thomine

[thomine]

Saw your writing prompts request post — lapidoso and Xiao, maybe? I feel like the two could work quite well somehow, but I’m interested to see how you’ll make the link.

this ask was sent on jul 29, 2024 🙃

anyways, thank you for requesting! i had such a vivid image of reader along a river when you sent this prompt. it wasn't easy but i'm glad that i got it out despite how long it took...

read it here!

[thomine]

lapidoso - xiao

x reader | 1.7k words | general audiences

your journey to find rocks in Liyue's waters leads to an unexpected encounter with a man. to you, it was a life-changing moment. to him, it was an ordinary day. [ lapidoso - full of stones, said of roads or of the bottom of a river ]

tags: cuts & bruises, falling sick, not proofread

links: read on ao3 ⁎ read on sqw ⁎ prompt list (req closed)

note: requested by my lovely friend, R. hope the wait was somewhat worth it!

.　⁺ . 　 ˚　✦　.　　+ ⁺　 　 . ✦

Wangshu Inn is known for its unique architecture. A respite woven into a twisting tree believed to have sprouted before times of the Archon War. It's size is unchallenged by anything growing on the plateau it sits on, and its beauty is accentuated by the beautiful landscape of endless mountains dipped in the soft glow of sunset…

Your friends adore this scene hence why they've pooled at the inn's balcony, but such beauty isn't why you're here. Unlike most who value looking up, you like to look down. As you follow the dirt path, your destination can be heard before you see it. The gentle rush of moving water is up ahead. Soon, you'll meet with a magnificent water body and your fun can begin.

When you reach the stone bridge that towers over the waters, you poke at the dirt. It was raining heavily the day before which made the soil soft. Your shoes will get dirty. A single wrong step will result in your unruly journey down—headfirst into shallow and lapidosus waters. It doesn’t help that you have a large circular bamboo screenbox tied to your back, raising your centre of gravity. Luckily, the slope is short and you're under the bridge with minimal damage after jumping down. You take off your shoes, placing them close to the edge where waters meets mud, and dip your toes in the fresh, cooling waters.

"Ah…" you sigh, wiggling your digits in delight. There's no one to hear you, so you don't hold back. "This is what life is about! No one gets it… but it's their loss, not mine!" You roll your shoulders, stretch your neck and kick your legs repeatedly. Hopping once, twice, and even thrice, you take in a deep breath before releasing it and letting determination cloud your vision. You'll not return empty handed today, especially considering the cost of your trip. Wangshuu Inn is not easy to book!

With fresh excitement, you untie the knot across your chest and catch the bamboo screenbox before it falls. Kneeling, you study the sediment under you. Jades are the goal, but quartz would be good for a warm up round. You dig the screenbox into a lump of stones, then raise it to let water fall through before gingerly shaking and rotating it.

Fingering through stone that gather in the middle, none are particularly interesting. Still, it gives you a boost of energy to know you're one attempt closer to your desired rock.

You kneel, dig, sieve, and walk north-east, finding areas where the flow of water is slower. Kneel, dig, sieve, and walk. Kneel, dig, sieve—oh! You find a quartz! It can definitely fetch a decent prince back in Liyue city. Kneel, dig, sieve, and walk.

A few more quartz here and there. You even found a tiny ruby, although not substantial to be made into anything. No jades. It's definitely past dinner with how the sun has dipped below the horizon, but despite your stomach's protest, your legs carry you towards the next enticing location. You know you can find those green gems. Instinctively, your hands rub on the polished jade tied around your neck. There must be more of such gems from where your lucky charm was found.

Kneel, dig—a high-pitched scream. You whip your head behind. It should be a relief there is nothing, but neither is the proud silhouette of Wangshuu Inn. You're not lost, you remind yourself. You just need to return to the land mass behind you and walk south along the path, but getting back home is not the problem. Whatever is crawling out there is with you—and you alone—in this darkening night.

"Archons, I really should have done this in the morning. I shouldn't have slept in," you mutter to yourself as you trudge through knee deep waters to find a place to hide. To your left are cliffs and to the right are white mountains peaking through the the horizon. There's an island in front with great stones to hide behind, but you would need to swim a significant distance to reach it. You turn behind to where the scream came from, wondering if it's worth the risk to walk in that direction.

Well, it is the only direction…

You return to the plains. The night is eerily quiet after that sudden and brief ordeal. Maybe it's safe now—

A flash of black passes you. Something sharp scraps your cheeks. Splash. Your cut tingles. It's as if something is trying to crawl into your skin.

Black mist gather in front of you and a masked figure appears. The person is holding a jade spear that glimmers a gut-wretching green. It would have been a beautiful rock if not for the way dark, viscous liquid stains the tip. That's definitely blood. The backlight of the moon casts sinister shadows on the person's form, and your knees buckle.

A low voice speaks. It's from the person in front of you. You can't decipher anything the person is saying, but you know it's in the Liyuean tongue. You grab your lucky charm, close your eyes and chant in your head: please, please, please, please, please.

You feel a warm hand grab your waist. Suddenly, you're dizzy, as if your body is flinging around space. Then, everything is still and quiet… You're on something soft. There's an encompassing warmth from something gently pressing on your chest and before you know it, you wake up to the next day safely tucked in your room in the inn.

.

Was everything that happened last night just a dream?

It can't be. Your screenbox is no longer on the tabletop where you last placed it.

Then… what happened?

"You were out like a log last night," one of your friends tease, poking you on your shoulder as the crew of the inn lay the table with breakfast. Bread, tea and coffee, with Liyue traditional foods like prawn dumplings. "And I thought when you said you were heading back, you'd sneak out to find gems again!" your friend continues. He takes the dumpling and plops it into his mouth. He's the reason the trip exists. Although he doesn't like being called the leader, you still call him that anyways.

You open your mouth to protest—I did go out to find gems—but your other friend, the interpreter of the trip, interrupts, saying, "The inn keeper told us that you weren't feeling well when you went back. Maybe you should sit out of the itinerary we have for today. The walk to Liyue is quite long…" She proceeds to place the back of her hand against your forehead. "You are a bit warm too."

"The innkeeper said that?" you ask. Your two friends look at you, equally confused. But… you remember locking eyes with the inn keeper when you walked out of the inn in the pink of health to find gems. "Anyways, I think I'm fine… There's no need to fuss over—"

You bend forward in your seat, a burning sensation on your face. You blink rapidly, trying to refocus your attention. The scent of prawns is suddenly too strong and it makes you nauseous. Unwillingly, you relive the fright you felt when a thing flew past you. Your hands raise to your cheeks where you were scratched. Your friends didn't seem to notice anything, but you do feel the remnants of a scab.

It stings.

"I think you really should rest," the leader says.

"Don't worry, we'll get you dinner so you won't feel like you're missing out," the interpreter adds.

You look up to resist, but instead of meeting your friends' gaze, you meet with the inn keeper. As if in some sort of spell, you nod your head. The inn keeper comes forward and speaks. Your interpreter friend holds a short conversation with him before you're carried back to your room by the leader.

A second wave of tiredness washes over you, and once you're back on the bed, you drift to sleep.

.

You wake up with the moon high in the sky. When you check the clock, it's past midnight. 2 hours past midnight to be specific. You jump out of your bed and head towards the dining area on the first floor to check if your friends are there, only to be stopped by the inn keeper's wife.

"You're awake! We found this and we believe it is yours." You're startled she speaks your nation's tongue with great fluency, causing you to smile.

"My screenbox!" You take the item off his hands. "Where… did you find it?"

"We had someone return it to us. If you find anything out there, it either belongs to the nearby village or the inn. This is definitely not of Liyue origin, so the owner is obvious."

"I see… I feel much better now, thank you for taking care of me."

"It is what hosts are supposed to do."

You look at the well-dressed women in front of you. Her words are innocent, but she studies you in a way that seems like she knows more than she let.

"About last night…"

"I suspect your illness was from exposure to lingering karmic debt. Some of our guests are more sensitive than others but the beautiful scene from the balcony has notably helped eased their worries. Perhaps some fresh air will do you good?"

You nod, not wanting to cause conflict. After all, they say locals know best.

When she leaves, you make your way up the stairs towards the open-air. However, before you fully step out, in the corner of your eye you notice a gleam of green. The night you saw it, it was ominous, emitting a maleficent energy. Tonight, it's comforting. The polearm is held by the person you met that night. His mask lays on his waist, and from the entrance of the balcony, you seen his clean profile. You still don't know what happened, but if you've made it back safely, that can only mean one thing…

"Thank you," you whisper. Then, with newfound courage from rubbing your lucky jade, you say it louder, "Thank you for yesterday."

He turns his head. At the moment you lock eyes with his, he vanishes in the same manner he appeared: in black mist.

You did not find another jade that day, but there's no denying jade is your lucky rock.

.　⁺ . 　 ˚　✦　.　　+ ⁺　 　 . ✦

additional note: this is actually heavily inspired by an unwritten WIP i have for xiao which i will explain further in my author's note, so stay tuned i guess haha. it's already published on ao3 but you'll need an account for that

[thomine]

Contributor Apps Now Open!

