Daena, you look over your shoulder once more for any signs of escape. As expected, the Lumine-shaped obstacle stands firm in her spot.

You clutch your final report to your chest, mind racing with a thousand thoughts per second, and don’t even realize you’ve already made it to the elevator platform. And once it gives a mechanical shudder and starts to go up, you want to scream and simultaneously steal a glider to jump off and land safely back on the ground level.

Is it good or bad luck that no one seems to be around? Maybe he won’t be at his desk and you can just leave the report there and fucking bolt. Maybe it’s not even Alhaitham in the Grand Sage’s chair. Maybe the man is gone altogether and is somewhere in the desert looking at ancient runes.

Maybe he just doesn’t care anymore and has forgotten about you. Maybe he told himself to let bygones be bygones, and that you were simply another scholar in the Akademiya. No one special.

Your initial hopes of his coincidental absence are dashed as you walk up the stairs. His silver hair stands out among the sea of azure and viridian, and he doesn’t even bother to look up from the stack of papers in his hand. Not that you were a bull in a china shop by any means, but the man would even notice with his eyes closed if there was a fly on the complete opposite side of the office. Your heart is ready to burst from your chest with each shaky step, and too soon, you stand in front of his sprawling desk.

“My office hours will be ending in a few minutes,” he states in a matter-of-fact tone without looking at you. You risk a sharp inhale at the sound of his voice, an all too familiar mix of gentility and sternness. “If it’s something that requires more than that length of time, come back tomorrow.”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck – “I’m just, um, turning in a research report?”

At the sound of your voice, Alhaitham doesn’t even bother to amuse himself. He’d much rather not look and not be disappointed, than to do so and become reacquainted with dashed hopes. “...And the necessary cover sheet is on top? Does it have your name, project number, and corresponding title?”

“Y-Yes.”

Still perusing through the paperwork in his hands, he frees one hand to point it at a basket on his far-right corner. “Leave it there. Your advisors and I will be reviewing it within the next two weeks.”

“Oh, o-okay.”

You do as instructed, but with each second that passes without any eye contact or direct acknowledgement of your presence, you begin to wonder if he’s purposely ignoring you. Or maybe he forgot about you entirely and wrote you off as a failed pursuit. Perhaps that would be the best-case scenario and you could hole up in your apartment for the rest of… eternity. Maybe. Lumine can come and scold you later and you can take it like a champ.

But your heart, ever so fickle and occasionally diabolical, plays one last card and causes you to stop at the top of the stairs. “Have a good night,” you muster out. “Thank you, Alhaitham.”

The rustling of his papers ceases as you turn and hurry down the steps, taking extra care to not trip over your feet. Just before you can activate the elevator, a frazzled “Y/N?” is called from above. With sweaty hands, a sullen heart, and a leadened brain, you nervously orient towards the scholar inhabiting your dreams, who stands on the edge of the platform above and peers down to confirm his suspicion. His stance looks as if he had leapt over his desk and sprinted at top speed towards you.

You’re not sure how to take it all in, how to take him in – the “feeble scholar”, for once, appears as such. If possible, his cheeks seem a little more sunken in, further accentuating the sharp edges of his jawline. His hair looks mussed, as if he’d run his hands through it several times too many. The cloak around his shoulders rests askew from his sudden movements.

But his eyes—

Those seafoam irises and amber pupils pierce through your soul, but not in an inquisitive and calculating manner. In fact, it’s quite the opposite – he looks unsure, disbelieving, and hesitant. To elicit such a reaction from this man should be recorded in the most prominent historical annals, but you do have to admit it’s a bad look on him.

When you open your mouth to say something, anything, the elevator begins its descent. Any words you had are wiped from your mind, and you do everything you can to maintain this staredown. Weeks ago, you couldn’t even begin to guess what this man would be feeling based on his eyes, but now? His heart is on his sleeve, and you can’t help the green envy in your veins at the possibility that others have seen him in such a vulnerable state.The constant battle between an illusional desire to be his everything and knowing that you never could and never should be, rages on.

You’re the first to look away. Sorry, Lumine, you think, as Alhaitham’s figure disappears from view. All you’re left with is the rotating orb above, spinning and spinning until it makes you sick to your stomach. You just want to get back to your apartment and start sweeping the dirt away, to return to some sense of normalcy before all of… this appeared. You never should’ve indulged in your whimsical desires.

-

Alhaitham hovers in a state of shock as he watches the elevator take you back down – after weeks of catching a glimpse of who he thinks is you at the cafe, hearing your voice in his head as he scribbles away on paperwork, or dreaming of escaping his duties to find you in Fontaine, he’s not sure if he really believes you were here or if it was some effective lucid dreaming. But the sudden pull, the impulsive need to just check the cover sheet when his name left your lips, was far too strong and he had dived right in without a second thought.

And there in your handwriting, in all its glory, was your name printed neatly at the bottom. One second, he was at his desk and the next, he was at the edge of the outer office ring for confirmation.

The last few minutes of his workday have never gone slower as he paces back and forth in front of his desk. He’s doing his best to stay calm and formulate a plan, but even that has become difficult for him. There are too many extraneous factors at play, several he can’t be sure of – did you meet someone new in Fontaine? Were you going to leave again?

Did you even want to see him?

You could’ve left without another word once your research paper landed in that return basket. He would’ve been none the wiser until he physically picked up the report, which probably wouldn’t have happened for another few days, what with all the cleaning up he’s trying to do before his resignation is official. All that lost time in between would have left him even more distraught.

But the fact that you had stopped and made a point to thank him, to call him out by name, means something. Like him, it seems you are just as unsure of where the two of you stand.

And that’s all he needs to move forward.

-

Granted, moving forward didn’t initially involve climbing up the fire escape ladder behind your apartment building.

With a takeout bag of your favorite foods from Lambad’s Tavern, he was originally going to knock on your front door like any other individual. But before his knuckles could rap against the Adhigama wood, he thought, why not check to see if you’re even home? That would eliminate the possibility of you seeing him through the peephole and then pretending you’re not home – or worse, you opening it and then slamming it back in his face.

His unparalleled logic led him to skip the ladder and jump onto the first floor. It’s not that he wouldn’t be able to climb it with one free hand – the food would’ve gotten messy with all the jostling around. He ignores the sound of laughing children as he ambles past, but allows the semblance of a grin to dawn his face when he hears, “Whoa, look at that mister!” Alhaitham looks above him as he climbs the next set of stairs, noticing a light peeking through the living room window. That’s one good sign, at least, because it means you’re home, right? He peers past the half-open curtains when he arrives at your floor. He’s just checking. Nothing suspicious or untoward. Yet all of that is scrapped— another deviation from his initial plan— when he sees you sitting on your couch, sorting through a pile of mail on your coffee table. With a mind of their own, his knuckles knock lightly against the glass and he can’t help but let a humorous snort slip out when your body jerked with a visceral startle, head whipping towards the source of your adrenaline spike.

You don’t need to verbally question his sudden appearance when it’s written all over your face.  Your eyebrows are knitted and arched, mouth turned down in a slight frown, hands clenched in fists with visible tension and unease. “Alhaitham, what– I mean–”

He holds up the food behind the windowpane for you to see. “I wanted to bring you dinner since you probably don’t have anything prepared on your first night back.”

Without another word, you slide open the window, letting him clamber through as you take the bag from him. He retrieves it as you lock the window and yank the curtains together, setting it on the table away from a mound of what he presumes to be junk mail. You scramble for words and coherency as you search for clean plates and utensils, but the effort is fruitless. There’s a trapped shriek in your chest and you don’t know how to snuff it out.

Dinner is a quiet affair, save for some awkward small talk here and there. He makes it a point to give you extras, whether it be a little more mint cilantro or tamarind chutney for the samosas (despite it being his favorite) or more of the lamb from the biryani. Each little morsel pushes your heart further up your throat, further sending you into a downward spiral. Why is he so kind and caring when you had essentially kicked him out last time? Why is he going out of his way to make up for a wrong he never committed?

Alhaitham basks in your company, taking in every detail of your outward appearance. You seem skinnier than before, hair just a little bit longer. A few fresh, healing cuts on your hand stand out to him and he hopes they were all accidental and not intentionally created by another human being. There’s so much he wants to say and question, but for once he cannot find the right words. Rarely has he ever felt as though he was skating on paper-thin ice with someone – years of not caring or sparing thoughts for how others might perceive him lends nothing to resolve his state of incertitude. So the only way he can currently try to communicate is through actions, hence the extra foods and your favorite parts of them, making sure you have a usable napkin at all times, refilling your cup of water when it starts to look low, and more.

With a full belly, you sigh with satisfaction, a breath that appeases Alhaitham just the slightest bit. “That was good. Thank you for bringing it.”

“You’re welcome. Was the food in Fontaine not to your taste?”

You hum in thought. “A bit bland, honestly. Not as many spices are used in their foods like they are here.”

“Ah.”

The two of you sit silently for a few moments. You’re looking anywhere and at anything but him, your knee bouncing and hands wringing together. Is he trying to let you down easy? Soften the blow? What is his end goal?

His fingers tap the table in a silent rhythm, noticing that despite the small talk, the tension in the air is still viscous. He ignores the gnawing desire to hold your hand and squeeze it tight, to graze his thumb over those scabs and kiss them. He’s not ready to leave yet, which is why he juts his chin towards the only unopened bag on the table and says, “I also brought dessert. Would you care to have some now?”

No. Yes. I don’t know. I can think of something else I want for dessert but that’s not the point right now, is what runs through your head.

“Sure. What is it? I might have something to go with it.”

“It’s baklava.”

For him to remember that baklava from Pupusa Cafe is your preferred dessert when eating your favorite dishes is even more mind-boggling in this whole situation.

You stand on shaky legs and walk towards the pantry. “Does wine sound okay?”

Alhaitham ponders your last mutual experience with alcohol, which had ended in a disaster, even if he knew full well that it wasn’t a cause by any means; an unintended catalyst. As long as neither overindulged, it would be harmless. Right?

So he nods. “That sounds good.”

You return with a corkscrew opener, two stemless wine glasses, and one of your better bottles of aged wine. Alhaitham remains silent as he takes the opener from you and drives it into the cork, hand twisting the top knob with ease. You feel shameless in the way you stare at his arms, watching his muscles flex. The veins in his hand become more visible and you can see the tension in his forearm through his arm guards, all the more when he pushes the levers closed and wiggles the cork out of its confines. He takes good care to tactfully remove the cork and place it on the table, and pours a glass for you first.

“Thank you,” you murmur as you take it from him with both hands, ignoring the way his fingers seem to linger after making contact with yours. You portion out the baklava as he pours a glass for himself and he voices his gratitude in turn.    

As you nibble on the delicacy, the silence weighs heavily on your chest, both a burden and a source of comfort. “Did you find everything you needed in Fontaine for your research?” he asks, once again attempting to make some neutral conversation. Alhaitham has never been one for sweets, but he’s willing to eat it for and with you. The cafe’s baklava is one of few desserts he can handle, as it’s not as sickeningly sweet as some other places’ when they’ve added too much syrup.

You chew slowly as you think of your answer. “I think so. I feel pretty good about my report.”

“I’ll be sure to read it soon,” he responds. After all, he is a pretty quick reader, and with the dwindling number of research project applications, he can efficiently get through the other reports to make sure he reviews yours before he goes back to being the Scribe.

“You know, there’s no need to rush on my account,” you say. Honestly, that’s the last thing you need because it would confirm your worst fears and assumptions. Everything discussed with Lumine would’ve been tossed violently out the window, and you so badly don’t want it to manifest.

“...I won’t,” he assures you. Alhaitham understands your research paper needs to be treated like every other one passing through the Akademiya, especially if he is going to be one of the formal reviewers.

You feel your lungs losing air, your heart rate soaring through the roof. With a stroke of luck, your glasses of wine are finished off and the plates hold nothing but crumbs, which provides a perfect excuse for you to get up and get away.

“I’m gonna wash the dishes,” you announce, voice doing little to hide how nervous and shaky you’re feeling. It’s another miracle that you don’t drop anything on the trek from the dining table to the sink as you wonder if you’ve killed any chance of being with Alhaitham. Where was the confidence you possessed when you first met the man?

Even being mere meters away from him becomes painful. His presence alone provides a sense of security, strong and silent. The lack of warmth, the string between you two pulled taut, ignites an obdurate yearning – the very same yearning experienced when you spent days avoiding the man prior to your departure for Fontaine. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, as they all say, and there certainly was some merit to it.

The silence remains suffocating, in some ways, but also comforts you with its deep pressure, distracting you enough that you fail to notice Alhaitham moving around. He removes his cloak and earpieces, draping them neatly over the couch armrest before he comes to stand next to you at the sink. He grabs a towel and is ready to dry when you’re done washing the dishes. Your muscles begin to relax, that earlier frost of loneliness gradually dissipating with his presence nearby. He dries everything with the utmost care and lines them up neatly as you hand them over, and you ignore the little brushes of his fingers against yours with each relinquished plate. You can’t help but wonder if he can feel the heat emanating from your cheeks because honestly, you feel like your face is on fire.

