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Leona getting locked out of his dorm on a rainy day or Ultra Magnus reprimanding Rodimus for his seventh missing report that was due orns ago
I went with Leona getting locked out of his room on a rainy day because, well, it was really funny to me!
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"I'm home!.....? Hi, 'boyfriend who doesn't live here.'"
Leona lifted his head up from the living room sofa, blinking sleepily at you. You forced the front door shut with your foot, shifting your weight to heft the grocery bags further up your hips and keep everything from crashing to the floor.
"Put those on the kitchen table, Ruggie'll take care of them."
"And why, pray tell, is Ruggie also in my house?"
"Who do you think picked the lock?"
"Touché." Making your way to the kitchen, you found Ruggie standing in front of your stove, wearing your apron, frying your fancy ham that you bought only for your favorite sandwiches. He perked up as you entered, nearly pouncing upon your groceries the moment you set them down.
"Finally! Yer out of eggs, y'know."
"Hey 'boyfriend's gofer who also doesn't live here.' What the hell are you two doing in Ramshackle? And why are you eating my food?"
"Relaaaaax! Just ask Leona about it, he'll pay you back." He seamlessly cracked two eggs in one hand, dropping them into a second pan on the stovetop and chucking the shells in the trash. "One of the first-years went home for winter break, and his little sister had..." Ruggie paused, a visible shudder crawling up his spine. "Fleas. Brought 'em back on accident, so now we gotta evac while the profs' smoke 'em out. Just be thankful we didn't bring half of the dorm with us. Leona wanted his 'beauty rest.'"
You made a sympathetic, yet disgusted noise in the back of your throat. "Bummer. Where's Jack?"
"Bunking with Epel for a bit. Apparently Vil already went over him with a fine-toothed comb."
You snorted at the mental image of Vil manhandling the first-year into a medicated bath. "Alright, you better make enough for four though. Maybe five, considering Grim and Leona's appetites. I'm gonna start on my homework."
"Save it." You startled as Leona appeared silently behind you, draping his weight across your shoulders. "I've had a long day. Too long. Need my stress ball for a bit." He gave you a warning squeeze.
"Am I your stress ball or your body pillow?"
"Gross."
"Zip it, Ruggie." Leona muttered, already dragging you away back to the sofa.
'Wait! Let me at least get my textbook first! Leona!"
"Well shit, looks like gravity is increasing on me. We may not even make it back. Guess we just gotta lay here."
"LEONA!"
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Note
Leona getting locked out of his dorm on a rainy day or Ultra Magnus reprimanding Rodimus for his seventh missing report that was due orns ago
I went with Leona getting locked out of his room on a rainy day because, well, it was really funny to me!
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"I'm home!.....? Hi, 'boyfriend who doesn't live here.'"
Leona lifted his head up from the living room sofa, blinking sleepily at you. You forced the front door shut with your foot, shifting your weight to heft the grocery bags further up your hips and keep everything from crashing to the floor.
"Put those on the kitchen table, Ruggie'll take care of them."
"And why, pray tell, is Ruggie also in my house?"
"Who do you think picked the lock?"
"Touché." Making your way to the kitchen, you found Ruggie standing in front of your stove, wearing your apron, frying your fancy ham that you bought only for your favorite sandwiches. He perked up as you entered, nearly pouncing upon your groceries the moment you set them down.
"Finally! Yer out of eggs, y'know."
"Hey 'boyfriend's gofer who also doesn't live here.' What the hell are you two doing in Ramshackle? And why are you eating my food?"
"Relaaaaax! Just ask Leona about it, he'll pay you back." He seamlessly cracked two eggs in one hand, dropping them into a second pan on the stovetop and chucking the shells in the trash. "One of the first-years went home for winter break, and his little sister had..." Ruggie paused, a visible shudder crawling up his spine. "Fleas. Brought 'em back on accident, so now we gotta evac while the profs' smoke 'em out. Just be thankful we didn't bring half of the dorm with us. Leona wanted his 'beauty rest.'"
You made a sympathetic, yet disgusted noise in the back of your throat. "Bummer. Where's Jack?"
"Bunking with Epel for a bit. Apparently Vil already went over him with a fine-toothed comb."
You snorted at the mental image of Vil manhandling the first-year into a medicated bath. "Alright, you better make enough for four though. Maybe five, considering Grim and Leona's appetites. I'm gonna start on my homework."