📰 Contributor apps for The Steambird's Best Sellers List, a free digital character x reader zine, is now open! We welcome creators of all types to apply!

📅 Applications will be open from July 1 - July 31, 2025.

App & Contributor Guidelines: https://steambirdbestsellers.carrd.co/#apps Contributor Apps: https://forms.gle/qZrhkRGH2MJpdweJA

Remember to check out our Tumblr and Carrd to stay updated on everything going on and any future information!

@zine-scene @all-zine-apps @animegamingzines @open-zines @anizines @zinefeed @zinetown @zinesubmissions @atozines

[thomine]

DDOCA !

you have seen how hard your masters toiled to tell timeless tales; now, as a witness, you must unapologetically share them to the world. it is the least you can do. a multi-fandom collection of stories inspired by ASTRO's discography.

tag: #.ddoca2025 status: planning links: ao3 collection / sqw collection (coming soon!) note: shared on AO3 & Squidgeworld. to read on ao3, you need an account.

.　⁺ . 　 ˚　✦　.　　+ ⁺　 　 . ✦

C O M I N G⠀⠀S O O N .⠀.⠀.

.　⁺ . 　 ˚　✦　.　　+ ⁺　 　 . ✦

[thomine]

noceur - thoma

x reader | 2.6k words | general audiences

miraculously surviving a near death experience should be celebrated except everyone reminds you that you came back wrong. everyone except... the person doing laundry with you late at night. [ noceur: a person who stays up late at night. ]

tags: comes back wrong trope, brief mentions of skipping meals, human resource malpractice, hinted mentions of abuse, blood and injury, near death experience, requested, not proofread

links: read on ao3 ⁎ read on sqw ⁎ author's notes ⁎ prompt list (closed)

note: this was completed during ficwip's retreat weekend! :D

.　⁺ . 　 ˚　✦　.　　+ ⁺　 　 . ✦

The moment you open your eyes, memories of the previous night flood in.

Chinju Forest was shrouded in perpetual night as always. Luminous blue flowers decorated the river as tall trees let for a spectacular show of spotted moonlight. A beautiful scenery for a run, but you were not running for leisure. Your journey to find your missing father had turned into a chase.

Hilichurls loaded their bows and aimed as you fumbled your way deep into the forest. You tripped on a root and an arrow almost landed on your hand if not for your roll to the side. Before your escape, one of the monsters smashed your femur with its bat. It should have been fatal. It should warn you to return, but the adrenaline worked too well. When you fell, that pain shot through your body like the release of a tensed string. Whiz. Something cold pierced your right shoulder.

You didn't die immediately, of course. You wouldn't let yourself. Your father was still out there. Monsters were not match with his combat prowess, but it was useless against the tricks of the forest from curious bake-danuki or powerful yokai. You had to find him because he promised to tell you about your mother when the time was right. You had to find him because he would never abandon you either.

But even when the monsters left after having their fun, you stayed still. Not a single muscle could twitch.

As you laid, choking on blood and paralyzed by pain, the full moon shone on you like a limelight. You seemed to have drawn a presence, thick and soft fur covering your eyes like a mother's kiss. Accompanying the wind's timeless melody, a voice hums a familiar lullaby…

Beastly creature, no known keeper… Head to toe of fearful features… Plagued by longing like a fever… In solitude, world so blued, full of non-believers…

You sit upright, eyes squinting from the sunset. Raising your hand to block the light—

Wait… You have full rotation on your right shoulder. You can move your leg with no pain.

And the sun… You turn your head to see that you're not in Chinju Forest. Instead, you're a few centimeters beyond the toji gate guarding the entrance. A few hundred meters in is the rock where your search took a turn for the worse. It's surprisingly clear despite the foliage.

A shout runs across the sky. It is faint, but gets louder. The voice calls your name. Soon, you hear rushing footsteps—wooden sandals on cobblestone paths—but it's only after long minutes that a face emerges from the distance. When the lady notices your figure by the gate, you see the relief in her wrinkly smile as if she's standing in front of you. If you remember right, she's the head maid.

"You were missing for 3 days! Thank the shogun the guard on patrol found you," she cries, but as she nears, her light steps morphs into stomps. "Who do you think you are? Running off into the dangerous forest by yourself and making everyone worry? Your father already caused so much trouble with his disappearance, but they say you take after him so—"

She gasps, stepping back with wide eyes full of apprehension. Her hands cover her gaping mouth.

Is there something on your face? You tap your cheeks, your mouth and nose. Nothing stands out to you. Is it your teeth? Did you eat something disgusting and it's stuck in your teeth? Why does she look at you like you have an extra limb!

But her fear vanishes as rage takes over.

"You will compensate everyone for the work you abandoned. Quick, get on your feet." She grabs your wrist while her other hand covers her nose. You try to protest that your search was supposed to only be a day's affair, you definitely didn't plan to go missing, but your vocal chords are strangely strangled. "We have a lot to do before you meet the Lord. Taking a bath being the first."

Doing laundry was not the worse fate of a Kamisato servant, but it was proving to be just that.

The stench of aged bacteria freezes you in place and you still have a few meters to reach the basket of dirty clothes. Thankfully, the Kamisato Estate can afford strong detergent, so the broad pail of soapy water you've prepared fills the room in a clinical aroma peppered with artificial flora scents. You would have complained of its pungent scent if it was not the lesser of two evils.

No one liked laundry but it was an annoyance at most before your disappearance. This new experience was seriously shaking your sense of self. It didn't help that three days after your return, you bent a metal spoon while helping in the kitchen. Just yesterday, you freaked a colleague with your "glowing eyes". The room wasn't even that dark.

You hear your name. It is not said harshly. The surprise compels you to turn your head, apprehension on high.

"Still doing laundry at this hour?" Thoma, the housekeeper and once your close friend, says.

The strong smells of the laundry room must have rendered your senses numb. Usually you'll notice someone sneaking up to you. Guess your empty stomach twisting like a child throwing a tantrum is also an issue.

"Sir Thoma," you greet, giving a quick bow. You try to hide your frown as you do. When the head maid instructed you to do laundry at night, you hoped it decreased your chances of bumping into him. Not that you had—this is the first meeting since your return—but you wanted to be cautious. So much for your efforts. "It shouldn't be strange to see someone washing clothes at the end of the day."

"End of the day?" Thoma chuckles, lightly shaking his head. "It was the end of the day a few minutes ago. I believe you should be asleep at this hour." he continued.

"Did the head maid report of my absence?"

"Surprisingly, she reported a full house."

"She must have saw me take a nap and counted me in," you say closer to a statement than a question. "Either way, you shouldn't fret over a humble servant's duties."

"Why be so formal? I know we haven't seen each other in weeks, but that wouldn't make us strangers."

He walks pass you to pick up the laundry basket. Some soiled pieces fall as he lifts it, but he effortlessly bends and places them back, uncaring for the way it grazes his clothes.

"Please, there is no need." You snatch the basket from him with both hands, pressing it against your body for extra support. You aren't at your full strength and you're not going to make a fool of yourself. "I rested well so I have enough energy to get this done."

However, the proximity send a blast of stench that threatens to burn your lungs. You can't help but free one hand to pinch your nose. The basket tilts. Thoma is the reason why nothing spills on the floor.

"See?" He's almost smug about it."I think my help is very reasonable."

With one tug, he brings the basket at an angle and the clothes drop into the pail with minimal splash. Then, he grabs a chair and a washboard to start scrubbing.

You grab another stool from the stack he took his, placing it on the other end of the pail. In the silence, or as quiet as a night with singing crickets can be, you and Thoma scrub each piece of cloth. To focus on the task, you try to narrow on his scent.

His shampoo is undoubtedly the one people of Inazuma are raving about. Lauded for its strong and lasting aroma, evident by how its mint can rival the smell of dirty laundry at this hour. Still, an earthly and musky odor lingers on him. It is the scent of other canines. It's a mix only Thoma can pull off—

Wait, so what? You dig your hands deeper into the pail of cold water, as if that can cool the warmth in your face.

20 minutes in and you start the feel the effects of hunger. Your hands are shaking. You barely scratch the cloths against the washboard, but that's better than tearing it.

Another 10 minutes and Thoma leaves to change the water. You take a nap, hoping that can help you pull through.

Briefly, you dream of tricolor dango. As you sink your teeth in the snack, you taste a hazy rendition of milk tangled with the unique sweetness from sakura blooms and snapdragons. It's Thoma's signature dango. Another bite can't hurt but you're ripped away, a rude awakening by something tapping your head—

You nearly jump at Thoma. Fear flashes across his face and for a second you're back to the incident of last week. Blood on your nails. A terrifying scream. You didn't know you held them that tightly. Ruckus and chaos before the head maid stepped in and declared a new law for you.

Your stomach grumbles. You deserve it.

After mumbling an apology, you dive into work. Now you have to avoid thinking about how you wish he wasn't here and how you smell the sweet snack from your dreams.

Finally, after an hour and a half, both of you see the bottom of the laundry basket.