Alhaitham finishes drying off the last item – the second stemless wine glass – and turns to lean his back against the counter with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He waits as you rinse down the sink and passes you the towel to dry off your hands. Your timid smile leaves him hopeful that you’re not visibly shying away from him— not visibly, at least. Seconds pass, and now there is nothing left for you to do or keep yourself busy. He waits for you to gather your bearings and settle to show that you’re ready to talk about… whatever this is.

Those haunting irises suddenly meet his with an alarming amount of determination, holding steadfast and searching his for something, anything. He can’t bear to lose and look away, not that he wants to. Yet you remain quiet, and Alhaitham leans into his impulses.

With firm, sure hands, he pulls you toward his original spot and lifts you up just enough so that you’re sitting on the counter. Alhaitham plants them by your waist and bends down to be level with your gaze, which now holds hints of fear and surprise. They’re open wide, your pupils slowly dilating, and he catches a glimpse of your fingers curling around the edges of the counter. He so badly wants to cradle your face in his hands, to feel your physical presence and prove to himself that you’re really here before him. But that is intimacy he hasn’t quite been granted yet and he can’t mess this up. He must’ve done something wrong the last time he was here, and he most certainly doesn’t want to risk the same outcome again.

“I like you,” he proclaims with a resolute tone. Alhaitham has always hated beating around the bush when unnecessary, and at this point he needs it said out loud for you to know. “I have been attracted to you since the moment we met, and I used to believe that it was purely a biological response. But then I wanted to know more about you. I wanted to learn more about who you are and how your mind works. To be quite honest, I can’t stand the thought of anyone else being in my position right now. I will not hide the fact that I am selfish and want you all for myself, if you would have me.”

You are struggling so hard to keep the smile off your face, your mouth pursing while your teeth dig into the inside of your bottom lip. Three months ago, you would never have seen this coming, and you would have laughed in anyone’s face if they had suggested it.

“If you need time, I can wait. I am not always the most patient person, but for you, I am willing to do so. And–”

“I was worried that you wouldn’t want to see me again after having sex,” you interject and confess. The embarrassment of your thoughts and actions quickly becomes a heavy weight in your chest. Your nerves strain to get the better of you and shut you down before saying more, but you force yourself to push past them. Alhaitham provided you with honesty and transparency, and he deserves the same from you. “We had so much tension between us and I was worried that once it was all resolved, you wouldn’t feel the need to see me again.”

Alhaitham takes a moment to process your words, but he can still see the tension in your shoulders. You won’t meet his gaze as you look past him or at other parts of his body. “There’s something else, is there not?”

You look down at your hands in your lap, your fingers intertwined and fingertips applying pressure where they land. With how forthcoming he has been, you owe it to him to extend the same courtesy, despite how silly it feels now.

“I couldn’t understand why you would even like me,” you say, voice soft and barely audible in the silence. You’re unable to mask the melancholy in your tone when you remember how it felt to internally question his affections and assume the worst. A quiet chuckle slips past your lips, but it’s derisive and bittersweet. “I’m just another scholar and you— you were the Scribe and later Acting Grand Sage. I thought maybe people would accuse me of… providing sexual favors, to put it lightly, if you showed me any leniency or favoritism in my academic career.”

The back of your knuckles brush against his cheek as you lift your head up to take him in. “You could have anyone in the world and you deserve nothing but the best. So why me?”

“I would need a few all-nighters and several pieces of paper to pen down every reason why.”

His quick reasoning with all indicators of certainty – his tone, the lack of any dishonesty in his eyes, the way he holds your eye contact – takes you for a loop. You’re only able to let out a soft “oh” as you let the implications of his words swim in your brain, leaving you helpless to find a suitable response. How do you follow up on an answer like that?

When he feels your fingers slipping down his jawline, he stops it with his own to press his cheek into your palm. “If it provides you any comfort, I will no longer be the Acting Grand Sage by next week. You know how long I’ve waited for them to process and approve of my resignation. And as the Scribe… it still does not matter. People who would assume something so salacious are simply capitalizing on their own insecurities, and they do not deserve a second of your time or an ounce of room in your thoughts. I do my best to exercise fairness and reason in all matters for the Akademiya, and even as my partner you would not be safe from that.

“I’ve never shied away from telling you how things are and you know this. I can ensure you would not earn any favoritism or leniency within the boundaries of the Akademiya, should my presence be involved in your research.”

The smirk that creeps up at the corner of his lips ignites a small flame in your belly – thrill and heat and trepidation all melding together. “Now, outside of those boundaries, it’s a different matter. If I may pry once more, what is your answer?”

Liquid fire pumps from your heart and into your veins, further fueling the heat in your core. Just as it dips dangerously lower, so does your hand, and the other joins in lightly scraping your nails down his abdomen. You feel him jump beneath your touch and relish in the sound of his swallow, and how his breath hitches when your fingertips dip into the band of his pants. They tug him forward until he’s standing between your thighs, just centimeters of nothingness between you two. Even as close as he is, Alhaitham can’t help but think there’s still too much space unoccupied.

Your eyes scream, beseeching him to understand your actions and for him to respond in kind. It can only mean one thing, but he wants to hear those words. He wants it engraved in his memories for the rest of time, despite the desperation to give in and give you both what you desire and need. Alhaitham grasps your chin between his thumb and curled index finger, leaning forward closer and closer until his lips barely touch yours.

“Use your words.”

Arousal seeps through your underwear as the subdued tenor of his voice sends shivers down your spine. Wholly unfair, this man is. Devilish, demanding, teasing, controlling – but most of all, he is yours.

“Please let me have you, if you will have me,” you whisper against his lips, eyelashes fluttering closed at the faint touch.

No sooner when you are greeted by darkness does he fully slot his mouth against yours, hands gripping tightly on your hips to pull you against him. A groan slips past and into you because gods, he’s missed this so much. After nights of waking up with the ghost of your kisses, he never wants this to end and longs for a reality where time can stop and he can take his sweet, sweet time to worship every millimeter of your body with his lips, and then some. Excitement electrifies his whole body when you reciprocate his desire ounce for ounce, and even more so when you let out a pretty little whine, just for him.

When he pulls back for a chance to breathe, he doesn’t move far. “Good girl,” he praises so sweetly, the words washing over you in something akin to pride for eliciting his approval and pleasing him. Alhaitham slides the tip of his nose against yours, moving to kiss your forehead, then your cheeks, your jawline, and the pulse point on your neck. Even the slightest pressure has you tilting your head to the side, granting him permission and room to do as he pleases. Alhaitham bides his time to press whispers of kisses onto your skin until he nips a sensitive spot. A sharp inhale pierces through the kitchen when he sucks on the patch of skin caught between his teeth, taking the utmost care to break the little capillaries underneath. He wants you to experience his phantom touches on these spots in the hours when he’s away from you, a constant reminder that you are his and his alone.

Your fingers dig into Alhaitham’s silver locks, torn between pressing him further into your neck and pulling him away. “Haitham,” you plead and tug on his strands, which only prompts an even harsher abrasion from him. “Wanna kiss you.” Your voice is breathy, and you feel as if you’re on the verge of tears. Who is he to deny such a reasonable request?

Though instead, he pulls you off the counter and rushes to your bedroom with you in tow, granting your wish as soon as you enter. The back of his knees hit the foot of your bed and Alhaitham drags you with him when he sits on top of your blankets. Despite your eagerness to clamber over and straddle him, he disapproves when you attempt to exercise a modicum of control over the situation by leveraging some height over him, utilizing gravity to lean into his embrace and kisses. His palms slide up your thighs with reverence until they dig into the crevice of your hips and yank them down. To have you pressed fully against him is most certainly a blessing, and there’s no way you don’t feel his growing arousal against yours.

When he feels his bottom lip stuck between your teeth, Alhaitham smiles. It still seems you’re not fully understanding the position you’re in. Perhaps, he might need to remind you of just who exactly is succumbing to who.

You keen when his hands dip underneath your shirt to draw meaningless patterns into your waist, but also to make his mark as he holds tight enough that you think you would feel some internal bruising tomorrow. They dance higher and higher, until they meet the bottom seam of your bra, and you nearly choke with the arousal suffocating your lungs.

“Can I?” Alhaitham almost begs, but watches for any sign of hesitation.

“Yes,” you breathe back. You lift your arms up, waiting with thinning patience, and he wastes no time in following through, tossing the shirt to the side with one hand as the other busies to unhook the metal clasp of your bra. Soon enough, your upper body is bare for him to see, to touch, to love – and his breath is taken away because you are so, so beautiful; perfect breasts with hardened nipples, an empty canvas all for him. He made a mistake last time for not seeing them properly, having been too focused on the way they felt against his chest instead.

“Fuck me,” he murmurs. His subsequent scoff feels derisive, sardonic, self-destructive, and his thumbs ghost over your areolas. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous – this is unfair.”

“You’re the one who’s unfair,” you retaliate with a shaky breath as you nearly tear off his shirt. One look at his muscular and toned frame, and it takes everything to stop the drool from spilling past your lips. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

“Be careful,” he warns, his fingers digging into the flesh just underneath your breasts. Alhaitham holds onto you as he scoots further back onto the bed, and once he deems there’s enough room, he rolls over until he’s hovering above you, panting and hair splayed and lips swollen. “I’m just a feeble scholar.”

When you roll your eyes with an excessive amount of sass, he dips down to capture your right nipple in his mouth and gives a harsh suck as punishment, satisfied when all defiance on your face morphs into pleasure. Pretty, responsive, little angel, all for him, so sweet, so delicate, so adorable when your spine arches into his mouth and continues to suspend itself as he pays his respects to your other breast. You feel your conscience become fuzzier and fuzzier, dissolving into mush as the tendrils of overstimulation begin to grow, and once again, you find yourself torn between wanting to let him continue and wanting him to stop.

He decides to grant you some mercy when you can’t help but twitch and shy away. Alhaitham’s primal desires begin to crest and wash away any rationale, desperate to keep the taste and feel of your skin between his lips and on his tongue. He doesn’t quite understand this newfound desire to nip and bite, but all he knows is that when he does, his arousal pulses and nearly threatens to break past the seam of his pants. Alhaitham moves lower, lower, ghosting past your stomach, nudging past the band of your bottoms and underwear to tug them down all the way. Those are thrown out of view and he finally, finally, gets to continue from where he last left off, taking no time to push your legs away towards your chest and give a lascivious lick up the length of your cunt. The tip of his tongue meets your clit at the end of its journey, and he firmly holds you down when your hips buck into his mouth as it circles the nub.

It’s game over when he takes it fully in his mouth.

Your hands twist themselves once more into his silver hair, expletives slipping off your tongue as you chase your high. You feel your pussy clench around nothing the higher you climb, the coil in your core winding tighter and tighter. He eats you out like a man starved, enthusiasm unveiled and clear. His passion unbridled and sending you further into the clouds, you feel tears in your eyes begin to well up from sheer bliss, so sensitive and so unbelievably unprepared for everything this man was going to give you tonight. “Haitham,” you cry over and over, his name a mantra and prayer.

When he leans back, you catch a glimpse of the sheen on his chin and the way his eyes remain focused on your arousal, pupils blown. “You taste so good,” he compliments, his voice somehow having dropped an octave lower. “Could eat you out for hours. So good for me, fuck.” It’s dangerous how much you love to hear him curse, knowing that you are the reason why. The rational, feeble, well-spoken scholar, his prose extending to situations such as now, is almost reduced to such crude and filthy vocabulary.

Alhaitham would need to be blind to miss your sticky precum practically spilling from your core after what he said. It’d be a shame to let any of it go to waste, he muses, as he drags his tongue up the length of your cunt and pays attention to your clit again. He watches for every reaction, what makes you tug him closer, what makes your body twitch and convulse, what causes the shakiest exhales from your lungs, what contributes to your squeals and cries – he wants you to get a taste of just how unhinged he becomes in your presence.

Each moment of friction, so wet and slick, against your core seems to send you further and further into oblivion. Tears overflow when your heart bursts and Alhaitham doesn’t miss them – the sheen sliding down the sides of your face shines in the moonlight and he knows there is no reason to fear you’re in pain. He drinks in your moans and feels your fingers tangle further in his silver strands, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, your hips with a mind of their own as you grind against his tongue and nose to chase your release. Alhaitham pays no mind to the way his cock twitches once more in his pants or the unmistakable wet spot that’s formed from his own precum.

The coil in your abdomen wounds tighter and tighter. There is nothing on your mind but the man between your legs and your impending orgasm, one with an intensity you haven’t experienced in ages. “ ‘m close,” you gasp and meet his burning gaze. “Please, wanna cum – yes – please, sir–”

How he doesn’t cum in his pants at the title is beyond his comprehension, but the stroke to his ego is welcoming, to say the least. Alhaitham never felt any type of way when others addressed him as so, sometimes annoyed even, but from you? It is everything. A verbal indication of relinquishing your power to him, your existence at its highest vulnerability, the underlying respect, the implicit trust hidden between three letters – only has him pushing down harder against your thighs, leaving no room for you to fight. The resolve and determination to have you cum on his tongue only increases and his thoughts plunder further into hell. Cum for me, cum on my tongue, let me taste your release that I give you, so fucking addictive – his silent commands painted on your tight bundle of nerves.