"Save it." You startled as Leona appeared silently behind you, draping his weight across your shoulders. "I've had a long day. Too long. Need my stress ball for a bit." He gave you a warning squeeze.
"Am I your stress ball or your body pillow?"
"Gross."
"Zip it, Ruggie." Leona muttered, already dragging you away back to the sofa.
'Wait! Let me at least get my textbook first! Leona!"
"Well shit, looks like gravity is increasing on me. We may not even make it back. Guess we just gotta lay here."
"LEONA!"
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one good turn deserves another.
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request: hiiii!!! i love your blog and your writing so much!! i also love that you love ruggie too!! i was thinking it would be a super cute idea to see something about ruggie pining over the reader but he thinks they’re trying to get with leona and that’s why they’ve been helping ruggie with his tasks, but really it’s bc the reader has a crush on ruggie and is just trying to get closer to him lol. the ideas been living in my head rent freeee
notes: 1.8k words, fic, fluff, pining
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Ruggie Bucchi has survived many things in his short life: hunger, poverty and life-threatening injuries, to name a few. But this? This has to be the worst thing he’s ever had to face.
“Leona, where do you even keep your socks?” you ask, hoisting a basket of laundry to your hip. You, the Ramshackle prefect, who’s faced several overblots and garnered quite the notoriety in school as a result, are now doing Leona’s laundry. And for free, too.
It would have been laughable if Ruggie didn’t have to bite back a scowl every time you talked to Leona.
“Dunno. Ask Ruggie,” Leona drawls, still buried somewhere under his comforter.
“Ruggie, where does Leona put his socks?”
“Left cabinet, top drawer,” he responds automatically, smoothing out a crease in Leona’s lab coat.
“Thanks!”
“Don’t mess anything up, herbivore,” Leona calls.
“Keep talking like that and I’m going to cut holes in all of your socks,” you shot back.
Ruggie’s ears twitch. Truly, listening to you flirt with Leona was worse than breaking a bone. Scratch that, he’d prefer having a broken bone than having to listen to you two banter back and forth. Because every time you exchanged a pointed word with Leona, all Ruggie could think of was how you never talked to anyone else like that.
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every-miles-and-space · 2 months
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Alhaitham in his normal outfit and in the Dr Ratio outfit
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every-miles-and-space · 4 months
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rules of rationality, p.2.
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summary: it's unfortunate, but when you're injured, the only person who helps you is Alhaitham.
notes: 1.6k words, fic, part one, depictions/discussions of injuries, slight suggestive content, weird mutually pining situationship
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The first thing you’re aware of is the lancing pain in your torso, like someone has run a red hot poker through your guts and stirred it into a mess.
The second thing you’re aware of is something firm under your head, like a stiff pillow. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but different. 
Then, you open your eyes to see Alhaitham’s arms and a dusty book in his hands, floating right above you. Ah. You’re lying down. And you’re lying down on… oh shit. You groan and try to lift yourself up, but that only causes the pain in your torso to spike, so you drop your head miserably back onto Alhaitham’s lap.
“Get out of my house,” you manage to say.
“You’re in my house,” he replies calmly, flipping a page.
“That’s even worse, you know that?”
Now that your consciousness and your sensation are returning, you can make out a little more about the situation. You’re on Alhaitham’s living room couch, and there’s a blanket pulled across your legs. Your lips are dry and cracked, and you lick them with your swollen tongue in vain. Even the smallest movement sends fresh pain throbbing through your body like waves. There are bandages on your arms, and more peeking under the hem of your shirt. 
“You shouldn’t move,” Alhaitham says. “You were badly injured when you were found. I can give you the full report from the doctor later, but it should suffice for now to know that the most major wound was on your torso, on top of several injured organs. The blood loss was substantial.”
“Wow. Thanks for telling me I almost died. But you’re not addressing the most important question.”
“Which is?”
“Why am I on your lap?” you say.
“Because you kept tossing in your sleep and disturbing your wounds. You wouldn’t calm down unless I was holding your hand, but since that was inconvenient for me, I moved you to my lap instead. You slept quite fitfully.”
You squeeze your eyes shut, mouth puckering like you’ve bitten a sour zaytun peach. “Are you serious right now?” 
“Yes.”