"This can't be a normal day's wash," he leans back and groans, wiping his face with his upper arm. "It is making me reconsider bathing twice a day," he jokes, probably noticing your uncanny quietness.

You offer a reserved toothless smile. Some colleagues say your "fangs" make you look terrifying, and scaring Thoma again is the last thing you want.

"No wonder laundry is always done in teams," he adds.

"Sir Thoma," you slow your pace of washing, most of whatever little energy you have directed to thinking of how to phrase your concern. "Why aren't you asleep? I don't take you as a noceur with how you have to wake up at the crack of dawn. Are you here because you pity me?"

"I was on my way to the kitchen when I saw you."

"I didn't know you eat supper."

"I don't. I was going to make a meal for you."

You pause, head hanging low. Thoma was the only person you willingly avoided, and yet…

"I heard the chefs were told not to cook dinner for you, which explains why I didn't see you in the dining hall."

"For a good reason," you say as you resume washing, showing him a delicately wrung towel. "This is only possible because of the head maid's orders."

"Still, it shouldn't be the way to do things."

"So you do pity me."

He calls your name, lovingly yet firmly.

"I don't pity you. I care for you." Thoma places his hand on yours, gently lifting it out of the soapy waters. Your nails are to"I couldn't sleep properly ever since you disappeared. I'm really glad you're back."

You pull your hand away, tucking it behind your back, and look at the floor. Your sharp and odd looking nails are harder to ignore with his as a clear comparison.

It doesn’t make sense. Your colleagues are always giving excuses to the head maid to avoid working with you. What you see in the mirror is a familiar face, but everyone points at you to claim otherwise. How could Thoma look at you in the eye and say the exact opposite?

"Thoma, I don't know if the person you're searching for is in front of you."

His face is scrunched by deep thought. Anxiety squeezes your chest as you wait for his response. Despite your new senses, you still can't read minds.

"I have a few questions for you then," he starts. Your heart sinks, although you fully expect suspicions. "Your father was a guard of the Kamisato Estate, yes?"

"…Yes?"

"You have a very close relationship with him but hardly know anything about your mother."

"Yes."

"You lived and served the Kamisato clan since birth, yes?"

"More like since I was a baby."

"And you wouldn't say no to my tricolor dango, would you?"

"What?"

He dries his hands by wiping on his attire, then unwraps a square box and reveals pink, white, and green glutinous balls pack neatly in a grid. It's messy in presentation, each ball being of a different size. Some are deformed to make way for others. It can't ever pass standards to be served to the Kamisato siblings. Still, there is a waft of freshly melted sugar and you feel heat emanating from it. That's what matters to you.

"Sorry, it's a bit squashed—Don't give me that look. I know you smelled it."

"I thought I was crazy!"

He hands it over as you try not to drool. You excuse yourself to wash your hands before returning, ready to ravenously finish everything.

"I'd have you know I would be insulted that's your criteria of me as a person under normal circumstances ." You chomp on a ball, closing your eyes to indulge in it. It's better than your dream, the flavors richer than you remember it to be.

"So what makes this not a normal circumstance?"

"This is too delicious. More chewing, less talking."

"See?" This time he's smug about it. "You're still the same person I know."

He grabs the remaining clothes in the basket and dumps them in soapy water. He doesn't start immediately though, his eyes lingering on you enjoying his dish.

Is there something on your face? Maybe you have dango around your mouth. Do you look silly gobbling his food? Why does he look at you like that? Fondness in his bright green eyes pairing with a smile so genuine it makes you giddy.

You hope your erratic heartbeat is not echoing in the room like how it is in your head. The detergent is suddenly more manageable than Thoma's scent.

He finally returns to the laundry, splitting the remaining amount in half. That prompts you to share your last tricolor dango which he accepts. With his hands buried under the water, he opens his mouth for you to plop a ball. With the box emptied, you join him, able to scrub with newfound strength.

"I can cook you something tomorrow. What would you like to eat?" he asks after swallowing the sweet.

"You'll be going against the head maid's orders. I don't want to cause you trouble."

"It's more trouble to deal with a hungry and irritated you than an angry head maid."

You did almost hurt him today…

"I'll try to do the laundry earlier too," you comment when he yawns, throwing the last cloth into the pile of cleanliness. "I'll be in bed before you so you have no excuses to make midnight trips to the kitchen."

He smiles and you mirror him, teeth and all.

"Great. Then we can definitely get it done on time for a good night's sleep, right?"

You don't protest, an answer of itself. A warm fuzzy feeling tumbles in your chest at the thought of doing laundry with Thoma tomorrow.

Once everything has been cleaned and hung, you bid him goodbye.

As you pass by a window, the bright full moon catches your eye. In the distance is the canopy of Chinju Forest. You recall that terrifying night. Your eagerness to reunite with your father. The strange comforting presence just before you awoke.

The wind sings that lullaby.

The last verse creeps into your mind as a distant memory of your mother singing to you.

But the wait will not make you weaker… Dream a dream little dreamer… Soon you shall meet with your seeker

.　⁺ . 　 ˚　✦　.　　+ ⁺　 　 . ✦

additional note: as you can tell i'm not the best songwriter out there... thank you so much for requesting this! i know it's deviant from what you requested, but i hope you like it nonetheless!

[thomine]

POST-FIC TALK: noceur

Basic Stats

Total Words (including drafts): ~6,800 words

Time: 8 months and 2 weeks (Request received: 29 July 2024)

Deviation from Original: 3/5*

*deviation from original is on a scale of 1-5, 1 being there was no change and 5 being it was completely changed.

⠀

How did the story develop?

*Check’s note* The previous summary was… “You were not someone who liked to stay up at night. That is until you died. Or you think you did, except you’re still here.”

This story was such a ride, LOL.

I know the request was simple—Thoma or Reader being a night owl and the other being concerned—but the more I thought about it, the more I was wondering… why?

Why was either of them a night owl? Why would the other care? And then it spiraled to this. 

Broad strokes that did not change through iterations / drafts:

Reader transforming after an unfortunate encounter in the forest in subtle yet unique ways.

These transformations were the reason for mistreatment.

Reader working at the Kamisato Estate since a young age.

Reader's father disappearing after entering Chinju Forest.

Reader's mother being some creature of the forest.

I don't really see Thoma being someone who stays up late at night, so Reader had to be the catalyst or the cause of his "unusual" behavior. Initially, Reader was awake at night because the changes made them nocturnal. Due to their mother being a creature of Chinju Forest, they were unusually drawn to the forest, finding solace from their day's affair by sitting by the toji gate but also unwilling to enter because of fear from the near death experience. 

The fic would then have Thoma approach and coax Reader back to bed. Quite in line with the request. Thoma was someone who reader knew in passing, but these frequent nightly talks would make them both realize how similar they were. At first, I thought this idea was a great idea! I thought the two were a good parallel, but nothing seemed to work? I didn't write any notes so I don't know what previous me was thinking. Still, the fact I can't recall a concrete point of their similarity is probably evidence the idea was not that great.

Since I was stuck, I took a break from this fic for a while. Returned to it from time to time to see how this story can be expanded, but ficwip's retreat weekend helped me lock in.

⠀

What were some interesting changes?

Laundry was never meant to be significant. As mentioned, it was supposed to take place outside the estate, near the forest. However, I was thinking if Reader would be punished, and that's how laundry came into the picture.

⠀

How did the relationship between Reader and Thoma evolve?

As Reader and Thoma being parallels didn't work like I thought it would, I started exploring the idea of "Came back Wrong." I think that was what I hoped them to bond over in initial drafts. Reader coming back to their "home" having been changed with Thoma going back to Mondstadt having been "changed". Somehow that didn't stick and it ended up being about how despite someone changing outwardly, it was their inner self that mattered, haha.

Thoma and Reader's relationship was supposed to loosely mirror Reader's father and their mother. How their mother was seen as a beast yet their father saw them otherwise.

⠀

What was the hardest part to write?

Honestly? The hardest part of this fic is the ending. Even though I struggled with the middle / second part of the fic, at least there were the start of some threads to follow. However, the ending was entirely up in the air. At least I knew it had to end on a good note.

When I did pull through the middle, enough to understand how the ending could go, it still didn't sit quite right? The ending I envisioned was awkward and strange. Somehow, after I took a fat nap (as it was 2AM and I couldn't stay awake anymore, lol), I wrote some words and the problem fixed itself. Or at least the scotch tape worked in making everything feel… not shitty! Haha.

Overall though, I'm surprised? I really wasn't expecting this story to go this way. I hope the requester is fine with it.

[thomine]

if anything happens to tumblr, my ao3 /squidgeworld is still up. will probably set up an email or something.

if not you can also find me on The Steambird Discord Server. (find more info @/thesteambird)

my carrd is also k-nich.carrd.co and links will be updated.

[thomine]

things i will post before i can peacefully let go of this blog:

slo dynamics

uncommon acts

seraphiism 23/24 writing event

rare words requests (12)

au august remainders

confessions & clarity will be orphaned. angstpril will be completed on ao3. spotify requests orphaned as well.