With Alhaitham exercising a dizzyingly sinful strength against you, leaving you helpless and defenseless, you let yourself succumb as your heart rate increases. Your breathy warnings and pleas, the oh fuck!s, the whimpering sir!s, confessions of love on the tip of your tongue – you have one minute, moment of clarity when your body freezes, and the coil snaps.

You don’t think you’ve ever cum so hard before, reality-shattering, nerves on overdrive, your body trembling beneath his palms as you ride out the pleasure for as long as you can. The quiet scream from your lungs is inevitable as it dissolves into sobs and Alhaithm follows you when your hips buck. There’s not enough oxygen for you and you can feel the visceral clenching of your abdomen as you fight for air and some semblance of control again – but that flies out the window when, for the first time tonight, Alhaitham slides his tongue inside your quivering cunt.

Said Scribe cannot help but groan, and he wishes he’d done this earlier. To feel your creamy walls squeeze as his taste buds slide amongst them, your keening ringing in his ears, the shaking of your thighs a prisoner between his fingers, the intoxicating taste of your cum – all of it is more than he could have ever dreamed of. Right where he wants you, and all his, his, his.

The incessant tugging of his hair tells him to stop for now, as much as he doesn’t want to. If it were up to him, he’d have you cumming on his tongue for hours, his hard cock be damned. But your convulsions of overstimulation manage to generate the slightest bit of sympathy and he laments when pulling away. His eyes hone in on the way your pussy contracts around nothing, almost begging for something to fill you again. “Good girl,” he praises, tenor delicate and charming, as he rubs gentle circles on your abdomen in an attempt to ground you. There are stars in your eyes, and he waits for you to come back to him.

You barely register Alhaitham’s hand on your body as you stare up at the ceiling, brain and soul somewhat disconnected due to the high of your orgasm. So good to me, your thoughts coo. Haitham, sir, how can I show my gratitude to him?

“Y/N,” and at last, you make eye contact with him. He preens at the blissed out look on your face and moves forward until he’s lying next to you, his weight supported on one arm while the other brushes away your baby hairs. A dreamy smile graces your lips, and he can’t help but lean forward for a soft kiss. Languid, sensual, pliant – several minutes fly by as you bask in each other’s presence until the need for more begins to bloom again. Alhaitham lets out a chuckle when he feels your hand wandering down his frame until it rests on his crotch. Making out with you has kept him semi-hard, and he’s happy you’re taking the initiative. Not that you’re in control, by any means, but it’s cute that you might think so.

Your mind reels from just how big he feels beneath your palm. You can’t deny the times when you’ve sneaked glances at his crotch, his tight pants outlining a slight bulge from day to day – but you never thought your fingers would be splayed so far apart, and you just know they would struggle to meet when gripping his length. Your whines reach his ears as you fumble with the clasp above the zipper, and Alhaitham is so kind, kind enough to take over and do it for you. Seconds later, his pants and underwear join the pile of forgotten clothes, and you immediately look down at what you’ve been waiting for.

The instant pooling of saliva in your mouth is embarrassing, shame and lust spilling into your chest and through your veins. Alhaitham’s cock is so beautiful, just like the rest of him, and you’ve never wanted something in your mouth so bad. It twitches under your reverent gaze, and the tip glistens with his precum. Even the noticeable veins drawn along his length are beautiful, and his balls seem to be engorged, heavy with cum. You prove your earlier hypothesis when you hold it in your hand, and your fingers truly do not meet around the circumference. A gush of slick leaks and paints your inner thighs, your hand seemingly tiny in comparison as you slowly stroke him.

Alhaitham hisses at your touch, so cold against the heat of his cock. There’s a passing thought of wanting to keep that fawning look on your face at all times, the metaphorical hearts in your eyes with his dick in your hand. In a moment of weakness, the thought begins to spiral into darker fantasies, how to keep you hooked and dependent on him, his cock, his mouth, his touch. A flash of a daydream crosses by of him sitting in his office chair, you on your knees between his legs, his shaft bullied deep in your throat as you keep it warm for him, drool and spit spilling from the corner of your lips, so submissive and desperate for him to fuck your face–

Your thumb glosses over his frenulum and he is ripped from his reverie. At risk of cumming too quickly, he thinks of how to keep your soft hands away for now. What can he use? How can he restrict you?

Ah.

Confused whimpers follow after him when he abruptly stands up from your bed and walks over to the pile of discarded clothes. You miss the warmth of his body next to you, goosebumps from the sudden chill rising on your skin. But before you can begin to chase after him, he returns to sit on the bed and beckons for you to sit up for him.

He loves how willing you are to obey him, your eyes wide and a little awestruck as you follow his gesture – almost as if he were your puppeteer. Alhaitham holds out his hands in front of him, palms facing the ceiling, and you match the posture with intrigue painted across your face. As you wait, clarification comes to you when he reveals the patterned, teal sash that usually encompasses his hips. Slow, deliberate movements as he wraps the cloth around your wrists (in case you don’t want it because he would never force you to do anything you were uncomfortable with), indicate this uncharted territory. And when the tie is made and the knot is pulled tight, you look up at him.

“Is this okay?” He asks. When you give a mute nod, he clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Words, Y/N.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer. “Yes, sir, it’s okay.”

Alhaitham watches as you lay back until your head meets the pillow, and your bound wrists lay prettily above your head. Your constrained and exposed body greets him. He sees your eyes strain to catch another glance at his cock, and the smirk on his lips is nothing but smug as he gives it a few quick pumps as a gift to you.

“Can you come here?” You plead because you know there’s no room to make any demands, and it’s his turn to be curious. Nevertheless, he resumes his original position by your side, but you shake your head. You can tell he doesn’t know what’s happening, but you are feeling shameless and powerless, at the mercy of this man, and you want him to really, really, drive that point deeper.

“Can you…straddle me? Like above my chest though?”

If this is going where Alhaitham thinks it’s going, he might just abandon the Akademiya altogether, whisk you away to his house, kick out Kaveh and have him live in your apartment instead, and keep his own doors locked for eternity. He does as you ask as he thrums in excitement, his cock weighty and leaking when you’re satisfied with where he is.

Time slows to a crawl as he watches you lift your head up with your pretty mouth open and take the tip of his cock between your glossy lips.

The tight heat is maddening, a strangled “fuck” falling off his tongue, and you push forward to take more of his length in your mouth. So dutiful and loyal, you have proven yourself, as you suck his cock with your eyes closed and moans vibrating around him. Given certain physical limitations, there’s only so much you can take in, which is where he believes it’s his time to act his part. He places a hand on the back of your skull to provide you some relief, but also to sink deeper down your throat. Naturally, you fall back until it’s just the head between your lips again, but he is right there to drag you back towards him and fill your depraved mouth.

“Look at you,” he hisses, controlling your pace. Such a good little fucktoy, no?  “Who knew you would want my cock so badly? For me to sit on top and watch as you struggle to even take half of it in your mouth? I don’t think you have any idea of what you’ve started. Your lips are stretched so wide, but just wide enough for me to fit perfectly in between them, like it was made for me. Maybe that’s what it is.” His perverse thoughts run wild without any composure or filter, and he is unable to hold it in. “You were made for me and my cock, and– oh fuck – it seems like you love the idea of being my personal cocksleeve.”

Your eagerness to please him increases as you strain to take more in, his tip slipping into and catching the back of your throat. The sound of you choking on his cock rings in your ears, sending you further and further into oblivion. Every word from Alhaitham sounds true, and he’s right – right that maybe you were specifically made for him, his own blessing from the Archons, and right that you deeply, painfully, love the idea of letting him use you as he wishes. A garbled cry, followed by more sticky release dripping from your cunt, doesn’t go unnoticed when his voice sounds ragged on the word “cocksleeve.” It’s a lascivious tone of accord and approval, and your tears flow when he pulls you as far down his length as your quenched throat allows, your chained wrists resting atop your skull, and he keeps you there.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” He asks with a teasing lilt in his voice. “I have no objections to fully commit to being yours, your sir. But you must understand I expect the same commitment in return. This cock is yours,” Alhaitham promises, relishing in your muffled whimper of agreement. “And you are mine. My,” – a pause – “personal, depraved, slut.”

At first, he worries he might have gone too far with such a derogatory term, but they are all dashed aside when he watches your eyelids flutter closed and eyes roll into the back of your head. A long whine sends him into overdrive, and even more so when you try to fit more of his cock down your throat. Expletives slip from his tongue as he pulls you away completely, a tendril of saliva connecting your lips to his tip, your mouth still wide open while gasping for air. He sees your own tongue peek out and rest on your bottom lip, pliant and waiting for him to return.

Alhaitham lets go of your skull and watches you fall back to your pillow. He moves your tied hands above and over your head until they settle right above your belly button. The position allows him to trap your arms beneath him and move just a little further up the bed for the bottom half of his length to weigh heavily on your eager mouth. It remains open as he drags his shaft along your tongue, teasing you by slipping the head of his cock in your mouth. Your lips immediately close around it, but they are no match for when he pulls away, and you’re left empty once again.

“Truly a cockslut,” he chides as his hand takes a hold of his length and smacks it against your tongue. “You’ll take everything I give you, won’t you?” And he smirks when you nod, still beckoning, still waiting. “You’ve done well for me so far. Perhaps I should give you a gift.”

There’s little time to regain your senses when he shoves his length in until it hits the back of your throat once more and grabs onto your headboard. Just that angle gives him enough leverage to fuck your face as he pleases.

“If your mouth is this tight, I can only imagine what your cunt will feel like on my cock,” he grits out. Your brain goes numb as you take it all in, content and satisfied to please Alhaitham. You focus on making sure your teeth don’t drag against his skin, tongue swiping patterns and circles around his cock when possible. “I’ll need to take my time stretching out your tiny pussy, won’t I? Fuck, need to make it fit inside you. Isn’t that right?”

Alhaitham pretends to be dissatisfied with your moan, all garbled and thick with drool. “How many times do I need to tell you to use your words?” He teases, knowing full well there’s no way for you to form any right now. But a wicked, joyous laugh rings in your ears when he can tell you’re attempting to do it anyways. It goes straight down his dick and into his balls, and as they tighten further, he knows he’s close.

You don’t know how it’s possible for him to grow any thicker, but somehow it happens when his pace increases, and he tells you, “I’m going to cum, okay? Going to give you all my cum, make you my cumslut. You want to be my cumslut, you’re doing so well, so perfect, letting me fuck your mouth. Shit, cumming, cumming –!”

At the very last second, he pulls out and furiously pumps his cock, shifting back just in time for his cum to paint your breasts. “Fuck!” He growls and rides out the high until there’s nothing left to give you, blinding light beneath his eyelids before he snaps them open so he can watch you become covered by his release. Viscous, white ropes paint over you, some even landing on your cheek and neck. His chest heaves and his eyes remain unfocused from the fog in his brain.

That is, until he watches you swipe his cum from your neck with your fingers before it drips onto the bed, and place them in your mouth. Your sigh screams content as you lick them clean, and as far as he can tell, you’re enjoying the taste of him – as if he was the one to sate your thirst rather than the other way around. In a trance, he joins you in your meal by feeding you more with his own appendages, and his dick returns to half-mast once all the cum is visibly gone and slid down your throat.

“Thank you for your cum,” you say, your voice dreamy and euphoric. Alhaitham pulls you by your bound wrists again until you’re sitting up close enough, and buries his head into your shoulder, embedding his own kisses of gratitude into your skin. It doesn’t matter that there’s dried spit on your chin and your hair is a mess – you’re still so incredibly stunning to him.

To look into your eyes, to cradle your face in his palm, to ghost his thumb over your cheekbone, how lucky he is to be in a position to even ask you, “Was that okay?”

“Very,” you smile, unabashed and clearly happy with everything that had just happened. A small giggle slips out as well.

“Good,” he murmurs after kissing your forehead. “Would you be open to one more round? It seems I haven’t gotten enough of you.”

You see the evidence of his claims, how his cock gradually grows and rises under your watchful stare. His earlier words of needing to stretch you out before he can fuck you play in your head, and they remind you of just how wet you are. Still tied up, you scoot back away from him until you can stretch your legs out, parted to reveal what you so desperately wanted to touch as his dick was lodged in your mouth. Alhaitham’s pupils dilate and zero in on the mess between your thighs, and he chases after you to spread your legs farther.

“You became this wet from me fucking your mouth?” His fingers slide against the folds of your puffy cunt, your clit peeking out and swollen. “Tsk, all this pre gone to waste,” and you whimper when his nails barely graze that bundle of nerves, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. There’s no resistance when he works his middle finger inside you and your breath hitches. He turns his wrist as he fingers you, creating more and more arousal coursing through your veins. Alhaitham is proud that one finger of his affects you so. You whine and reach for him with grabby hands, managing to latch onto his wrist so he can keep his appendages buried inside you. “My my,” he teases, and his fingers curl, searching and searching until his fingertip taps against the exact spot that makes your back arch.

“You’re so eager to be filled,” Alhaitham taunts as he lubes up his ring finger with your slick. You feel even tighter when it slips in with his middle finger, and he finds that spot again in no time, already having memorized where it is. “You don’t have my permission to cum yet,” he warns, a decision just made when your walls are really beginning to clench around him.