You would scream, but that would only jostle your wounds. You were never going to live this down. You wouldn’t calm down unless Alhaitham, of all people, held your hand? Like you were some child, clinging to the hands of their mother, or worse, some romantic sap who couldn’t stand to be without him, even unconsciously? Honestly, you’d have preferred if your assailant had finished the job instead of leaving you to die of a slow humiliation on Alhaitham’s lap. With any luck, your wounds will finish you off instead.
Honestly, it’s not as if Alhaitham hasn’t seen you in more vulnerable and decidedly inappropriate situations, but there was a strange intimacy to laying on his lap that set your teeth on edge. You’re exposed like this. You’d have a hard time defending yourself if Alhaitham, for whatever reason, decided to go rogue and murder you like a crazed maniac. 
But more than that, you’re the one who usually initiates things in your relationship. You’re the one who reaches out first, and Alhaitham either accepts your advances or wards you off with his blunt demeanor. There’s no guesswork with him, which you appreciate. But this is the first time you’ve ever seen Alhaitham willingly let someone touch him like this, and for such a prolonged period of time. Sure, you’re injured, but it feels unsettling, to say the least. 
What made him treat you so differently? 
It’s a strange little reverse of the situation only a month or so prior, when he had been the one to show up injured at your doorstep. Now, you’re the one who needs his aid, and it’s not a position you like being in. People are normally in your debt, not the other way around. 
“What happened?” you mumble.
“That’s what I thought you could tell me.”
You cast your thoughts back, blindly fishing in the murky waters of your memory. What had happened? There was a new shipment of rare books coming in, some ancient poetry excavated in the desert, and you couldn’t resist the opportunity to snag some for yourself. But the dealer had been shifty and you didn’t like the look in his eyes. Years of intuition told you this was a rotten deal. When you tried to back out, things had turned violent. You had tried to flee, but then fought back when no other option was available to you. But even you couldn’t hold your own against a dozen experienced armed fighters. What happened after you passed out, you couldn’t say.
In hindsight, it had probably been a trap of some sort. Set up by who and for what, you couldn’t say. Your list of enemies was a mile long, though there was also the chance you had simply gotten caught up in something by accident. 
Sure, you rubbed people the wrong way because you fell on the other side of the law, and you dug into secrets and invaded privacies most loved to keep under wraps. But you were harmless! Except to the people whose information you sold for a premium, but other than that!
You tell Alhaitham as much, and he drinks in the information slowly.  
“It’s not like you to fall into such an obvious trap. Should I make an appointment with a neurologist for you?” he says. 
“Only if you sign up for one with me,” you say. “Hey, I bet you wouldn’t have been able to resist the deal yourself. Some of those books were priceless antiques.”
“I can think of better things to risk my life for,” he says.
“So, how did I end up here, Scribe? Did you save me?” That part of the story had been bothering you like a loose rock in your shoe: the gap between you fainting in a warehouse and you ending up on Alhaitham’s lap.
“Hardly. The Matra were the ones to crash that little party of yours. They arrested most of the perpetrators, though some escaped.” 
“Ah, how classically incompetent! But wait. They didn’t arrest me on the spot?” you say in disbelief. 
“One of them— one of your contacts, I suppose— recognized you as my acquaintance and fetched me before anyone could ask too many questions. I was able to smooth things over, and arranged for you to recover in my home instead of the general hospital.”
“Damn. How much do I owe you for that?” 
“Hard to say. What sort of price would you put on your life?” Alhaitham asks. 
“I’m priceless. I’m basically one of the treasures of Sumeru.” 
“I doubt it, considering you actively meddle in affairs that aren’t yours and cause endless grief to everyone involved.” 
“Hey, I’m just doing my job,” you protest. “But you know… it’s strange for you to offer to host me here. It makes me wonder… Do you enjoy seeing me like this?” you say coyly. It’s an errant thought, one you’re not quite sure why you voiced.  
“Not at all. In fact, I quite like how you usually are.” Simple, honest, direct. Just as Alhaitham usually is. You might have preferred it if he had lied instead. 
“What the hell,” you mumble. “That’s unfair.”
“You asked. Why did you ask if you weren’t ready for the answer?”
“You know, coming from you, what you just said could qualify as a confession,” you say. 
He flips another page. “And what if it does?”
Ah, this is dangerous territory. It’s time to back away. Your injuries must be more serious than you initially realized, if they were going to make you run your mouth like this and send you hurtling into social situations you can’t navigate with your usual finesse. “Then I’d have to turn you down. You know, the beautiful men and women of Sumeru would weep if I wasn’t available for their lovelorn gazes,” you say as lightly as possible. 