[thomine]

Merry Christmas/ Happy Holidays! Thank you for all the beta reading and willingness to hear my OC rambles this year — I really appreciate it :,)

i loooove oc rambles! very happy to hear it :) belated merry christmas / happy holidays to you too! i hope your 2025 has been going well. hope to beta read more of your works (great admirer of how your writing has matured) and more ocs!

[thomine]

thank you so much for the detailed response! i will respond below the cut. sorry for the long wait! life got busy and i ended up postponing that.

i am so happy you enjoyed it! i have to say that this fic wouldn't be possible if it wasn't for you. thank you for reblogging and talking about your blorbo because it gave me more insight to her as a character. (let's just say the muse was not musing for a very looong time.)

i am happy that you caught how the story is told through oz. when i was generating ideas, since i knew i couldn't be as theatrical as fischl, i thought it would be fun to explore fishcl and reader's relationship through a third party. oz being fischl's eyes during her investigations was a primary inspiration. i like how you phrased it: reader and fischl are, in some sense, performers to oz.

something else i'm really happy you caught was how reader's first dialogue in the story was towards fischl; a declaration even. i intended to make fischl "mute" in this story since i knew i didn't have what it takes to write in her voice, but that somehow expanded to being intentional with reader's first dialogue.

about fischl and reader's dancing skills... i wouldn't say she saw reader as ready for the stage, but i gathered from her character that she was always putting a performance for others (not necessarily in a bad way; she just knows there will be an audience). because of that, i assumed that... she would be quick to jump on the idea that what reader prepared was for other to see. i also wanted to touch on the idea that fischl has always been the one being theatrical for others but she probably did not consider herself an audience for someone else, so reader's words were probably the first for her too.

and lastly, about the ending, it was supposed to mirror how oz saw reader at the start. or parallel? oz started the story confused at why reader danced: it's brash, unprofessional, and raw -- in a "not polished" sense. that's what 'balter' means. but through being a spectator and understanding the purpose behind reader's intention, the dance, with no drastic change, is suddenly pleasant. i wanted to sort of link it to the idea of perfection. what you are doing may not be perfect in standard to something else, but if you know why and what you are doing, then the standards to compare is no longer that 'something else.' in this case, that 'something else' is the bards or performers along the streets of mondstadt, the nation of music and song. to reader, that 'something else' they want their dance to be measured against is fischl's approval. and i'm glad you picked out that phrase where fischl talked about courage and perfectionism, because i wanted reader's conviction in their dance to be a sort of leaping board for ficshl to find even more courage in herself.

you've pointed out so many parts of the story, sharing your reaction and that really makes me so happy. i'm also so happy to read that you enjoyed it. sorry (again) that i took so long to respond. life got busy!

balter : to dance gracelessly, but with enjoyment ft. fischl

pair: fischl x reader info: general audiences, canon universe, not proofread word count: 1.3k links: prompt list (req closed) note: requested by @dkniade (thank you!) i hope i did one of your favourite character justice!

As the respected familiar of Prinzessin der Verurteilung, Oz, the Raven Knight, has little say in matters related to where he goes for investigations. It is not him to question the superior instructions of the one he serves either, so he normally ignores any patterns that might pique his interest… But it is challenging to put aside a fourth occurrence in a week. At his altitude, as he soars across a flat mountain top west of Mondstadt, your Adventurers' Guild attire paints you as a geeen speck accented with red. If he wasn't experienced, he would have mistaken you as a violently shaken valberry bush.

You are flinging your arms, twisting your hips, tapping your feet to an obscure rhythm, displaying a raw and energetic performance he wouldn't pay tickets to see.

However, it isn't only him who sees you. Oz is not an ordinary familiar. He acts as the Prinzessin's eyes, and she can't take them off your baltering figure.

He may find no joy in seeing you dance, but the Prinzessin's feelings influence his wings to descend. He rests on a nearby rock behind low bushes, a good distance to notice the details of your expression given his sharp eyesight yet not disturb your performance. He watches intently for the Prinzessin's sake, and when you wrap up your session, Oz flies to Stormterror's Lair to start the Prinzessin's commission.

"Congratulations, Fischl, for another report full of praise from your previous commissioner. He said the information you've collected was perfect." Katherine, the representative of the Adventurers' Guild, places a pouch of mora on the table for the taking. Oz's milady strikes a pose she practices behind the mirror every morning, her victory laugh a show of her strong diaphragm.

She accepts Katherine's praise in that creative way of her's, talking about how a royal such as her will always deliver, the years of traveling worlds is another reason for her quality of work.

Katherine claps with a friendly stiff smile pasted across her face. She is probably one of the few adventurers who can understand his milady's unique speaking patterns, leaving him a spectator. A role he doesn't mind and often finds respite in. It is in these moments of tranquility that Oz likes to take a look around them, observing the citizens strolling by, noticing the clouds ahead, and listening to the gentle breeze. He spots you near the plaza's fountain. You are at the ledge, tossing golden mora into the waters.

After their polite conversation, Fischl does a few more poses to celebrate her successful commission and snags the bag of mora with eager eyes.

As her mouth drools, Oz's milady goes to great lengths to ask if he wants a bite at Good Hunter, to which he accepts. It has been a while since they could rest on evenings since that is the time you dance. But today, you weren't there.

They are about to enjoy their snack when Fischl stops short at the stairs leading to the eatery. Her eyes land on you just as you get off the ledge.

You wave, a wide grin on your face. The Prinzessin turns to Oz with panic in her eyes. She may have practiced her greetings but she was not prepared to face you. In fact, she never believed she could after that incident where she criticised your dance. She really just meant you had to improve in order to be at the stage!

"I never said I wanted to be on the stage," you said then, a forlorn look on your face. "It was meant only for you."

Since then, you never brought up dancing. You weren't in your usual spots either. Fischl would accept extra investigation commissions as an excuse for Oz to take the skies and search Mondstadt for you.

The relief she felt when she saw you dancing freely with tall blades of grass…

Oz doesn't understand you. He understands why his milady made such comments. Your dancing skills aren't anything impressive. Clumsy even. But whenever he stopped to watch your performance, the Prinzessin observing through his view, in such a state their feelings blended and he felt affection—a warm thing in his feathery chest.

His milady emits a nervous laugh, eyes darting left and right for an escape route but it's too late. Ecstasy fuels your legs and you're faster than Oz remembers. Must be all that dancing. In seconds, you've skipped through the flight of stairs and land in front of the Prinzessin.

"Fischl, milady!" You greet, bowing. "The wishing fountain really does work!"

The Prinzessin's mouth hangs open, but she is quick to recover with a comment on how royals like her don't neglect the wishes of their people. She is flushed, nervous, but you laugh and smile even brighter. There is desperation in the way you gingerly grab her hands, which she welcomes. As you invite yourself to interlock with her fingers, she doesn't withdraw. In fact, her face reddens.

"I've been looking for you, but Katherine said you've become exceptionally busy."

She then goes on a spiel about the expected bustling life of someone as herself: traveling, adventuring, and discovering. Due to her lifestyle, she is hard to catch, so you should be grateful that you have been graced with her presence aligning with your need to see her.

"She means, 'Why are you looking for me?'" Oz says.

"It's not something really important…" your enthusiasm falters, eyes deflating to fall to the floor. "But I hope you can see it still. It wasn't right of me to just walk out that day, but… come, I'll show you."

The Prinzessin looks at Oz for help, but Oz knows better than to speak. Plus, since her fingers are interlocked with yours, when you pull her towards the gates of Mondstadt, she—who doesn't want to let go—has no choice but to follow.

Oz flaps his wings, following in tow. Past the bridge, milady catches up with you and an easy conversation flows. She asks how you've been in her own unique way, adding hints for you to ask how she's been which you take. It's about the halfway mark that Oz knows where you're taking the Prinzessin, the route all too familiar.

Not long after, you're on your stage far away from civilisation. In the stretch of grass, it is just you, your milady, and Oz.

"I did my best to improve," you shyly start. You point at a rock that Oz lands on to watch your covertly. You've removed the bushes so there will be no discomfort. "You were embarrassed with other people watching as well, so I thought this would be the best place."

Milady loses a bit of her personally pointing out your efforts to improve. You nod and take a few steps back.

"Would the Prinzessin indulge with me, letting me entertain her for this fleeting moment?"

A small smile graces the Prinzessin's lips. She had shared with Oz one sleepless night that she didn't hate your dancing. It was beautiful in an imperfect way. It was admirable how you didn't care for those who looked at you with weird stares, how you were so assured with your choice to dance despite what others said. It was a confidence she craved, something she told herself she had but on such nights she wondered if she did.

That day, when you told her you only danced for her, it struck her how you were the way you were towards dance because nobody else mattered to you.

She shouldn't have been embarrassed, but she was. And her embarrassment cut deeper than she expected.

She had so many people to prove while you only wanted her approval. Perhaps… she only had a small few to prove too.

Milady then watches as you fling your arms in the air. There is no music, no rhythm, and nothing's really changed from the way you danced in that messy style of yours, but for once it isn't the Prinzessin seeing through Oz's eyes.