“B-but–”

A third finger joins in, cutting you off from any protesting. “You either cum on my cock or not at all,” he offers and you think it’s beyond cruel. Why can’t you cum on his fingers and his cock?

With every last thread of your existence, you stamp down the growing desire to cum again. It feels like hours have passed, your sanity barely intact, when Alhaitham hums, just loud enough to be heard amongst your moans and whines. “I’m beginning to question whether I truly am too big for you,” he contemplates out loud. “What do you think, Y/N?”

It’s so hard to answer his question when you’re using everything else inside you to not break around his fingers. The depraved squelching of your slick only adds fuel to the fire in your core, and you’re trying to think, you really are–

The friction ceases, and before you can even address it, there’s a light, punishing slap across your clit. “Fuck,” you whimper, throat dry.

“Answer my question. Do you think I might not fit inside you?”

You know what answer he’s looking for. You know he wants you to surrender to his hidden intentions, that, “It doesn’t matter,” and you swallow. “I will…make it fit.”

In turn, he removes his fingers with care, but leaves you horribly empty with the void expanding into your chest. “Do you have a condom?” Alhaitham asks while looking around your bedroom.

“The bottom drawer on the right in the bathroom.”

Your sir leans forward to place a gentle kiss on your stomach. “I will return soon.”

For the seconds that you try to catch your breath, to calm your beating heart, to ignore the vacuity between your legs, you realize just where you are and who you’re with. You haven’t had much of a clear mind since the second he knocked on your window, caught up in the whirlwind of your nerves and paranoia – and then to have it turned on its head where you now lay in your bed, free of any prior anxiety, and drown in your lust.

Alhaitham wanders back into your room, focused on the package in his hand. Shameless and perverse, your eyes drink in his length, bobbing with each step. Even you’re beginning to doubt your ability to take him all in, but the anticipation, the threads of excitement that you may be filled again clouds over everything else.

“Hold your legs for me,” he commands gently, and you obey once he unties the sash around your wrists. Your arms hook beneath your knees so that everything is displayed and exposed to him. He sets the condom to the side when he shuffles closer so his hips meet the bottom of your thighs. Your breath hitches when he presses his cock onto your abdomen, and it pleases both of you so much to see that his tip just about reaches your belly button. “Look at how deep it’ll be inside you,” he coos, your whine following. “But it’s okay if you can’t take it all, you can’t help it that your little cunt is so tight.”

There’s a twinge of faux disappointment in his words. As if on instinct, you shake your head in vehement disagreement. “I’ll make it fit, sir, I promise,” you gasp and pull your legs closer to you. “We have to make it fit.”

“Mmm, my eager cocksleeve,” he responds with mirth, his regales washing away the panic from your system. You wait with bated breath as he grinds the underside of his entire length against your glistening folds, purposely catching onto your clit when possible. You’re not sure how much longer you can stand the torture, becoming wetter and wetter with each glide. “The color system is okay to check in with you?”

“Yes.”

He nods and leans back so the tip of his cock is just outside your entrance. His fingers roll and stretch the condom down his length. It takes a tremendous amount of effort to tear his gaze away from your core so he can obtain your consent to start, and the determined nod he receives sets his heart aflame.

A sinful perversion enters his mind as he watches your messy cunt split open and stretch over the head of his cock. He thinks about the future and wonders when the day will be for you to be in his lap and sink down his cock with no hesitation. His thumbs spread your folds further apart so he can get a better look, his lustful illusions from many lonely nights finally coming into play. Your breathy gasp when the head pops in is alluring, and he craves more of it. That perversion echoes its lack of satisfaction, that this is not enough, and he needs it all. Pride fills his chest as you take the first few inches with no problem, trying to take deep breaths as he continues to bully his way into your pussy.

Though internally, your mind is on the verge of breaking from how thick Alhaitham is. The emptiness from earlier has long been fulfilled, and you take a look to see that he’s barely fit half oh him inside you, and you already feel so full.

You were made for me.

I was made for him, you remind yourself, rationality thrown out the window because serving Alhaitham is all that matters in this moment. He’s giving you his cock, taking his time for you, providing a subtle reminder of just who you will belong to from here on out. Alhaitham has been so kind to you, you think. The least you could do is to be his good little slut, so eager and always yearning for him.

“You’re doing so well,” Alhaitham praises, though his voice chokes. You’re terribly tight around him, so much so that he wonders if he would even be able to pull out once he’s buried all of himself inside you. It wouldn’t be much of a problem, he thinks, to have you stuck on his cock for eternity, fucked dumb with nothing on your mind but him and pleasure. His hand puts the slightest pressure on your abdomen, but it’s enough for you to break with an “oh!”

“Fuck, I can almost feel myself inside you,” he marvels. “Color?”

It takes you a few seconds to process his question. “Green,” falls off your tongue with a whimper. But the bit of hesitation is enough for Alhaitham to stop in his tracks.

“Y/N, look at me.”

A dreamy hum on your lips, your blown out eyes meet his, and he realizes how far gone you are. “We can stop, it’s okay if we do.” But that may have been the wrong thing to say because your face falls, tears prickling your eyes. “I can do it,” you sniffle. “Please, sir.”

There is no way for him to remain unaffected by the way you address him, but he ensures to take extra care for the last few inches.

“You’re doing so well, taking all of me in. You’re keeping your promise, I’m so proud of you,” Alhaitham coos. The bottom of his shaft is just a little bit thicker, and you let out a happy squeal when your cunt stretches as much as it can to accommodate him. His tip barely grazes your cervix, and through your floaty thoughts, you almost wish it was deeper. The groan from Alhaitham as he bottoms out provides you comfort. It can only mean that you’re making him feel good, and that you did manage to have him fit inside you. So pleased with yourself, your pussy clenches around him and coaxes for more, for his cum.

If Alhaitham didn’t have better control of himself, he would’ve cum right then and there. Buried deep inside you, warm velvety walls sucking him in – it’s hard to believe that this is really happening. The person he loves is in his arms, joined with him in the most intimate way known to mankind. He never wants to leave you, leave this, yet his cock begs for friction. Your adorable whine of protest as he slides out a couple inches beckons him to return, and return he does as you let out a sound of pure satisfaction.

“Loveyou,” your words slurred together and fuzzy. “Love, love your cock, please, wan’ more, please?”

Archons, how are you so perfect for him? Alhaitham sets a steady, moderate pace and focuses on you, ensuring that you’re okay and pleased. It seems there’s a permanent grin on your face, even when you gasp or scream, and he’s determined to keep it there. When you seem completely accustomed to his pace, his strokes become longer and more indulgent. “Fuck,” you cry each time he fills you up with more and more of his cock with each stroke. His thumbs rub circles into your clit and drive you closer to your peak – you don’t know if you’re ready to cum yet, or if you want this to end. You don’t, but you’re so close–!

“Such a good girl for me – your little cunny was really made for my cock. There’s no one else for me, just you, pretty girl,” he breathes, seeing the hesitation on your face as your walls clench tighter than before. “I know you’re gonna cum soon, I want to see you cum on my cock. Can you do that for me?”

Anything he asks for, you would go to great lengths to give him what he wants. So if he wants you to cum, then you have to. You nod with a pout on your face, but Alhaitham leans forward, pushing your legs back further as he reaches to kiss the pout away. “That’s my good girl, so perfect.”

He pulls out completely, but why?

Alhaithm grabs and maintains eye contact with you for two agonizing seconds, and then commands you to, “Cum for me.”

And you do just that when he slams his entire length inside you as soon as those words leave his lips.

Alhaitham basks in your scream and sobs, your body convulsing and trembling beneath him, your walls an impossible vice around his cock. He grinds against you to go as deep as he can, “fuckfuckfuck”, and a growl buried in your neck as he cums. In your high, you think you can feel the heat and its spasms of it all, passively wondering what it would feel like to have him cum inside you without a condom. Perhaps one day you’ll be granted a nice little breeding session, but that is neither here nor there.

Alhaitham plants pecks and kisses all over your face, neck, and shoulders, smiling when your little giggles reach his heart. If anything, he’s just happy that everything turned out okay and didn’t end up in a disaster like last time. As he observes the serenity gracing your complexion, he cannot contain his affection any longer.

“Thank you…for having me.” I love you.

Another giggle. “I love you, too, Haitham. A lot.”

You’re kindly gifted a most adoring eskimo kiss. “I need to get you cleaned up, so I need to pull out, okay?”

The pout returns despite your agreement, and Alhaitham spends much needed time to pull out without you breaking. The devil on his shoulder protests otherwise, as it attempts to coax him into keeping you speared on his cock for the night, or more. Your whine of loss tugs at his heartstrings and feeds into his greed, and he embraces you once more to keep you grounded. Slowly, but surely, you return to your senses. Alhaitham is heavy and sweaty against you, but it’s more than you could ask for. A few taps on his shoulder are enough to tell him that you’re back on the same plane of reality with him, and he dives in to kiss you again, painting compliments and praises of how amazing you were along your lips.  

Alhaitham then sweeps you off the bed, into his arms, and takes hurried steps towards the bathroom. You’re like a delicate flower with the way he places you on the toilet, and he reminds you of the importance of peeing after sex. Your privacy is granted when he leaves to remove and tie off the condom to discard it in the kitchen trash can, and later returns with a warm, wet towel. He waits until you’re back in bed and comfortable before he tenderly wipes away any excess fluids and leaves it on your nightstand before cuddling next to you. You turn towards him and burrow into his chest, content as his arms embrace you with an air of security and protection.

He mumbles something into your hair, but you’re out before you can even think to ask what he said.

-

When you finally come to, you can’t remember the last time you slept so well. No tiresome dreams, no sporadically waking up in the night – weeks out in the nature with Lumine had turned you into a light sleeper, and you missed this feeling of being so well-rested.

But the soreness in your thighs screams otherwise, and you wince when they refuse to cooperate. A muscular arm rests around you as if it has always belonged there. At first you question why it’s there, but then your brain decides to wake up and remind you just exactly of what transpired last night. Despite the mixture of shock and embarrassment (mainly at just how wanton you acted), you look up from where you are buried into Alhaitham’s chest. Somehow, you’re surprised to see him already awake. Well, surprised may not be the right word. But the clear adoration in his eyes is unmistakable, seizing and pulling on your heartstrings.

Alhaitham quite enjoys watching you think and process, imagining the fine-tuned gears and cogs in your brain working in overdrive. He remains silent as he smooths out some of the tangles in your hair, and he patiently waits to hear from you. You two had already experienced many hours of quietude before, so this was nothing new for him. There are very few moments in his life when he’s felt this serene and content, half-naked and you pressed against him, both drinking in each other and the light of day coming from your window. He could get used to this. He wants to get used to this.

“You’re making me breakfast in bed,” you decide with your first words of the day, grumbling with a pout on your face. “I don’t think I can walk properly.”

The former scribe arches a perfect silver brow, but the shit-eating smirk stretching along his face is anything but confusion. He knows exactly what you’re implying, and he’s quite satisfied with himself for causing such a situation. Perhaps he should do it more often.

“That I can do,” he agrees, his morning voice deep, yet full of mirth. After a quick kiss on your forehead, he rolls out of bed to do just as you command.

The growl from your stomach prevents you from calling him back because you’re cold now. A shiver runs down your spine as you tighten the blanket and sheet around you, tucking some beneath your chin in an attempt to trap whatever warmth you have left. But when you catch a hint of Alhaitham’s lingering scent, you feel yourself immediately calm down and breathe evenly. The gentle cluttering from your kitchen provides another layer of security as well.

Lost in your basking, you’re quite startled when you feel Alhaitham’s lips on your cheek, a tray in his hands with a light, yet nutritious breakfast arranged. But as you continue to lay there, he can’t help but laugh.

“Do you need help sitting up?”

“No.”

“Don’t be stubborn.”

You do, in fact, need his strength to sit up comfortably against some pillows. The embarrassment hasn’t quite worn off by the time he slides back underneath the sheets to sit next to you, an arm slung over your shoulders as you eat. But in seconds, it dissipates, and is replaced with something akin to love. For you both to finally be here, together as if you two have been dating for years, is exactly the outcome you have been wishing for.

“You know,” he starts before being interrupted by a forkful of food shoved into his mouth, courtesy of you. “You’re a perfect reason why I can finally kick Kaveh out of my home.”

You swat his shoulder with your free hand. “That’s so mean!”

“He can just move in here. I’m not that heartless to leave him homeless. Is that what you think of me?”

You answer without hesitation, “Yes.”

With the hand hanging off your shoulder, his nails scrape lightly in retaliation against the skin beneath your collar bone.

“If I recall, I was pretty fair with you last night,” he murmurs into your hair. “Perhaps I need to remind you just how fair when you’re done with breakfast.”

And you’ve never finished a meal so quickly.

fin.

[coffeesleep-ooc]

This is going to be a bit fucked up but hear me out

CW: im talking about cannibalism and related stuff here

so i was mindlessly scrolling thru tumblr and saw art of moshang looking at bingqiu being all smoochy and MBJ chomping SQH’s cheek

and suddenly thought, what if eating each other was part of demonic lore like hitting your crush is?