“Considering your relative unpopularity, I doubt anyone would care if we did end up together.”
“Jackass. This is why you can’t get a date other than me.”
“I will take your criticism under consideration,” he says.
You close your eyes. The more you sleep, the faster you’ll heal, and the sooner you’ll be back on your feet and out of here. Then, you’ll find some way to repay your debt to Alhaitham, if only to establish some sort of balance in your relationship for your own sake. Emotions have a habit of muddling any situation they’re tangled with, and they’re a complication you want to avoid. Yes, it’s better to keep things transactional.
A hand drifts down to your face, fingers gently stroking your cheek. It’s a touch you’re intimately familiar with. Normally, you’d bat his hand away, or kiss his palm to see how far you can get with him. But you can’t muster up the energy to do anything other than accept his touch.
You would never admit it to Alhaitham, just in case it makes him more insufferable than usual, but his presence is comforting. There’s no one else you would trust enough to fall asleep like this, without any weapons hidden on your person or backup plans in mind. He’s the only person in the world who you know would never hurt you. 
What the hell. You’re getting sentimental. Maybe it’s the unusualness of the situation. Maybe it’s the fact you’re hurt, or maybe it’s the way Alhaitham sheltered you in his home, despite his usual desire to avoid mess and fuss. 
His touch is traitorously soft. You should tell him to knock it off, just on the off chance it stirs up sentiments you’d rather lie buried. 
But you can’t. Or you don’t want to. Because for now, it’s just the two of you, and you almost feel like you’re someone precious to him as you drift off to sleep in his lap.
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every-miles-and-space · 4 months
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Just a doodle…
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every-miles-and-space · 4 months
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hecks yeah my beloved lazy ghost
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every-miles-and-space · 4 months
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every-miles-and-space · 5 months
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scribbled hearts.
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premise. alhaitham learns to stop falling asleep in places that isn't his bed the hard way. (alternatively, in which the librarian doesn't follow the script to wake sleeping beauty.)
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Kaveh finds Alhaitham furiously scrubbing his face in the bathroom.
At first, he's absolutely ecstatic. For all that Alhaitham refuses to practice skincare, he's never gotten a zit on his face. An earth-shattering revelation to Kaveh, who maintains a strict nightly skincare routine—he's never gone to sleep without a moisturizing facemask. It's not the most infuriating thing about his roommate, but it annoys him that a guy who only washes his face in the morning has clearer skin than he does.
Is this it? Is Alhaitham receiving retribution at last? Is he finally suffering the consequences of his carelessness?!
But when Kaveh cranes his neck to get a better look at Alhaitham's face, he doesn't see any of the sort.
“Dude...” Kaveh can't even laugh due to sheer incredulity, staring at Alhaitham with a pitying look. Alhaitham thinks it would be less irritating if he just laughed in his face. “Did a third-grader pick on you?”
Alhaitham grits his teeth, wiping the remnants of ink on his face. He's mostly gotten rid of the sparkly anime eyes you drew over his eyelids, but it still looks like a fading black eye. The blush lines on his cheeks are a work in progress, but they'll disappear with some effort.
“They have the maturity of one, at least.”
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Alhaitham has met his fair share of librarians—there's the stern, no-nonsense kind he's gotten forehead flicks from every time he's caught dozing off on his thesis paper; the introverted bookish type who stutters as they nervously but firmly tell him off for hogging all the books a certain class needs for a report; the motherly sort who smuggles him coffee in his all-nighters when he looks like death itself...
And then there's you.
Cheekier than his brat of a roommate, you somehow manage to annoy him like nobody else can. He'd rather have you scold him for treating the library as a second bedroom than clip ribbons to his hair whenever you catch him sleeping. Hell, he'd take a skull-shattering forehead flick over doodles on his face any day. But even if he preaches his troubles to anyone willing to listen, they're never sympathetic.
Because for some reason, you're never like this to anyone else.
If anyone at campus were asked to describe you, they'll say you're a model student. Scholarly, courteous, standing tall with dignified grace; you're the perfect picture of a goody-two-shoes. Nothing like the childish brat who terrorizes his nap schedule on a daily basis.
People who have a vendetta against him is nothing new. What he doesn't understand, however, is what he did to be the object of your wrath.