Through her eyes, Oz notices the subtle beauty in your authenticity. And as the sun sets a beautiful orange backdrop as your stage, there is only Oz, Fischl, and your confessional moves.

author's note: as you can tell i kind of gave up with fischl's way of speaking lol. i'll tackle that bump when i get to it... another day... for now, since this is a writing prompt i won't tear my hair off for it, haha...

[thomine]

law of lovers - kaveh

/ reader | 694 words | general audiences

as your partner, kaveh is obviously invited to your family's christmas party, which means he will be meeting your parents for the first time! how exciting! but is there something else on his mind?

tags: fluff (i promise), modern au, not proofread.

links: work tag

author's note: part of @thesteambird's christmas exchange! this gift is for @andromeda-nova-writing <3 i hope you enjoyed it!

.　⁺ . 　 ˚　✦　.　　+ ⁺　 　 . ✦

Kaveh knows which house is your childhood home as he walks down the neighborhood with your hand in his. Orange leaks from the translucent glass windows of your house. Chaotic cheers and languid laughter accompanied by the smell of freshly cooked dinner breech the walls to seep into the cold blue night. It is exactly as you described. He can feel the celebration outside.

You are swinging his arm humming a Christmas classic and Kaveh feels guilty he can't resonate with your excitement, especially since tonight is special. You'll normally walk these gray streets alone, rushing towards that familiar door for warmth after a year of working abroad. Today, you're in no hurry.

They're going to love you. You reassured him a few days before, but something else weighs his hand in yours. Kaveh's fears stiffen his entire body, disrupting your climb up the porch decorated in Christmas-themed fairy lights.

"What's wrong?" You ask, jumping off the porch to be on level ground. "You're not having a fever are you?" You raise your free hand to touch his forehead. "Thank goodness you're not, but you're unusually cold. We should quickly get you inside."

"Hold on," he says with panic in his voice. At the sight of your confusion, he adds as casually as he can: "I just need some time to prepare myself." He wipes stray snow sticking on his sweater that you crocheted for him to match with yours. "Okay, I'm ready."

"You sure?" You tilt your head, returning a smile mixed of amusement and gentle concern. "Trust me, my family will love you so much. There's nothing to worry about."

"It is my first time meeting someone's parents, but it's not that." He takes in a deep breath, cold air burning his nostrils and throat, but it's not as troublesome as the words scraping his tongue. "It feels unfair to you, that you are dating someone like me. I can't let you experience things like… meeting my parents, or having extravagant parties for the holidays. The world that you live in is so bright and beautiful, and I'm grateful that you believe I belong in it, but my world is not the same. It's lonely. I have… no joy to share with you."

Kaveh closes his eyes and hangs his head. This has been on his mind, his pride concealing it with a curtain stitched from knowing that you'll love him regardless, but seeing the happiness emitting from your house threw bricks of shame, and he's face to face with this monster of truth.

You reach out for his free hand with yours. Kaveh twitches in surprise, but follows your guidance to cup his hands together so you can encase his freezing fingers in your warmth.

"Kaveh." Your voice is soft, barely audible. You aren't looking at him but the shoes at the entrance.

He leans closer.

"Yes?"

A quiet second passes. His heart is erratic as he anticipates what you'll say.

"Are you implying you're dating my family?"

"W-what? No, of course not. I didn't know about your family until after we started dating."

"That's the point." You turn to look at him, eyes blazing with conviction. "I'm not dating your background or your history. I'm dating you. You don't need to bring anything to the table other than yourself." You pull him close to give him a chaste kiss on the lips. "So what if I won't get to meet your parents or attend fancy parties held by your relatives? After tonight, you're going to be grateful we only need to attend one party every year."

"Will your parents mind my background, though?"

"They will. That's why I warned you they'll love you more than me." You laugh, and Kaveh smiles. "You'll be sick of sweet."

He closes the gap between you and him to give you a hug, pressing his head into the crook of your neck, where he fits perfectly.

"Thank you."

"So, what do you say? Are you ready to taste the best homemade meals in your life?" You ask, patting his back.

"Meals that rival my Fatteh?"

"Never, you know I love you."

"I love you too."

.　⁺ . 　 ˚　✦　.　　+ ⁺　 　 . ✦

additional note: MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! after all we put kaveh through... he's finally having a sweet, tender moment. no bullying this christmas because he is a good boy and does not deserve angst in his festive sock. only good vibes. hope you like it!

[thomine]

I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokpokki by Baek Se-hee

[thomine]

haha. yeah

[thomine]

balter - fischl

x reader | 1.3k words | general audiences

balter: to dance gracelessly, but with enjoyment.

tags: canon compliant, not proofread

links: prompt list (req closed)

author's note: requested by @dkniade (thank you!) i hope i did one of your favourite character justice!

.　⁺ . 　 ˚　✦　.　　+ ⁺　 　 . ✦

As the respected familiar of Prinzessin der Verurteilung, Oz, the Raven Knight, has little say in matters related to where he goes for investigations. It is not him to question the superior instructions of the one he serves either, so he normally ignores any patterns that might pique his interest… But it is challenging to put aside a fourth occurrence in a week. At his altitude, as he soars across a flat mountain top west of Mondstadt, your Adventurers' Guild attire paints you as a geeen speck accented with red. If he wasn't experienced, he would have mistaken you as a violently shaken valberry bush.

You are flinging your arms, twisting your hips, tapping your feet to an obscure rhythm, displaying a raw and energetic performance he wouldn't pay tickets to see.

However, it isn't only him who sees you. Oz is not an ordinary familiar. He acts as the Prinzessin's eyes, and she can't take them off your baltering figure.

He may find no joy in seeing you dance, but the Prinzessin's feelings influence his wings to descend. He rests on a nearby rock behind low bushes, a good distance to notice the details of your expression given his sharp eyesight yet not disturb your performance. He watches intently for the Prinzessin's sake, and when you wrap up your session, Oz flies to Stormterror's Lair to start the Prinzessin's commission.

"Congratulations, Fischl, for another report full of praise from your previous commissioner. He said the information you've collected was perfect." Katherine, the representative of the Adventurers' Guild, places a pouch of mora on the table for the taking. Oz's milady strikes a pose she practices behind the mirror every morning, her victory laugh a show of her strong diaphragm.

She accepts Katherine's praise in that creative way of her's, talking about how a royal such as her will always deliver, the years of traveling worlds is another reason for her quality of work.

Katherine claps with a friendly stiff smile pasted across her face. She is probably one of the few adventurers who can understand his milady's unique speaking patterns, leaving him a spectator. A role he doesn't mind and often finds respite in. It is in these moments of tranquility that Oz likes to take a look around them, observing the citizens strolling by, noticing the clouds ahead, and listening to the gentle breeze. He spots you near the plaza's fountain. You are at the ledge, tossing golden mora into the waters.

After their polite conversation, Fischl does a few more poses to celebrate her successful commission and snags the bag of mora with eager eyes.

As her mouth drools, Oz's milady goes to great lengths to ask if he wants a bite at Good Hunter, to which he accepts. It has been a while since they could rest on evenings since that is the time you dance. But today, you weren't there.

They are about to enjoy their snack when Fischl stops short at the stairs leading to the eatery. Her eyes land on you just as you get off the ledge.

You wave, a wide grin on your face. The Prinzessin turns to Oz with panic in her eyes. She may have practiced her greetings but she was not prepared to face you. In fact, she never believed she could after that incident where she criticised your dance. She really just meant you had to improve in order to be at the stage!

"I never said I wanted to be on the stage," you said then, a forlorn look on your face. "It was meant only for you."

Since then, you never brought up dancing. You weren't in your usual spots either. Fischl would accept extra investigation commissions as an excuse for Oz to take the skies and search Mondstadt for you.

The relief she felt when she saw you dancing freely with tall blades of grass…

Oz doesn't understand you. He understands why his milady made such comments. Your dancing skills aren't anything impressive. Clumsy even. But whenever he stopped to watch your performance, the Prinzessin observing through his view, in such a state their feelings blended and he felt affection—a warm thing in his feathery chest.

His milady emits a nervous laugh, eyes darting left and right for an escape route but it's too late. Ecstasy fuels your legs and you're faster than Oz remembers. Must be all that dancing. In seconds, you've skipped through the flight of stairs and land in front of the Prinzessin.

"Fischl, milady!" You greet, bowing. "The wishing fountain really does work!"

The Prinzessin's mouth hangs open, but she is quick to recover with a comment on how royals like her don't neglect the wishes of their people. She is flushed, nervous, but you laugh and smile even brighter. There is desperation in the way you gingerly grab her hands, which she welcomes. As you invite yourself to interlock with her fingers, she doesn't withdraw. In fact, her face reddens.

"I've been looking for you, but Katherine said you've become exceptionally busy."

She then goes on a spiel about the expected bustling life of someone as herself: traveling, adventuring, and discovering. Due to her lifestyle, she is hard to catch, so you should be grateful that you have been graced with her presence aligning with your need to see her.