So I remember part of some indigenous history, and how in Latin America until recently most books were saying that indigenous ppl were cannibals before the colonization, but the actual thing wasn’t that indigenous ppl ate each other but more like, if they were enemies and one of them was defeated, it was a belief that eating that warrior’s heart would make you absorb the beat qualities of said warrior (which to me is still eating someone but with a whole different context ig?)

So my thought process went from aww cute moshang, to, what if demons complimented each other with biting? Like, in the: you are so strong, so capable, so good that i’d like to eat you? To integrate you with my own being????

we all know that LBH originally was biting SQQ like there was no tomorrow until SQQ taught him not to bite, but what if that was hiw own way of saying ‘i admire Shizun the most, you are the person i’d like to absorb into myself to always be with you. To have the strengths you have is to be complete, superior, etc etc’ ???? like MBJ hitting SQH was a way of saying he would be a strong partner, LBH biting SQQ could be directing him the top praise he could think of in demonic terms

also, lore wise, demons that fought and defeat strong opponents could symbolically (and literally) consume their strength to enhance themselves and honor the life the other demon/warrior lived…

and for demons that ate human flesh???

well, that could still be them disregarding humans because they never fought and defeated them, human flesh would be distasteful to consume for stronger demons and a sign of weakness!

now, im not saying that eating each other would be commonplace or anything, just that it could become a highly regarded ritual

and a tease-chomp that leaves marks would make other demons know how highly regarded one is to their partner or even family-clan

now im imagining a feiend demon of SQQ asking him if he could bite him and SQQ being in shock (TM) while LBH is between smug and jealous bc NOBODY TOUCHES SHIZUN! Same with SQH honestly

SQQ n SQH: why our husbands like to bite so much 😭😭😭

demons: wow, the consorts of Emperor Luo and Mobei-Jun are truly treasured!!!

also, i think LBH would be regarded as a truly strong and altive leader bc he refuses to do said ritual (maybe abyss ptsd? Maybe his human sensibilities??) but when he gets together with SQQ and bites him like there’s no tomorrow his subjects end up appeased in that regard despite their leader marrying and giving the honor of the bite to a human jejeje

also just…worshipping someone in such a bloody and messy way is hmmm, interesting to some parts of me

maybe I’ll put this in one of my fics idk…maybe the abo one since bites are a thing there too…? Idk but wanted to get this out of my head into the wild jaja

[maddgical-boy]

maladaptive/immersive daydreaming ask game! (*¯︶¯*).｡o○O☁️

send in a number (or multiple) and if you feel like it, an accompanying paracosm/para!

(apologies for how wordy these are. i am not a man known for my brevity)

reblog and have fun with these! (and if you reblog this or send me an ask, i'll send you one too)

how long have you been daydreaming for? (bonus if you can remember: what was your first daydream scenario/paracosm?)

if your paracosm had a popular fandom, what do you think it'd be like?

do you have any paracosms that aren't huge, but that you fall back on when The Time Is Right™️?

WOULD YOU RATHER: have your daydreams projected onto a screen attached to your head at all times OR be entirely unable to daydream ever again for the rest of your life?

what para of yours is most like you? self inserts and paraselves don't count!

how did you come up with your paras' names? did they come to you randomly or did you spend hours researching name websites?

imagine your paras have at least a basic knowledge of driving (or even just like, cars). can they parallel park? (bonus points if you explain it like in this post)

do you do extensive worldbuilding for your paracosms? if you do, what are some of your favorite elements?

if your paras found out you were their creator, how would they react?

if you have a self insert/paraself, how similar are they to you?

is there any time of the day where you can't/don't daydream?

are your daydreams linear and structured, or do you jump all over the place?

what's a song you've been daydreaming to lately, and what's your favorite moment in said daydream?

do your paras age with you, or are their ages static? does it feel weird to be older than a para you were previously the same age as?

if you had the opportunity to leave this world and live in your paracosm forever, would you? why or why not?

(if you have multiple) which paracosm of yours is most grounded in reality? which is most fantastical?

make one of those "[blank] spoilers without context" memes for your paracosms. then explain it (or don't :))

who is your second favorite para, and why aren't they your favorite?

what would your paras' typing styles be like? do they use lots of emojis? sign off each text like a letter? type with lots of weird spaces and ellipses?

do you move a lot when daydreaming, and if so, in what ways?

have you ever wanted to make a piece of media of your paracosm (comic, animation, visual novel, novel, tv show, etc.)? what are elements that would be apart of it?

when you actively want to start daydreaming, what is your mind's process? do you tune back in like it's a tv show? flip through imaginary files? let it come naturally?

do you ever daydream about yourself (not a self insert, just you)?

do you have any two paras that are polar opposites to one another? (they don't even have to exist in the same universe, just in general)

what para would you absolutely hate in real life?

FREEBIE! drop some long-winded lore or some memes or whatever you want ^▽^

when you experience a daydream block or crash, what are things you do to try and fix it? (or ways you cope. lmao i get it)

for fictparacosms, do your daydreams affect how you perceive the media and/or the fandom?

if you ever write down things about your daydreams (truly anything at all — notes, dialogues, descriptions, etc), share a random snippet with no context.

if your paras had madd/daydreamed immersively, what would they daydream about?

for any pairings (romantic, platonic, familial, whatever), what is the dynamic between your paras like?

if you could make a bingo of common elements of your daydreams (paracosm-specific or not), what would be on some of the squares?

if you have tried to make your paras in character makers (picrew, meiker, etc), what is an aspect of your para that these makers never/rarely have?

are your daydreams clear in your mind's eye?

if you have multiple paracosms, what would it be like if they had a crossover?

[head---ache]

hi im gonna drop brass' lore on you bc i didnt realize i never did

Just for context, Brass and Emmie are the same age, with Brass being born a couple of months after. So, while Emmie was cooking in the tube, Starline, who we're gonna say is alive, steals Tails' Tube Baby Project™ files, and tries to copy it, because he believes this is an attempt to make a bio-weapon at the same level of Project Shadow, and he wants to be ready for that, and besides, this seems like an improvement from Surge and Kit to him.

So he gets on with it, and he of course has Surge's DNA, but he doesn't want to combine it with Kit's because he can't imagine the result of that mix would be of any use. At some point he gets his hands on one of Amy's quills, probably by being a creepy stalker to all of the main cast, and decides to mix it with Surge's DNA in order to continue with his Anti-Tube Baby Project™, however, he then realizes Tails is actually attempting to take down the power levels and make his project more stable, which is not at all what Starline is looking for. And also, most of the power Tails' baby project would have comes from both from the Chaos Energy Sonic and Shadow have, and the Black Arms DNA passed down from Black Doom, which are things Starline simply can't get his hands to: Chaos Energy? Maybe, but not nearly enough, and it would probably be fake, highly unstable energy. And Black Arms DNA? Simply impossible.

So he just gives up. Tails isn't even making a weapon out of his project, so Starline doesn't even need his own anymore. So he abandons the hedgehog baby he made, inside the tube, and forgets about them for months.

One day Surge and Kit break into Starline's base, looking to steal some stuff from him, mostly Surge's idea just to annoy the guy. They eventually come across the big tube holding the small green hedgehog, still in the tube, however, pretty ready to go. And Surge just acts out of instinct, she doesn't even stop to think for a second before taking the baby with her and running as Kit follows her and keeps trying to ask her what she's doing. The thing is, she doesn't even know, but leaving this baby behind was not an option.

And when they got home it finally dawned on her, that now they had a baby at home and she didn't know what to do with it.

"So, uhm- Are you gonna raise it?" Kit asked, and Surge suddenly snapped as if nothing had happened. She stood up and walked away from the baby, crossing her arms behind her head and turning away.

Chaos, no. She was already a terrible mother to Mareep, she couldn't do that to another child.

"Nah! You can keep it if you want, tho." She shrugged.

Kit moaned, wavering.

And so Brass grew up with Surge and Kit, but they wouldn't call either of them their parents, although Kit would maybe be closer to that, as Surge seemed to be trying very hard to not be a parental figure to another kid.

On the other hand, Brass' relationship with Amy is fine, they can talk, Amy does try to be part of their life, but Brass is very indifferent to the idea. I'll share a little dialogue I have in mind because to be honest I don't really have much context for it, but it explains Brass and Amy's relationship kinda well.

"Listen, Amy, you're nice, and all, but you're not my mom."

"But I could be, Brass. I want to be, if you let me."

"I just- I don't think I want that, yeah? You can just pay attention to your actual children, I'm fine."

And also about Brass relationship with Mareep, it's also fine. They get along, they're just not super close. But they also have a mutual understanding, and Brass might be a little jealous since Mareep at least has Lanolin. And Mareep is a little jealous because Brass doesn't seem to be doing too bad even after being raised by Surge, while on her end Surge was kind of the root of all of her problems. But they get along fine.

Basically Brass wasn't super close to anyone (but acting as if it was fine), until she met a certain hedgehog-alien girl and her AI girlfriend TEHEHEHE (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

[horizon-verizon]

I'm still on my self-imposed Tumblr writing break but I had to share this comedy gold mine where Condal tells us all about "impostor syndrome" before I'm overtaken by the urge to write an essay on it instead. I have no time to cook. Fortunately, we've been served a meal on a silver platter.

https://bigthink.com/high-culture/house-of-the-dragon-ryan-condal/

House of the Dragon, which premiered in 2022, might have continued that [Game of Thrones] trend. Instead, the show proved a return to form, offering the same Shakespearean dialogue and political intrigue that made people fall in love with Martin’s fictional universe back in 2011. The second season is just as good, if not better.

I can see that this is going to be a very fair assessment of Condal and his work.

“Every day,” Condal confesses when asked if he suffers from imposter syndrome. “For me, though, it was less the scale and scope of House of the Dragon and more its visibility that intimidated me."

😭😭😭 It's okay! He wasn't worried about whether he'd do a good job! He was just worried about how visible his ingenious work would be.

Appointed for his encyclopedic knowledge of Martin’s oeuvre, Condal has — in his own words — “played with fire” without getting burned. In the following interview, he demonstrates his mastery of Westerosi lore and explains why all history – real or imagined – ultimately amounts to propaganda.

The business major is about to tell us about historiography. The question is, does he understand historiography? Or does he think he's inventing a new concept?

Condal is a relative newcomer to television. In his previous life, he graduated from Villanova University with an accounting degree and spent eight years working in pharmaceutical advertising — quite different from working as a Hollywood showrunner, but not entirely unrelated.

Yes, we know. It's actually very related. Especially the way Condal does it. I'll also point out here that his university was a private Catholic institution. I don't feel the need to connect those dots right now.

"I also learned to compromise, adapting your writing to clients who aren’t always going to love your brilliant, avant-garde choices. That’s the talent-studio relationship, right there."

I... this tells us two things about the writing process and attitude behind it. Two things we already knew. But... it's sure telling.

"I was able to navigate challenges that some of my colleagues with filmmaking and art history degrees maybe weren’t prepped for."

In theory, nothing wrong with this^ statement. But in context...

While some criticism is valuable, too much can lead to creative paralysis. “I tend more towards the negative than the positive, so I made a conscious decision to stay away from social media when I got this job,” Condal says. If anything, he believes the healthy distance he maintains between himself and his audience has improved the show: “Audiences think they know what they want, but sometimes, they have to be given what they need instead."

I repeat my prior sentiment.

Ultimately, Condal’s own passion for Martin’s writing outweighed any doubt he had about his own. “I’m trying to make the type of show I would enjoy as a fan, which I am. And while I realize my ideal fan show will be different from someone else’s, I still think that it’s a good true north heading on my compass. Actually, I think that’s why HBO hired me in the first place.”

Oh, we know.

“It was hugely intimidating, moving to a new country [the U.K.] and working with a new but also hugely talented crew that I had to — not tell them what to do, exactly, but lead them; collaborate with them. I definitely had to earn my place, but think that — because I came in with a clear vision of what I wanted for the show — those relationships were easy to establish.”

Make it stop.

The most important part of making a successful fantasy show isn’t the sets, costumes, or special effects, but lore. Fictional places like Westeros have their own unique cultures, customs, and social institutions, all of which help create the illusion that this fantasy world is as real and complex as our own. To transfer that illusion from page to screen, the writers must know Martin’s work as thoroughly as Martin himself. “It’s not just me,” Condal says. “We are all deeply entrenched fans of George. One of our writers has worked with him for many years. If I’m a graduate in Westeros studies, she’s an archmaester,” referring to the order of academics sworn to advise and educate Westeros’ nobility.

Well that explains why they're worse than Gyldayn.

Condal: “Textual references are best done in light touches to remind people that this is a fully realized society with hundreds of years of mapped-out history to it. And you don’t need an entire scene to do that. Instead of writing, you can communicate details environmentally through props like heraldry. For the fans, these little touches tell them they are in good hands. Better yet, they know the details are there just for them, the hardcore fans. For everyone else, the casual viewers, this stuff is flying by 100 miles an hour, and they probably won’t notice it. But it’s there.”

Again, there's nothing wrong with this^ in theory. In. Theory.