"She means, 'Why are you looking for me?'" Oz says.

"It's not something really important…" your enthusiasm falters, eyes deflating to fall to the floor. "But I hope you can see it still. It wasn't right of me to just walk out that day, but… come, I'll show you."

The Prinzessin looks at Oz for help, but Oz knows better than to speak. Plus, since her fingers are interlocked with yours, when you pull her towards the gates of Mondstadt, she—who doesn't want to let go—has no choice but to follow.

Oz flaps his wings, following in tow. Past the bridge, milady catches up with you and an easy conversation flows. She asks how you've been in her own unique way, adding hints for you to ask how she's been which you take. It's about the halfway mark that Oz knows where you're taking the Prinzessin, the route all too familiar.

Not long after, you're on your stage far away from civilisation. In the stretch of grass, it is just you, your milady, and Oz.

"I did my best to improve," you shyly start. You point at a rock that Oz lands on to watch your covertly. You've removed the bushes so there will be no discomfort. "You were embarrassed with other people watching as well, so I thought this would be the best place."

Milady loses a bit of her personally pointing out your efforts to improve. You nod and take a few steps back.

"Would the Prinzessin indulge with me, letting me entertain her for this fleeting moment?"

A small smile graces the Prinzessin's lips. She had shared with Oz one sleepless night that she didn't hate your dancing. It was beautiful in an imperfect way. It was admirable how you didn't care for those who looked at you with weird stares, how you were so assured with your choice to dance despite what others said. It was a confidence she craved, something she told herself she had but on such nights she wondered if she did.

That day, when you told her you only danced for her, it struck her how you were the way you were towards dance because nobody else mattered to you.

She shouldn't have been embarrassed, but she was. And her embarrassment cut deeper than she expected.

She had so many people to prove while you only wanted her approval. Perhaps… she only had a small few to prove too.

Milady then watches as you fling your arms in the air. There is no music, no rhythm, and nothing's really changed from the way you danced in that messy style of yours, but for once it isn't the Prinzessin seeing through Oz's eyes.

Through her eyes, Oz notices the subtle beauty in your authenticity. And as the sun sets a beautiful orange backdrop as your stage, there is only Oz, Fischl, and your confessional moves.

.　⁺ . 　 ˚　✦　.　　+ ⁺　 　 . ✦

author's note: as you can tell i kind of gave up with fischl's way of speaking lol. i'll tackle that bump when i get to it... another day... for now, since this is a writing prompt i won't tear my hair off for it, haha...

[thomine]

[thomine]

The anatomy of a hug.

[thomine]

i care more to be loved - kaveh

/ reader | 5.4k words | general audience

you don't believe you found love but you found kaveh. that's close to love, right?

tags: consumption of alcohol (mentioned in passing), canon compliant, not proofread.

links: read on ao3 | work tag

author's note: um. not i'm not really back from hiatus. yes that's a little women (2019) quote. you may read the author's commentary for more info.

.　⁺ . 　 ˚　✦　.　　+ ⁺　 　 . ✦

ONE.

There should be a word to describe those like you who withdraw from social gatherings. You don't hate people so you aren't anti-social, and it's not like you don't hang out with others—forming connections is your job. You are the guy who knows a guy who knows a guy. There are just some days you cannot bring yourself to keep up, and today is one of them. While your social circle is partying at Lambard's Tavern, you sneak out of your house into the forest beside Sumeru City with a small container of snacks and some textile. A lonely picnic it will be, but loneliness is not the issue here. Neither is hunger, but you have to keep yourself occupied.

You find a comfortable spot under shade with a beautiful view of the setting sun and lay out a shoddy sheet of straw before placing a mat over it. It's a cloth given to you by your mother after scoring well, although her face when you declared you weren't joining the Akademiya made you feel she regretted getting you anything in the first place. This mat does cost a lot so you keep it pristine to honour her efforts.

The container that keeps your food warm is also a gift, one you bought yourself after years of eyeing it through windows. It is nicer when it is on display, but you don't regret buying it. It is practical and you'll give credit to where its due despite the miscellaneous inconveniences in its design.

Once you've settled in a comfortable spot facing west, you watch as the last light of the day diminishes. This is—what you like to believe—a refuge, but your worries never cease to leave you. You wonder what your friends are doing at the tavern. Probably drinking their life away while jostling and cheering. Having fun. Playing games. Enjoying the atmosphere. Putting their best foot forward.

For love.

Like artists musicians that decorate the streets on festive nights, awaiting tips and change to drop into their hats.

As your brain depressingly quips with itself, you can't hear footsteps from behind. It is only when a shadow covers you that you take note you are not alone, and also realise you have been crying.

"I hope I'm not disturbing?" the uninvited voice asks, gently. When you turn (after wiping your tears as discretely as you can), you meet a blonde man with warm eyes made even warmer with the shine of sunset. He kneels to meet you at eye level as you present your business smile. "I saw your mat and I was wondering where did you get it?"

"Oh, this?" You stand, uncomfortable with his gesture of kneeling to meet your gaze. You wear your shoes and step off the object he's interested in so he has a full view. "It was imported from Inazuma. They sell the finest textiles so I'm not surprised it caught your attention. Want to try sitting on it? Oh, but please take off your sandals."

The man seems to be half-listening as he straightens. You wonder if your eyes are puffy to give away your earlier misery, but other than his intrepid stare directed at you, he's fixed on the mat.

"And how much would it cost? Are you still in contact with the merchant? Wait, before we continue let me introduce myself." He extends his hand for a handshake. "I'm Kaveh, an architect. I'm building a large mansion nearby and will also be in-charge of designing its interior. Such a mat would look wonderful among the furniture I plan to get."

You look around, unsure why you haven't seen any construction. Was it approved or is this guy just lofty? Regardless, you exchange pleasantries. After giving your name, you add, "I'm afraid I do not have the particulars of the merchant. My mother bought this for me"—you hope you don't look constipated—"but we are not in contact so I can't help you trace the mat's source."

"A pity," he says, shoulder slouching. "Sumeru textiles would work but I really like this design."

Again, it's not that you dislike people, but you really want to be alone right now. You look at the mat, memories of a distant past weigh heavy in your throat. It would be nice to say goodbye to it once and for all.

"You can have it." Grabbing the edges, you fold the textile as he gawks. "I don't use it other than as a mat when I'm outside—which isn't frequent. Hearing what you have planned, you'll make better use of it. I'll just get another one."

"But this is from your mother, isn't it? Wouldn't you want to keep it for that reason alone?"

You pass the rolled up mat to him with a lopsided smile. "Oh, it's just a mat to me. Don't worry about it and don't think too much of this. See you."

You then pick up your barely touched food and trudge back home before he can reject your offer.

⠀

⠀

TWO.

You hear someone call your name. It's your name, yes, but still unfamiliar on the tongue of this person. The first thought that comes to you is that it is a client, but clients don't address you by your name. Only your nickname. That's how you differentiate your personal and professional circles. All personal connections eventually mix with your profession, so they handle your name like experts. Vowels and consonants wrapped in a specific tone. This is fairly… friendly.

There was someone you met recently… you try to recall that moment but it doesn't appear until you are face to face with a blonde man with warm eyes.

Ah, Kaveh.

To his luck, you are chirpier than when he last met you. With energy to perform, you smile brightly and greet him, although your pronunciation is off as one would for new names. He doesn't seem to mind though.

"Glad to bump into you," he huffs while leaning over, supporting his upper body with hands on his knees. You let out a small laugh.

"I wouldn't call you running to greet me as bumping into me."

"Don't take it the wrong way, I wasn't stalking you or anything. I just saw you walk down this street and thought I'd say hi."

This man is puzzling. First, he claims to be building something large near where you were seated, and yet with your purview of the land you see not a single construction. Then, he runs towards you just to say hi. Is saying hi to someone you barely know that important?

"Well, um, hello then," you say, extending an arm for an awkward handshake. "How's your project so far?"

"It's…" he clears his throat. "The mat you gave me was perfect. I should really thank you. Should we have a meal together? My treat."

"No need to treat. I just had lunch with my friends. I was heading back, actually."

"Do you stay nearby?"

"Relatively close. What about you?"

"Um, I stay nearby as well."

Something is definitely up with this guy.

"Is there anything else?" you ask as you place your hands on your hips. "I'm sure you're busy yourself."

"Let me treat you at least once. Whenever you're free."

You don't understand why he's so insistent, but it reminds you of desperate clients even more desperate to keep their business afloat. They always have something to offer in hopes it can gain them something of greater value. Not that you are great at weighing these deals, but emotionally, you play this game everyday. Perhaps giving him the mat was a habitual act of the same principle. You hoped giving him the mat will grow something, and this may be your chance to harvest it.

How tiring, but isn't that necessary? Condition and reward. Didn't he say he was building a mansion? You might want someone of such caliber in your books.

"I'll take up that offer for a meal, but you don't have to pay for it." You take out a paper and pen to jot your address. "Tomorrow, dinner? I'll cook."

Once again, before Kaveh can react, you make your leave. You dissolve into the crowded street, wondering what will bloom from this.

⠀

⠀

FIVE.

You still don't know where Kaveh lives after a year, but he surely knows how to make your house like his own. You did not expect to have common interests, and his philosophies intrigue you enough to not be bored. When he doesn't appear on Fridays, you are surprised, but even then you don't push for details or a reason the next time he comes over. His life is his life and yours is yours.

You know he keeps his secrets such as details of the project (which grants him highs and lows, as all things do) while you keep your worries private. To meet him more frequently means nothing, at least that's what you believe.

"What are we?" Kaveh asks one quiet evening as you tear through your dinner. He has become such a staple in your life silence feels comfortable. His question, however, rips the atmosphere like you and your meal. You tongue feels heavy as your mind replay scenes that happened last week. He tried to bring it up once too, but the moment you expressed discomfort, he surrendered. It seems the water in the kettle has finally reached its boiling point.

"What do you mean? What else can we be?"

"Do friends really do what we do?" he probes. You give him a quizzical look, daring him to be clear. "Are you going to deny our kiss last week?"

"You stayed over and we got drunk. That's all that happened." You bite your lips. You had hoped the weekend would mean he would forget everything somehow. "You were lonely. I was lonely. That's all there is to it."

"So the kiss meant nothing." He looks forlorn, slouching in his chair as his legs sprawl under the table, as if he's as exhaled like a flattened balloon. "Why do you do this to me?" he asks, voice wavering. "Are my feelings for you not clear?"

You place your cutlery down and wipe your mouth. You lost your appetite. "I'm not here to discuss this. I'm going to go for a walk."

As you stand, so does Kaveh. He gets up with such force his chair falls back. It is a chair he bought for himself after he ruined yours. Not his fault. The chair was going to give way anyways. This chair, though, is handpicked by him to match whatever miserable mess of furniture you have. It isn't costly, but no one sits on it other than Kaveh.

He walks towards you and grabs your wrist. You flinch but do not pull away.

"You should head back home and sleep too. Maybe you just aren't in the right mind," you mumble. "You did drink yourself dead because of stress so you should rest."

"You kissed me. I can't just wake up next day and pretend everything is fine. You know how I feel about you."

"I already told you I was lonely, okay? Do you really want to be with someone who uses you because you're conveniently here? And it's not like you actually like me either."

"Why do you keep saying that? You don't know how I feel."

"I know. I know the game we play. If I didn't give you the mat that very day I would be a stranger to you even now. If I didn't show you any kindness you would have hated me. Don't you get it Kaveh? This world is based on conditions, and every condition I've set such that you'll like me. I've trapped you like a rat and I let you delude me to believing lies."

"What are you talking about?" Kaveh's voice is as scratchy as sandpaper. It doesn't sit right to see such a a pretty face this distressed. "If you say I'm stressed you must be too. Nothing from your mouth makes sense. Tell me, what's bothering you? We can work it through." He grabs your hands and intertwines his fingers with yours. A gesture you've gotten used to—indulgently. He first held your hand like this when you were sick. How comforting it was but now it repulses you, yet not enough to reject his warmth still.

"Kaveh, listen to me. The moment you don't get what you want from me, you're going to walk out of this door. You don't love me. You love the conditions I set. It is like a prey falling for a predator's tricks."

"Then say you don't love me."

You swallow.

"So by your logic the reason you kissed me is because I helped you through your loneliness. Have you wondered maybe you caused it upon yourself? You keep such a distance with your friends, they don't even know about me."

"What are you implying?"

"Maybe you do love me. You can treat me as you do with your friends. Avoid me, isolate yourself, but you invite me even to your pity parties. Can you really say I'm a prey, or am I someone who willingly walked into your den for I know you aren't the predator you believe you are."

"Kaveh, please stop. You don't know me. I'll give you away as quickly as I gave the mat. You do not want to be involved with me."

You jerk your hand out of his grasp. As usual, you leave Kaveh faster than he can react. After your hour trek through the forest you return to an empty house with an empty heart.

Pity party? Pft. You definitely don't host pity parties. The moments you choose to be away from your friends are moments you regain your energy to fight the world. It is difficult to keep having to present yourself as lovable. To have someone like Kaveh accompany you through these times means nothing.

It doesn't mean anything.

⠀

⠀

SIX.

You were right. Kaveh doesn't return the next Friday, or the Friday after that. As if you've unplugged a lifeline, he doesn't exist. You don't even see him around the streets he normally hangs around.

"You seem upset," a friend of yours say. She is the owner of a small cafe situated in the bazaar. A friend from your youth you know you have to maintain good relations with. Her coffee isn't to your liking but they have won awards. In fact, brewing coffee is not her only strength. She is good at gathering intel.

"Am I?" you force a laugh. "Must be the lack of sleep. Work has been piling up as of late."

She sips her tea as you observe the stillness of yours. Rich brown liquid. Warm to touch. Memories of Kaveh's hands wrapped around yours ignite your chest with sorrow. You swallow it with your drink.

"I heard that you seldom visit the bazaar to buy dinner," your friend inquires. Of course she will turn her tricks to you. "I'm not saying you can't get your food anywhere else, but I do recall you recommending Jut's dishes. Fast and delicious for anyone working over time."

"Have you met him? I told him of your recently opened store and he said he would drop by. Wouldn't it be cool if there was a collaboration between the two of you?"

"You know when to find a business opportunity when you see one. As expected for someone who scored well in the exams."

"You just like to flatter people, don't you? You scored even higher. My mum never shut ups about it, and I believe she'll still bring it up even now."

"But my networks aren't as wide. You truly know how to rope people with that smile of yours. Not to mention you're always too kind for your own good. Thanks for the free sponsor, by the way."

You ease a laugh, glad to have the topic changed. "Oh don't mention it. It was a discounted deal anyways." You finish your drink and decide it is time to leave, but your friend's next words hold you prisoner.

"I was wondering if you've heard of Kaveh?"

"…What about him?"

"So you do know him."

"Bumped into him once. Said he was working on a big mansion in the forest. What about him? Are you going to ask if I can help you connect with him?"

"Not really. Not professionally at least. I think he's charming… he stopped by my store once"—of course, because you told him to give her stall a try—"and was so nice. He's so pretty, don't you agree?"

You pull your head back as you force a laugh so she can't see the way your eyes wrinkle with remorse.

"If I can get in contact with him, I'll let you know. I have to go first though." You gesture to your finished drink. "Thanks for the drink."

She stands with you and edges close with arms open. You lean to give her a hug. Before she can remember to ask for anything more, you're out of the bazaar.

⠀

⠀

THREE.

You truly are a person with no qualifications other than a disappointed mother and an award-winning smile. You put on masks and play pretend, trying to inflate your credentials so others will believe you are lovable. You can be loved. You will be loved.

But what if you're just a singular person who stares at sunset with a container of home made food while you let your thoughts powered by self-deprecating rot and doubt to run wild? Will you still be lovable then? It is a question that grips you even more than death itself.

You are a beggar at the mercy of those that pass by. Your hands empty and shivering. Love me, you cry. What I give is the feeling of superiority. The feeling that you're doing something good. In return I want you to love me.

Can you really say, then, that someone will love you for who you are? Would there not be this underlying feeling that they chose you out of pity?

You know people will be at your funeral, but will it be for you?

"So you were crying the day I met you," Kaveh says as he appears from behind. You have invited him to join your picnic, but he's late and your thoughts have grown to be a beast that demands your tears. "Sorry, that's not a good entrance. I didn't mean to be a busybody."

You wipe your wet eyes, uncaring of being discrete as you have been caught. Kaveh brought along more food. He unpacks them on your new plain mat.

"No, I'm thankful you didn't say anything that day," you note. "I don't think I wanted you to point it out. Would have ruined my mood even more."

Kaveh takes the spot you've prepared for him, leaning on his hand positioned behind to get a good view of the sky. He's still a stranger—in some sense—but a very welcoming one at that. There is something about the way he treats you that makes you feel you can trust him with your secrets. Not that you will share it with him. He's only come over for dinner the past month. Your friendship with him is developing faster than you'd like, but when he does things like randomly send you letters because something reminded him of the conversation over dinner or when he buys your favourite ice cream because it was on sale and he remembered you, it's hard not to grow fond of him.

In your area of business you should return such gestures, but he somehow makes himself indebted to you. You've never have the scale balanced when it comes to him. Perhaps inviting him into your private moment is your attempt at leveling what he skewed. Maybe this is part of his greater plan—he'll count these blessings as a means to an end, but for once, you aren't doing business. It never feels like it with him.

"You don't want to talk about it, do you?" he asks after a moment of silence. You shake your head. "Fair enough. Sitting down to watch the sunset is already easing my own stress."

"You really didn't have to do all of this, by the way," you motion at the food he bought and laid out. So much for trying to make things even. "I told you I was going to cook."

"But it's to celebrate!"

"Celebrate?"