“I’m definitely an architect,” says Condal, “and I think I have to be as a screenwriter, because our life is so deadline-driven. The literal definition of a playwright, W-R-I-G-H-T, is ‘one who builds plays.’ A dramatic writer is almost by necessity a structuralist, and I very much fall into that camp.”

Now wait for it... wait for it... Keep in mind these are Brinkhof's (article author) words. But wait for it.

Martin, by contrast, identifies as a gardener. While this writing style — with its many unexpected twists, turns, and deaths — helps explain what made Game of Thrones so successful, it may also have been responsible for the show’s eventual downfall. Sticking to Martin’s analogy, “gardening stories” grow like trees, their narratives branching out in an exponential number of paths, making them difficult to finish. As of today, Martin has spent more than 14 years on the next installment in the Song of Ice and Fire series, his prolonged bout of writer’s block forcing Weiss and Benioff to come up with their own ending.

No words. Now back to Condal.

“The advantage we have over them is that we’re dealing with a finished text, where they were working with an unfinished, living work,” Condal says. “Where the Game of Thrones team had to trim down 5,000 pages into a few dozen scripts, we’re challenged in the opposite direction, turning around 100 pages into a multi-season arc of television, and that requires a lot of invention.”

Oh? So... you do know where it's going. Which means your "inventions" should... probably lead there?

Condal treats Fire & Blood like a real-world historian might treat a manuscript from the Middle Ages. “These three writers all had personal agendas which, to me, seem to reflect one of the main themes of our show: powerful women living in an unbreakable patriarchy. The writers, particularly the priest, appear to blame the war on the squabbling between Rhaenyra and Alicent.”

No comment for now. No... comment...

House of the Dragon pretends to show the real history that Fire & Blood recorded and distorted. Some events happen the way the one of the three authors describe it, while others contain elements of all three conflicting accounts. Others still indicate that none of them got it right. As a rule, every character in the show is far more complex than the jester, maester, and priest made them out to be.

I... I... I... I... I...

“Alicent can be the stereotypical evil stepmother at times,” says Condal, “just as King Viserys, played by Paddy Considine in season 1, can come across at weak. However, the thing that in-universe historians don’t get about Viserys is that he was carrying the burden of a prophecy passed down through generations and couldn’t tell anybody about it. A lot of his supposedly weak decision-making was actually in service of this secret prophecy. We were trying to show that there was more to him, that multiple things about him could be true at the same time.”

Must... Resist... Urge... To... Write... Essay...

“We have to arrive at the same endpoint as the book,” he reminds himself. “Whoever George said becomes king must become king at the end of the war. Hopefully, though, we have a bit of latitude leading up to that, to show how history has been interpreted differently at different times by different historians. I realize I’m playing with fire, but it does excite and fascinate me — to be able to comment on how history is made, not just this fictional history, but all history. It’s all propaganda to some degree.”

😭 The clownery.

Historiographers weep.

@rhaenin-time, you must be stopped. Ryan should be , too, but you have decided to bring me in close proximity to this nonsense. I am sitting here, eating chewy ChipsAhoy, and you came in here like a wrecking ball with this news....I hate you. [read, this is a joke]

I don't think I'll be able to address every thing I want to address in this. I want to be done with this show, I have been tired since the 6th epi of the last season.

Condal is a relative newcomer to television. In his previous life, he graduated from Villanova University with an accounting degree and spent eight years working in pharmaceutical advertising — quite different from working as a Hollywood showrunner, but not entirely unrelated. [...]

I also learned to compromise, adapting your writing to clients who aren’t always going to love your brilliant, avant-garde choices. That’s the talent-studio relationship, right there. [...] Audiences think they know what they want, but sometimes, they have to be given what they need instead."

Who tf does this man think he is?!!! Yes, I needed mother-son coochie eating. I needed to have a brown girl erased for a rapist to become a family man with a sick child. I needed Cole fucking Alicent at least 3 times instead of a brown haired Targ make instrumental alliances with more people to add to his stepfather's armies in the Riverlands. I needed to see nonexistent and sterile parallels. I needed to see a black woman be burned alive when she actually died at least surrounded by family, her ignored by her husband so his later marriage to a white girl be that much more special. I needed to see a disabled man jerk it over a queen's bare feet like she's in OnlyFans and doesn't know where her next meal is. I needed to see a pretten prince jerk it over a window and barely even tell what his brother was doing later with Vhagar instead of another preteen girl bond with the most powerful dragon of the then living ones. I needed to see a woman so much more hypocritical than her book counterpart be framed as one of the wisest women to exist while she praises Jaehaerys I of all people for having a peaceful reign as if his decision to have that council have no bearing on the burgeouning war coming up right now.

He can't even properly write character ACRTION as opposed to REACTION (Seth Abramson's article on substack):

Appointed for his encyclopedic knowledge of Martin’s oeuvre, Condal has — in his own words — “played with fire” without getting burned. In the following interview, he demonstrates his mastery of Westerosi lore and explains why all history – real or imagined – ultimately amounts to propaganda.

And yet Daemon dislikes his daughter or grow impatient with her bec she doesn't have a dragon....while he only claimed one at 16 or a bit younger with Caraxes AND Targs don't actually bond with dragons in the cradle that often, actually usually doing it in preteens to teens AND Aegon I definitely had to bond later in life as well. And said that Aegon I lived/was alive when Old Valyria still existed. Allowed Criston Cole to be called Dornish both by Alicent and the fans without giving us any explanation or exploration of that identity esp when canonically he came from the Stormlander part of the Dornish Marches. "Encyclopedic" my nonexistent ballsack! He has no authority to claim that F&B is so unreliable that he can't tell truth form agenda-motivated fiction and then claim himself intelligent or "brilliant" at the same time!

"avant-garde"...yes bc it's so revoluntionary and creative to have a man lick his former home from his own mother in a "vision". As if making a woman her son's character tool wasn't something HBO already did with its female characters and perform male gaze....okay...As if he's special and different from other male writers and it not just keeping with ASoIaF adaptation tradition. It added so much to the story other than the sick eroticism of something already cleared up last season.

I definitely had to earn my place, but think that — because I came in with a clear vision of what I wanted for the show

No you didn't. If you did, you wouldn't have had a such a problem with the pacing, the numerous inconsistencies, plotholes, the [if true] possible merge of Rhaena and Nettles and many episodes would't contradict each other as if one writer disagreed and vetoed another. And you'd see why/how show!Rhaena's purpose must be kept more or less the exact same as her in the bk for the post-Dance environment. We'd have Maelor. We'd have Daeron mentioned and described much earlier, not as some sort of random ass surprise that is bound to thrown so many locals off when he does appear.

If I’m a graduate in Westeros studies, she’s an archmaester,” referring to the order of academics sworn to advise and educate Westeros’ nobility.

....what the fuck does this even mean?! There are no fucking graduates of anything in Westeros and there are no archmaesters of real life bc the set ups in education of EU medieval history vs Westeros are so different it's not even funny. there are no universities for one to even imagine there are Westerosi "graduates", and there is no way you can tell if a graduate would be more or less educated than a grandmaester, bc we don't have rules of "graduation" or gradations of maestership. the modern school system can never be properly equalized in structure or depth or habits to Westerosi maestership, the instituton.

Therefore trying to create some sort of analogy as if grads exist in Westeros by immediately using "grandmaester" for another you're aligning yourself with is just so stupid. worst part is, I know exactly what he's trying to say, but his use of this device is so wrong, that I'm mad and ure people will just take this at face value instead of see how inept this man is with literature analysis and thus creative writing. Reminds me, ironically, of his saying he's inspired by PARADISE LOST in writing S2...if you don't sit yourself down to hell, sir!

Martin, by contrast, identifies as a gardener. While this writing style — with its many unexpected twists, turns, and deaths — helps explain what made Game of Thrones so successful, it may also have been responsible for the show’s eventual downfall.

And there it is, Ryan is prepping to use the ole fan excuse of "not much story left" excuse people had for D&D, and it makes sense how he would considering how F&B is considered to unreliable to adapt even the clearest events and characterizations as they are given....

[lillyspeakz]

Ghostbur Wilbur gives you blue when your sad on the dsmp. You both end up having a deep discussion and start to feel better. Hurt comfort fic? Canon lore?? All platonic. :)

Some context: your grieving your best friends death and the exile dream put Tommy in as you and Tom are siblings :) (just imagine wil and Tom are best friends)

-

“Fuck this, fuck life, what the fuck!” You screamed out to no one in particular as you threw rocks at the lake behind your house.

You hadn’t been handling it well, your brother in exile while you were here, wasting away with the ghost of your best friend since birth. How fucked up is that? The cherry on fucking top of all of this. You didn’t mind, but it hurt that he only remembered bits and pieces. You wanted to yell at him, scream at him about how he left you and how selfish he was.

But you didn’t. He’d already dealt with too much from others, stuff he didn’t understand since Wilbur was the one to create it all. He didn’t deserve it, he didn’t do anything. His ghost is just the happy Wilbur that got lost.

“Dear? Are you ok?” You heard a voice ask from behind you as fuzzy fur was felt on your hand. You looked down and saw friend nuzzling into you, Wilbur holding the lead and looking at you with a concerned expression.

You signed out as you turned back. “Yeah, just thinking too much.”

Sitting down on the grass, Ghostbur came on the other side of you and sat down, both of you looking at the sunset that had just begun.

“I know how much alive me hated it when you overthought. I still have those memories. So I’m guessing he doesn’t want you too.” Ghost said with a soft voice as you smiled at the words, tears marking your water line.

“Yeah no, he hated it. So did Tommy. It’s why I’ve been doing it so much lately, I don’t have them to keep me in check.” You said as you brought your knees up to your chest, lying your head on your knees.

“What have you been thinking about?” The ghost beside you asked as you turned your head to look at him. His skin cold and blue in every way, the yellow sweater now ruined and a brown sheen from everything that’s happened. He looks different yet so familiar.

“How I could’ve been better. How I could’ve saved Tommy from being exiled by Tubbo, how he’s being tortured by the dream right now , how he’s just a kid and he doesn’t know any better. You have to be that petty to send a kid to prison on another island away from his only family? And then Wilbur- alive you- how selfish he was to just leave like that after destroying something we all worked hard to defend for months. How he left me alone to deal with all of his shit. Jesus I fucking hate him.” You whispered out the last part at you wiped the stray tears that fell. Your hatred for the man was short lived as a cold hand met yours and squeezed them together.

“I’m sorry I can’t help. But Toms doing fine, I saw him today. And for alive me, I know he loved you very much. And he wanted you safe and happy, so I’ll try my best to do that for you. I wish I could understand why everyone hates me, but all I know is I can’t fix it.” The statement was a sad one, but a true one. He couldn’t fix it, it was Wil’s problem to fix, but he was getting the short end of the stick.

You leaned over and placed your head on his shoulder, getting closer to him than before. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve it. We have each other yeah? Until Tom comes back?” You asked, looking you at him as he nodded, the sunset warming his face a bit, unless it was you.

“Yeah. I like that.” Ghostbur said as he relaxed into your touch, a smile on his face as he leaned to his head against yours.

You only needed each other in the end. You had your Wilbur, and that’s all you needed.

And your annoying brother.

[6okuto]

Helloooo, your Ais and Mhin hcs are so nice omg! Can I ask for some Kuras headcanons, if you'd be so kind?🥺 Many thanks in advance💛

KURAS HCS 3

gn!reader | hello it's me :-) thank u vry vry much anon wherever u are I hope i reach u.... telepathically telling u i have done more hcs o7

nooo kuras don't have doctor handwriting noooo look at me... it's cursive and can be pretty but also the doctor handwriting curse :( /affectionate but if he's writing something for you he takes care to make it neat + makes your name look extra nice

kuras wearing all black instead of all white.... 😵‍💫like imagine him dressing up and you're staring as he walks past... and he goes to ask you a question, pausing when he notices your gaze evidently not on his face. he's amused by this obviously as he walks toward you and tilts your chin to make eye contact. your face feels warm while he teases you, tells you he's flattered you like his change of attire, but mind answering if you've seen his coat nearby?

writer who needs help with medical jargon and information and comes to kuras who's already expecting it after the 4th time. he hums and takes a few moments before casually replying with his thoughts. sometimes though if you're not paying enough attention, he says something super inaccurate (something about a heart disease when asked about a punctured lung) to see how much you write down before noticing

not very good at making playlists... or like, his music taste isn't very vast and there's a chance he doesn't know many artists in the genres you enjoy. he does try his hand at making one when he overhears it's a cute gift, but it doesn't end up seeing the light of day because he's unsure you'd like it ^^; he doesn't actually delete it though, so if you really wanna see it, he'll let you

^ feel free to make a playlist for him though! he'll let it play quietly as he works (so long as it isn't something that requires his full attention) and tells you his favourites the next time you see him :-)

! body doubling. nothing else to add

kuras offering to pay for you while out shopping.. you say he doesn't have to, but he says you've picked out something nice and you like it, so why wouldn't he?

i imagine that kuras doesn't really. keep up with...internet jokes and such... so if you're out with a friend and talking about something related, there's a good chance that his eyebrows are a little furrowed as he tries to understand. like, you know when there's a popular post going around and you say "did you see ___" and your friend immediately knows what you're talking about when you didn't even finish describing it. yeah he has no idea what's going on how did they pick it up so quickly

^ tries quite hard though. he does. but some memes have like 5 layers of lore and context and he just kind of sighs and laughs in defeat

also i think kuras might be a little nervous to meet your friends at first ^^; but intrigued/happy too !! he listens to you describe them so he can put names to faces (won't tell them what you said exactly, like he won't be like "oh, you're the one who..." but there'll be recognition on his face, and if it comes up he'll smile knowingly), plus he likes watching you enjoy yourself with them!

if you name your plushies he picks up all their names quite quickly. this also applies if you have a lot of figures/favourite characters! he'll notice if you've moved them around at all, and somehow remember one of their birthdays too?

there is a silly image in my head of kuras using a silly straw. like him working on some important document and sipping on it

^ also getting him to use cute bandaids and such... like if you cut yourself on something and he goes to get your bandaids and they're pokemon or sanrio. LOL. he finds it amusing when you ask if he wants some of your stash—you're always willing to share after all

you find out he's centuries old and start calling him old man. ask if his back hurts from his age And height or if he knew the dinosaurs (?? imagine they exist in the TS universe) etc etc. though watch out for any back pain jokes because if your posture is worse than his he'll throw it back at you :(

[graysparrowao3]

Ramazith's Tower Post-Game Head Canon, Part 2

As before, reposted from Twitter/X fun discussion, this time regarding the legality and possibility of the trio keeping the tower after moving in. CW: Discussion of anti-tiefling racism in the context of BG3/D&D lore.