"To us being friends. You've helped me so much and now you're inviting me to a picnic? Surely this means we're getting closer. Plus, look over there." He points to something in the distance. You move closer to him to see his line of view and notice bright colours poking from the canopy of the forest. "That's my project and we've finally started construction. Surely this is a moment to celebrate."

"I'm really happy for you."

You lean your head against his shoulder briefly, like a nudge. The smile on your face is small, but it's sincere.

⠀

⠀

FOUR.

Kaveh is acting strange. He is outside the door but he has yet to knock. He's mumbling things to himself and you feel tempted to open it just to scare him as a lesson to not talk to himself outside your door, but you've yet to clean the living room. He comes in like a storm and places his things everywhere. It's not that you mind though. It's just embarrassing to have him know you keep the house as he left it as evidence that you aren't alone.

Finally, his long-anticipated knock comes. You yell for him to wait as you finish the final touches and swiftly open the door. Tonight, you cooked The Endeavour in hopes to rival the one he made for you last week. It is an intricate piece of art disguised as the dish Fatteh. Only he can come up with something as extravagant as that, so you're not trying to beat him in presentation but taste.

You open the door, anticipation bursting in your eyes.

"You won't believe what I—"

"I love you and I—"

You blink, staring blanking at your favourite flowers covering your view. When you push it down to see Kaveh, his face is flushed. His eyes avoid you, and he seems to have regretted saying anything at all with the way he bites his lips.

"Did I ruin it?" he mumbles, free hand covering his face as the other pushes the bouquet into your arms, as if to say he wants you to carry the embarrassment away. "Was this bad timing?"

You gingerly take the bouquet and usher him in before he decides to run away.

"Let's… have dinner first."

You place the bouquet on the table in the living room as you bring out dinner.

"What was it you wanted to say?" Kaveh fidgets with his hands, voice strained with worry. "You sounded really excited."

"It's this," you say with less enthusiasm than you expected. "I loved what you brought me last week and I wanted to try making it too. It can't rival your presentation, but I hope it's edible."

"It's lovely." The compliment doesn't reach his eyes. Not that he doesn't believe what he's saying. They're just busy with other emotions as they intrusively search your expression. You try to keep it normal.

"Dig in," you chirp, pointing towards the dish that, when you think about it, is a poor rendition of what Kaveh gave you. "Let me know what you think."

He takes a bite and slowly the conversation buries his confession. You're back to laughing while he's rambling. The bouquet of flowers sits on the table without water—withering, if you may put it—while you and Kaveh's relationship continues to grow.

That night, you lay in bed wondering what his words mean.

What have you done?

⠀

⠀

SEVEN.

"The Palace of Alcazarzaray has been destroyed by the withering." News headline reads in bold. You stare at the paper, wondering why the name of the mansion rings a bell. You read on and you gasp when you see his name.

"…the architect, Kaveh…"

Your eyes dig into the words to extract every piece of information you can. Although he never told you the details of the project, it was undeniable how much passion and love he had for it. Talking about the project was always a gateway for him to share about his past, present, and even future. He told you of his time at the Akademiya, his parents, his dreams and aspirations. To have this project fail broke your heart knowing his has been broken.

Is that the reason he has been avoiding you? Was that the reason he arrived at your house multiple times looking worse than before? The reason he drank so much that night which you half-joked was because of the project really was the reason. Your kiss must have caused his mind to enter a flurry that pulled him under.

What have you done?

They say love does not make you think straight. Can you blame it on love or is this solely your selfish doing?

You don't wait for the answer as you scramble out of your door after grabbing your essentials. You have to find Kaveh, figure out how much he owns and how he's doing. You have to help him in one way or another if not who knows what will happen to him—

But you don't find him. He finds you instead. He's a few meters away from your door, approaching you with bloodshot eyes. You sigh, an act of relief but also concern, as you walk towards him.

"It's been long," you say after greeting him, unable to meet him in the eye. "I heard about the project. I want to help."

"No."

"What?" You raise your head and look at him, dumbfounded. "Why not? If you need money, I have some."

"I know you'll say that, but I cannot accept it."

"Why not? I don't want to see you"—you gesture towards all of him—"like this." For someone who tries to keep himself well kept, he is disheveled beyond recognition. Hair a mess, attire robbed to a plain t-shirt and pants that cover him decently. He looks pathetic, like a beggar, and who loves to see someone in such a state? Saviour complex or not, you know you can help him, and you will. "Come inside. Let's discuss it there. You look famished. I'll cook up something for you and—"

He calls your name. You still remember the first time he reached out to you on that busy street. How different your personal name was on his tongue compared to others. That friendliness has never left. In fact, it grew fonder over time. You should have noticed his feelings before he announced it, but maybe you were hoping it wasn't true. Now, he says your name dripping in tenderness and you want to scream.

Don't do this to me, you think as you drag him in your house regardless. I don't need you to remind me of your feelings. Of how I hurt you.

Once the door closes, as you're about to leave to prepare him a warm cup of coffee, he grabs your hand.

"I'm here to let you know I'm not accepting any help from you, and my feelings will remain."

"You're crazy. What are you going to—"

"You said that I only like you for your kindness, for the things you did. I'm here to let you know even if you don't show me an inch of kindness, I'll still love you."

"You shouldn't do that. That's stupid. That's illogical—"

"But it's your logic." He leans closer, almost putting his entire body weight on you. It is at this proximity you smell the faint scent of alcohol. "If I can't prove it to you with my logic then I'll have to use yours."

"You're not thinking straight. Look, Kaveh, remember the great girl who runs a coffee shop in the bazaar? She wants to meet you. She can make better coffee than me, is more beautiful and smarter. Her business is expected to skyrocket after marketing and maybe you can get your funds from her too. You'll find better, more amazing people. You shouldn't waste your time trying to prove to me that you like me. You don't even have to prove to yourself you like me."

Kaveh stays quiet. He stops moving too. You would think he is dead but you've handled a drunk Kaveh more often that you'd like to admit. Thankful he stopped his thrashing. You drag him onto the sofa and begin making preparations for when he wakes. Medicine, food, maybe some contract for him to be your roommate.

However, when he wakes, he is even more adamant on his stance, and more logical to argue for it too.

At least he drinks your coffee and eats the meal you prepared for him: a simple bowl of cream soup. He devours it almost in an instant, and you wonder how long he's not eaten. Given his new skinnier frame, you're betting at least a full day.

"I'll make seconds." You take his bowl and turn to head to the kitchen but he denies you once again by grabbing your arm. You hate how difficult it is to shake him away. You hate how a part of you is happy he wants you to stay.

"That's enough. I am not a baby. You of all people should know this."

"Yes, but in your current state? I wouldn't say so."

He releases his grip and you return to your seat. He sits upright on the sofa, a good distance away from the flowers he bought for you now kept in a small vase.

"I know you're worried about me," he starts as he rests his hands on his thigh and looks at the floor.

"Yes, it isn't a very nice situation to be in." And I probably made it worse.

"But I have a plan. The overseers of this project will not abandon it, and I sold my house but I met up with Alhaitham who I will live with in the mean time."

"See? You never know when you'll need to pull strings with people you dislike."

"I don't dislike him. At least, him as a person. Just his views of others."

You chuckle. "Same thing, isn't it? What is a person without their views? Their passions? Their aspirations? That's who they are."

"Their flaws as well." He looks at you, warm eyes intense like a burning flame. You shy away from his gaze. "Thank you for your help," he clears his throat, probably embarrassed he fell on you like that while drunk. It's not the first, and you hope it's not the last.

"Are you sure you don't want me to help?"

"It's fine. I will deal with it myself and I'll show you what I mean."

Another question sits on your tongue. Will you continue to ignore me and only come to me during your drunken stupors?

But he beats you to it.

"I know this is a silly question, but why do you want to help me so badly? If you believe I was lured by your kindness, then why continue being kind to me?"

"I don't deny I'm selfish," you start as you look at the floor, tucking your feet closer to your body. "I do kind things so people are tethered to me. I don't want you to leave."

You give him a side glance, expecting some sort of disgust or distaste, but instead he looks solemn yet shocked. It's better than being judged or disgusted.

"I'm sorry, Kaveh," you whisper. "I don't think I'll ever love you the way you want me to. I don't know how that works."

"Then that's even more reason to not accept your help. I won't give up."

Silence except the ticking clock in your room. This time it's unnerving, but not in a bad way. You are aware of your breathing—chest rising up and down—while your heart rate quickens as heat gathers at your face. When did he have such an effect on you?

"Visit me even if you're in a pitiful, sorry state. Even if it's unbearable to see you the way you are right now. And even after that, when you've got your bearings, I still want to have dinner with you."

"I will be back," Kaveh announces as he stands. He smiles, satisfied.

.　⁺ . 　 ˚　✦　.　　+ ⁺　 　 . ✦

author's note: as always thank you for making it until the end. this story came to me in a whirlwind of inspiration. whether you agree with reader's point of view or not, i do hope you come to realise that love, as tricky as it is, is also fairly simple because it is everywhere around us. it may not come in the form that we want but we shape the love we receive with our hands by changing ourselves. stay strong fellas (i am loosing my brain cells as we speak).