I feel like there may be wider lore I'm missing that could say otherwise… but my intuition is that taking over the tower "just like that" doesn't seem to be that much of a problem, at least, Lorroakan managed to get away with it pretty easily and he’s a transparent idiot.

I wonder if the problem long term for the trio is less about taking over the tower per se, and more about bigotry over who they are as people. They’re tieflings and refugees – some Baldurians couldn’t handle them getting food, never mind inclusion and opportunity.

Using wealth in the tower and rebuilt shop and making any plans regarding ownership, taxes, etc., Rolan would be shrewd enough to make it all work – though perhaps drowning in red tape and paperwork is one of those things that has him working exhausting late nights.

I can see the interaction of the two: Rolan finding out that Lorroakan managed to weasel his way around any bureaucracy, and having to both deal with the consequences of that as well as never being given the leniency and breaks that were afforded to the human.

Lorroakan wasn’t well liked and, yes, the Heroes of Baldur’s Gate helped in his demise, but I imagine there’s going to be some racist Aradin types harassing the front of the store for a bit, especially in the immediate aftermath as things rebuild and people look for scapegoats.

You’ve got the local populace who just lost loved ones and homes, and Rolan appears with suddenly more resources than he knows what to do with and one of the fanciest homes and businesses around. They aren’t going to care about him, his story, or anything else, they’re just going to be pissed at him getting "a handout".

Assuming Hero and Co are around, maybe that’s something they could help with, leveraging their power as a more central role in saving the city to publically endorse the new owner of the tower or do a “quest”, so to speak, to help him out regarding city politics & procedure.

I don’t think it would be easy, but I think the three would keep the properties and be successful in it. If nothing else, it’s a massive fuck you to Lorroakan and everyone that wanted them to fail, though of course it’s more than that also.

[lepoppeta]

VELVETTE HEADCANONS

WARNING - this dives headfirst into Definitely Not Canon territory, and is just speculation on my part built on both what we were given at varying points in the lore of hazbin hotel. if that doesnt interest you, or if you find yourself wanting to dub me incorrect for having an imagination, please direct yourself to the nearest back button.

most of these headcanons relate to this redesign of velvette i concocted, where i mashed her pilot design with her series design.

there is some speculation as to when exactly velvette died - ive seen some people suggest the 60s (possibly in relation to the stripes trousers she wears in the series, and also because that would make her, vox, and valentino exactly a decade apart) or the 90s (probably based on her affinity for texting/social media, and this would make her and the other two vees an equal two decades apart each). in this instance i am putting velvette as having died in the 90s.

as a small child velvette was head-over-heels in love with princesses. the big, sparkly dresses, the tiaras - everything about the aesthetic of being a fantasy princess was velvettes favourite thing in the whole world.

velvette was a child model and actress in the late 80s and early 90s - she came from a family of stars, and the career was pretty much expected of her. unfortunately for young velvette, that meant that nearly the entirety of her brief life was spent being in service to the publics "best interest". she was told how to dress, what was appropriate to eat (both in private and public) - she was reduced to a doll to be dressed up and stared at.

(iirc due to this being the 90s one of the big fashion trends at the time was heroin chic - low-rise jeans, exposed midriffs, and an unhealthy physique).

poor velvette ultimately ended up committing suicide (at around her late twenties) due to not being able to handle a multitude of things - her rocky home life, her privacy being invaded by the public, and a variety of unchecked health issues and eating disorders. she was never given an outlet for her emotions and became painfully cruel and vindictive to her fellow young stars.

she also had a complicated relationship between wanting to be treated like an adult but having to "dress like one" (exposing a lot of skin, because thats what was fashion forward at the time) VS being still seen as a child by a lot of the public but still ultimately kind of wanting to embody the juvenile princess aesthetic that she grew up with but never had a chance to embrace. when she arrives in hell she finally has the chance to breath and sees it as a do-over - her outfits become loud and garish but theyre ultimately modest, and she takes comfort in the layers of fabric while not looking frumpy.

velvette, like vox, struggles with eating properly (not that she really needs to, as a metaphysical being, but its the principle of the thing), but its out of years of negative conditioning rather than a general disinterest. she prefers indulging in a variety of sugary drinks like iced coffee and bubble teas.

(in the context of voxvel/staticdoll) to her own mild chagrin, velvette has a favourite nickname - at one point vox nonchalantly called her "princess" and something both delightful and painful connected deep inside velvettes leftover inner child brain. its the one guaranteed way vox can get her to short-circuit, and because hes such a gentleman, hes very particular about when and where he uses it.

[zsakuva]

How do you come up with so many intricate plots and characters? They seem so… human? I’m very surprised you don’t read much! I guess what I’m asking is, what’s your creative process? Do you take inspiration from aspects of yourself, or is it more of a form of escapism? When you write your plots, do you imagine yourself as the character, the audience, or both? 

Another thing that truly amazes me and makes your channel stand out a lot is the way you give the listener a voice. It feels like each listener is so different and unique, and *actually* interacts with the character. It also feels like you’re never spoon feeding us information? All the questions do get answered, but it’s different style imo. Usually, in most ASMR RPs I’ve heard, the speaker will repeat what you said verbatim, (eg. “You think XXX?”, or “You want me to XXX?”), and the frequency at which these types of phrases are used makes it *seem* like a RP. Of course, it’s a challenging medium - the audience needs to know whats going on somehow, but you manage to achieve the same in a much more subtle way. It makes me wonder how long you spend planning out your content haha.

Final question, do you prefer to type or handwrite your plans, scripts, etc? I’ve always preferred planning on paper, even though it’s a bit impractical haha. Also, would you mind showing us your handwriting? I think it says a lot about a person! There’s the stereotype that people usually have a certain handwriting that corresponds to their major/occupation, and if I remember correctly, I think you studied film? I’m just curious hehe. No pressure, of course!

Sorry for sending you an essay, I hope you have a restful and comfy Friday! 

Thank you!

Honestly, I don't know how I do it myself considering my memory is absolute shit! Though I don't read much, I learn about characters through other mediums such as television shows and movies. I'll try and break this down for ease of reading!

~My Creative Process~

When making a character or series, it all depends on where my initial inspiration began. For example, with Niall, I wanted to create an M4M series exploring a character who carries trauma of being forcibly outed, betrayed by someone he confided in, and how those events affected him through his adult life. The core of Niall's story was confronting fears that manifested due to the Listener's actions in school, and finding that there was a way to heal, albeit slowly, and a hope to love despite external animosity. Niall exists because I wanted to tell a particular story.

With Zaros, he first came about because of The Noble Trials plot. I knew that he would be different from other characters, so I'm using this series as a means of testing my skill with a new editing style, story format, and new world setting. Although it's more work, I have the most fun with The Noble Trials and making its lore (though I'm always a sucker for that)!

I go into creating characters with the belief that they are all extremely flawed. Whether that be by nature or nurture, there will inevitably be some slew of events in their pasts that shaped the way they act in the current timeline. This also extends to the Listeners so they aren't rigid, boring, and an empty shell. Characters can clash, but they can also change with and for each other. A good example is Isaac's story. He was scarred by his past, and was willing to confine Pickle in the house if it meant not losing someone he cared for again. Pickle was also scarred with abandonment and instability, wondering if they would ever find a home. Isaac gave them a place to belong, and Pickle gave him consolation and courage to face the unknown.

When I write, the character's actions must reflect the backstory in which they were crafted, so I always need to dive into their heads.

~Listener Dialogue~

This requires much more thought to make interactions seem authentic, but there's a fine line between repeating words verbatim and not alluding to any sort of context. I dislike repeating the Listener's words so I try to indirectly insinuate what they were saying whenever possible. If I can do so with SFX alone, that's a bonus! But when scenes contain heavy dialogue, it can be difficult to get the message across without being heavy-handed with repetition, unless that's the purpose of a specific moment.

~Handwriting vs Typing~

I always handwrite my outlines! On some occasions, I can start and finish a script without the help of one, but my workflow tends to include writing an outline of some kind, and it has to be done on paper! I feel like the ideas manifest quicker that way.

However, I always type my scripts. It's much easier to edit, share with other voice actors, and there's a level of professionalism in formatting that motivates me to write more!

Here is an example of my writing. This screenshot was part of a Twitch stream!

[thegamingcatmom]

Hey its the anon who got intrigued about miranda

Slowly making way through watching RE7

(Also dived in head first to just reading fanfiction, not sure if that's the right call)

(Still know very little besides like second hand info from fanfics/fan content)

Thoughts/questions on Miri the tired studhorse that came to mind randomly:

Now that MM is locked on to MC

Will she stop seeing the village girls in her chase for MC? Or with how MC is with wanting to very much nope the heck out of there, will she continue on with the village girls but still pursue MC for her use?

(Like in the off chance that MC doesn't work she's still gonna continue on doing what she do)

God it kinda gives fuckboy falls in love with one girl who knows Fboy's reputation and doesn't want any part of it

But instead it's Miri has found her perfect vessel in MC who would rather not be anywhere near her.

And then thoughts went:

MM finally has chance with MC, potential seed had taken place

MM learned how to talk/flirt with MC (made MC feel like the one or whatever)

MC falls for MM (idk if MC would fall for MM but if she does)

And then it turned sad:

But MC hears words out of context, or finds out MM still using the other Village girls (could be MM stopped after a bit cause idk genuine feelings she won't acknowledge for MC, idk if this is a MM falls for MC type thought)

(or literally village girl comes to door, MC sees from a distance the girl flirting and MM doesn't do anything so assumptions are made)

MC gets heartbroken

Somehow escapes

MC was the successful vessel for Eva but since she ran well idk Eva grows up far away and MM tries finding MC

Or

Sad

MM still tries with villagers unknown to her, her daughter who's back

(Again idk if MC could even escape or if possible)

So yeah, now my brain is kind of stuck on what ifs for miri the tired studhorse

Hey there!

Are you now? We love to hear it!

Marguerite sure does. 🕷️

How are you liking it so far? ^^

As for going straight to fanfiction: absolutely valid. I mean, there isn´t exactly a "right" or "wrong" here, really. As long as you´re having a good time, that´s all that matters. Besides, there´s lots to learn from fanfics as well when you´re looking to dive deeper into the lore of it all.

.

Now...

(I fucking love that shot of her, can yall tell?)

To say I am most pleased about this recent development (as in: Miri the Tired Studhorse seemingly haunting your waking hours) would be a severe understatement. Mission accomplished.

OKAY LISTEN-

I love your thoughts. Also because I´ve been thinking about the exact same thing. And, yknow, I think Miranda would defo continue her...affairs with those village girls. At least until she´s worked her charm so thoroughly that MC´s gonna spread those legs at the mere sight of her-

...Which means she´s gonna continue banging the village girls for quite a while, LMAO. And not necessarily because she´s trying to create Eva 2.0. No...

Listen, that woman is frustrated. AF. Like, imagine finally finding that perfect vessel, you´re SO sure of it that just being near them makes you struggle. You wanna jump their bones so badly cause you just know it´s gonna work this time, it´s meant to be. Like, Miranda firmly believes MC showing up in her village is fate or some shit, it´s gotta be, right?? MC was meant for her and only her, so that she may be filled with divine purpose that will bring forth divinity in return-

...In other words: Those village girls go from being her specimens to being her outlet cause MC wants no part of whatever-the-fuck is wrong with that village and its residents. Our girl´s gonna drive Miri nuts and someone has to pay the price. (I have a feeling it will be paid rather willingly though, thirsty bunch that they are, lmao. They´re all of us, basically.)

Miranda has to work for that one and that´s something our Birb Momma just...it just doesn´t make sense to her, yknow?? Because she is quite used to them ladies spreading their legs at the mere sight of her, tyvm.

So, to answer this part here:

...will she continue on with the village girls but still pursue MC for her use?

(Like in the off chance that MC doesn't work she's still gonna continue on doing what she do)

Yes, to all of that. But it´s more that MM´s entirely convinced MC´s the one, so the village ladies will serve as a...distraction until MC comes around basically. (I almost feel a tad bit sorry for Birb Mama. Almost.)

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God it kinda gives fuckboy falls in love with one girl who knows Fboy's reputation and doesn't want any part of it

That´s maybe kinda perhaps exactly what this is, lmao.

(And, honestly? It sounds sexy af.)

LISTEN-

Like I said, Miri isn´t used to someone like MC. Meaning: Someone who rejects her. Like-

Excuse?

Perhaps that´s exactly why Miranda believes it´s meant to be, lol. Cause, yknow, Miranda´s a woman who seeks answers. If she doesn´t have them, she´s gonna work herself to death until she does. (I mean, have you seen that woman´s lab? There´s papers and jars scattered everywhere. She´s a messy nerd and that´s so damn sexy.)

...OR: She just goes ahead and puts her own spin on it (which sounds very likely cause bish is crazy af). Miranda seeks an explanation for MC´s sudden appearance in the village, so she promptly decides that, yes-

Surely, this must be it. Her perfect vessel. Why else should an outsider make it into the village in the first place? Why would her power (aka her charms, lol) decide to leave her right when this...innnteresting specimen enters her village? How can Miranda not see it as a sign she´s meant to pursue this newcomer? It is meant to be-

...This gif makes about as much sense here as Miranda´s train of thought, so that should tell you quite a bit about her, lel.

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As for everything else you´ve said:

Right off the bat: If MM doesn´t want someone to leave the village, they won´t. She´ll find ways to prevent it, I´m sure...

With that said: I really like your thoughts on that, but MC leaving the village only for her/their daughter to come back and meet Miranda is highly unlikely to me. There´s no way Miranda would ever let MC leave if she believes there´s even the slightest bit of a chance to get her Eva back. So, once MC´s in, she´s not gonna get out again. Period.

...At least not until the bun´s out of the oven, if yknow what I mean. After that? Hm...we´ll see. 😏

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I can defo see Miranda trying to make MC believe she harbors actual feelings for her, similar to how she made the village girls believe they´re serving a "divine purpose". (I mean, it´s not entirely a lie, if one was to ask Miranda...) Whether that´s gonna work out for her remains to be seen...

(I have my doubts, lol.)

The scenario with one of the village girls coming at Miranda like "Sooo...you wanna yknow what orrr...? *wink wink*" is also something I can defo see happening. It´s actually kinda hilarious to imagine because, in my head, MC´s probs gonna be either

pissed af and she´ll just straight up slap Miranda across the face before storming away all huffy and puffy, OR-

MC just...doesn´t care. At all.

Both cases include a Miranda who´s just this mix of "you DARE" and "wait what". Like, that woman´s not used to ANY of it - whether it´s getting slapped or being ignored.

In fact, Miranda isn´t quite sure which of those two she finds more insulting. 😤

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As for MM falling for MC: That´s kinda the plan...I think, yes. Much, much, much further down the line.

But, seeing how it´s Mother Miranda we´re talking about, you can bet your ass nothing about that "plan" will be even remotely sane, lel. When that woman commits herself to something (or someone), she´ll do it in the most dramatic and obsessive of ways. She'll let it consume her to the point where it overshadows everything else. Anyone who crosses her path better prove their worth (likely by becoming Miri´s eyes and ears when it comes to MC), or they´ll get crushed beneath her foot like the ant she believes them to be.

...On the plus side:

Miranda is nothing if not devoted. ;3

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.

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FINALLY some spotlight for our fav Birb Momma! Miri deserves a lot more attention and recognition than she´s getting. Honestly, how´s there not...more? Just more?? 😤

(I think Lady D might be to blame for that, lol. She did always strive to become the favorite...)

Thanks a lot for your ask! 💋

[extremelyaverageartist]

Remade the drawings in this post I made a while back of a Little Nightmares Genloss crossover AU based on a post from @sanny-star-eyed

My art has improved significantly since then and I didn't include Sneeg last time so I made him as well! Although even though my art has gotten better I still cannot draw feet for the life of me lmfao.

I might also remake a few of the other drawings I made later.

Also also I did a little bit of like, lore building in my head while drawing because my plan was to write a fic but since that might not happen I'll just explain some stuff here.

Charlie: Mutated after coming into contact with some experimental technology at Showfall(Showfall is simmilar to the broadcast tower in the second little nightmares in this AU) and now excretes sticky slime that allows him to crawl up walls(I've been thinking about a lot of this stuff in the context of game mechanics so it could be used to solve some puzzles, get into places Sneeg and Ranboo can't get, etc.)

Ranboo: Robot created by Showfall meant to lure and exterminate the children(because the children are sort of seen as pests) he went rouge and gained sentience after Showfall collapsed(there was an event where the technology at Showfall went rogue causing the company to shut down, however broadcasts still air from it because no one is there to turn them off the building is just delapadated now) Some of Ranboo's original programming is still there however causing their mask to occasionally turn on and making them have to fight the control of it(simmlar to Six's hunger in the first game)

Sneegsnag: Normal child, his best friend Frank was killed and Sneeg, unable to let go, salvaged what was left of the body to carry with him, making weapons out of Frank's bones and carrying around his skull and spine. The skull and spine occasionally move and the eyes emit a blue glow, as if the skeleton is possessed by Frank's spirit and Frank would be used to solve some puzzles. However I wanted it to be sort of left ambiguous whether the skeleton actually moves or if Sneeg is just imagining it, because it only happens when no one else is around.

[starlight-artbby]

More Class of the Titans featuring Atlanta with. A mullet and Theresa with short hair.

(ALT Versions with no text) (Also forgive me for not having a good background for Theresa and Atlanta but the idea was just not popping into my head.)

For some context: I imagine this would be like a basis for season 3 or 4 (if the show continued) I could totally see Jay not believing he is good enough to be with Theresa. Jay begins to notice how he gets WAY to fixated on wanting to get rid of Cronus that he doesn't give Theresa enough attention and even though he wants to live his life, the responsibility of being the team Leader weighs to heavily on him and he can't fully live in the moment when he thinks that Cronus will strike at any minute.

Jay also begins to notice that he has to many similarities to Theresa's father and he refuses to hurt her more even if it's an accident so, Jay does what he thinks is best and breaks up with Theresa. This also happens to backfire a little causing a bit of a rift between Jay and Theresa and the rest of the team.

(They probably get back together at some point but both Jay and Theresa need a character development arc before I would even consider it )

Anyways, Atlanta and Archie are just being good bros and trying their best to keep everything together while Jeresa is going though their breakup arc.

Anyways, Lore aside, I truly hope you enjoy the picture.

[joleneghoul]

Everyone wants the jacket lore do not be silent

Okay obviously this is going to be me rambling on about my own headcanons but also the tiny canon reasons I have these headcanons.

Okay first I'll start off by saying the jacket I personally Always draw Rip in and the one from my design used to belong to Booster during Boosters (short lived) College days.

That being said, It's a jacket that's very...dated and old for the future, so I believe it was from a thrift shop before Booster owned it (so while being in a similar style to futuristic bomber jackets, it lacks that neon bright color scheme that seems to of been popular for Boosters generation.)

Here is just an example of Rip side-by-side to Michelle (who's outfit is based on her introduction in Issue 15 of BG vol 1- post Booster leaving, and post her mothers death). again, that 80s-escque big shouldered, large collar/lapel was in, but the colors are muted and off. I like to think about future fashion trends a lot, how staying on trend in the present is something Booster clearly cares about, how that probably wasn't as much of a possibility in his own past (the future).

Rip's design is based on a theoretical future fashion while having more earthy muted elements- augh its a whole meta thing I got going on in my head. Earth tones instead of neon primary colors, Silver/chrome accents instead of Gold, etc etc.

But anyway when it comes to canon I find it fun that in this arc of Vol 1 we get to see multiple reactions to Jack and Rip's clothing. They get the obvious "those are dated clothes" comments but nothing to say they are insanely out of place. They even use the excuse that they are just college students working on a play-their outfits are similar to something a student department would scrounge up at a minimal cost but still seeming off and inaccurate to the time frame they're trying to portray.

(now that's also because all historical documents of the past during this time were destroyed but- ykno. I like to imagine there's multiple reasons why people weren't like "NEVER SEEN CLOTHES LIKE THAT BEFORE!".)

It's clear to me that even in this arc, Rip's jacket is important enough to him that he makes Jack sell HIS jacket instead of his own. Now, Rip's a selfish guy and all especially at this time in his characters history, but with the meta context that Booster is Rip's father, and this arc being about Booster wanted for treason- the idea of Rip running around in his fathers old star quarterbacks jacket (while modded with red accents) just is fun to me. Not to mention even within this arc Rip is weirdly avoidant of anyone seeing him and looks EXTREMELY like a slightly younger Booster despite men in this series explicitly looking very different from each other.

aka: I think it would just add to the weird cycles that surround Rip's non-linear life.

Now I am someone who is Really into design elements that tell story, aka why I like drawing Rip's hands covered in scars because he wears improper gloves as someone who works with his hands, and why i like adding patches and scuffs to the leather jacket when I make it more detailed. It's old, It's older than Rip, It is something he cares a lot about because it's a piece of home and something that was his dads that he gets to have with him most of the time. I don't think Rip would ever call himself sentimental- i think these are things he holds onto nonetheless (similar to him literally clinging to the old family heirloom clock despite it being broken throughout time masters.) He is a character who cares so intensely but wont say it out loud, you have to show these things in the tiny details or what he surrounds himself with.

This becomes important when A lot of the paranoia he faces in time masters revolves around the triggers he experienced WHILE seeing the place his dad grew up in, what created it, how these family cycles started.

I think in a way to mirror his growth through the end of this, realizing there's things he can't change but he can change himself and how he treats others- look towards bettering his own future than fearing the lack of control he has in the (non-linear) past- I like to add the sunflower to the back of the jacket post this arc. this Arc has a lot of differences in my head with the addition of so much new lore/canon since the 90s and my own headcanons (time gardens- hence flower/bug/plant imagery so often in my shit), but still the theme remains the same really.

While Rip is a character i many times in my art associate with Daffodils ( a flower representing rebirth and such) and sunflowers are flower i associate with the likes of Wave & Booster I do think the meaning behind them of new opportunities through others and happiness is something that would both honor the history of the jacket while making it his own.

LASTLY 4th person who "owns" the jacket, and this is shown in my art a few times, is Jeff (occasionally) because I think that's the only person Rip would trust with it when he outgrows the jacket (bc I do think as Rip gets older he fills out more and its moreso a piece for someone a bit lankier). It smells old and reminds them of when they were younger. ugh. I just find the idea of sharing clothing with significant others/partners really fun ok? sap for it.

anyways sorry if this makes no sense its just one of those things i think about a lot and only i do bc its something i made up lol!!

AKA 1 stupid jacket means a lot to a few weird time travelers.

[lutiaslayton]

Hey guys, I felt like giving you a bit of a heads up: now that the transcription of the Japan-exclusive Eternal Diva novel has been completed, I am now working on its translation. And I thought -- hey, why not share this translation here as I go?

The website's translation is meant to be as accurate as possible and is filled with annotations and comparisons with the Japanese version, but if all we're interested in is just reading the darn novel like it's actually meant to be (read: a story that is actually enjoyable to read), then this translation really isn't going to make that happen.

(Just look at this. This is awful. Translation accuracy: 9/10. Reading enjoyment: WhatTheHeckIsThis /10. Do not recommend.)

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So yeah, I'm actually working on two English translations 👀 First one is from the website and meant primarily to study Japanese and (sometimes) get the juicy lore, and the second one will be posted here! This second translation will actually be meant to be read like a novel / fanfiction, in the sense that I'll rephrase things and try to make it as enjoyable as can be. It may mean that a thing or two might be changed along the way, but I'll try to keep my creative juice under control and try to stay as close to the original as possible.

If anyone wants to criticise this translation and bring suggestions if you think that I took too many liberties, feel free to let me know so we can rephrase things! It'd be much cooler if this were a collaborative project rather than the work of just one person who might end up putting in her own biases, whether consciously so or not.

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I can't tell when exactly I will start uploading since I'd like to have some buffer before starting, but when I do, I'll try to have some sort of schedule. Like one "chapter" or so every week, something like that. (The novel doesn't have "chapters," but it does have sections with titles. So I guess we might as well call those "chapters" for commodity.)

Anyway, that's pretty much all I wanted to say -- just a little teaser and some context for something I've been working on and will hopefully start posting soon-ish, and which I'd like to share with you guys as soon as I can! It'd be cool if this could be something I could post while my PhD is slowly ending and my workload is getting heavier and heavier -- just imagine if I had some buffer that I'd just put in my queue, and then boom, a chapter a week while I'm off dying while preparing my PhD defence and whatnot hahaha. No promises, but it would be really cool if I could pull it off.