“Maybe [Name] likes you. Kind of like how boys bully the girl they like,” is the ridiculous answer Kaveh gives him, dropping those words like they weigh nothing with a nonchalant shrug. Alhaitham would think it more likely for the reverse to be true; your insistence to dedicate your time into ruining his day is nothing short of admiration—surely a testament to just how much you hate him.
...Okay, so maybe Alhaitham could guess a few things for why. There's been a handful of times (read: it happens at least thrice a week) he kept you stationed at the library longer than you had to be because he fell asleep until closing hours, and he has a tendency to forget returning the materials he borrows for his thesis to the library...
So. Perhaps this was a consequence of his actions after all.
He argues that there are far more mature methods to resolve this issue, though.
Alhaitham stares at the crudely drawn portrait scrawled on his arm, deeply unimpressed. Although he's not one to boast about his looks, he's rather sure he isn't as much of an eyesore as you drew him to be, his nose an exaggerated point (a literal triangle) and his lips wide open as he drools, dangerously close to the rectangles he guesses are supposed to be books. Don't sleep on the reference books!! You'll get drool all over them >:(, reads the scribbled letters beside the portrait, an angry face scrawled haphazardly next to them.
(Still, by the corner of his eye, he spots a cup of his usual order of coffee, a neon pink sticky note pasted on the lid: Wake up and finish your report quickly, I have a show to catch at 8 :>
It would be easier to hate you if being bratty is all there is to your personality, really.)
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You scribble all over your notes.
It's a fact Alhaitham has known about you since long ago. Everything else about you is neat and orderly, but every page of your notebook has some sort of doodle on the corners. They range from meticulous side-profiles of whoever sits beside you that day to meaningless hearts and smiley faces akin to what a five-year-old child might make.
If you've chosen to be more artistic for the doodles you draw all over him, perhaps Alhaitham might not mind as much. It's unfortunate you much rather prefer drawing exaggerated tear streaks on his face.
“I'm quite certain this is a form of harassment,” Alhaitham grumbles, rubbing his face with makeup remover. As pointless as it is to express his woes to the cause of said woes, he finds himself seated before the reception desk to keep you company anyway. “I don't understand why you're still doing this.”
“It's a punishment for falling asleep and keeping me holed up in here to guard the library until it closes,” you drone, fixing the library cards. “And yet you still refuse to stop. Is it really so hard to go to the dormitory instead?”
Alhaitham shrugs. A sigh inevitably escapes your lips.
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Eventually, you run out of stupid things to draw on his skin whenever you catch him sleeping.
You start to write your shopping list on his arm instead.
“Why on earth would you need three cartons of eggs?” Alhaitham leans against the desk you're stationed at, reading the bulletpoints on his skin.
Eventually, Alhaitham gets used to scrubbing off your vandalism too. It's his personal brand of skincare.
“They're on sale today,” you reply, signing the papers requesting new stocks of books. “And I was planning on baking, so it's better I have plenty of ingredients for trial and error.”
“Sounds heavy,” he hums, eyes scanning the rest of your list. “Want me to come with?”
At that, your pen stops moving. “...Why?”
“I need to buy cereal.”
(No he doesn't. Kaveh went on a grocery run yesterday.)
“Sure, I guess...?” It's an unexpected development, but you wouldn't turn away an extra pair of hands. “Should we get going, then?”
“Yeah.”
You raise an eyebrow. “...But you didn't borrow a book today yet. Aren't you getting anything first?”
Alhaitham looks around. “The book I wanted isn't here, so I suppose I still have to wait a few days for it.”
“What is it?” You click your pen, reaching for your notepad. (You already have one of those, Alhaitham seriously sees no point in you writing down your grocery list on his arm.) “I'll tell you when it gets returned.”
“...No, it's fine. Let's go, the eggs you wanted might be all gone if we take our time getting there.”
You jolt up in alarm, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “You're right, we should hurry!”
For all it's worth, you're pretty gullible.
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“You're still keeping that up?”
Alhaitham looks up from his laptop, fingers halting in their movement. “What do you mean?”
Kaveh scrunches his nose, pointing at the scribbles on his palm. “Your weird mating ritual. Can't you two communicate like normal people?”
Alhaitham glances at the mess you've made of his arm, full of little messages and doodles you wrote back and forth to each other during Biology period. Alhaitham had been, perhaps for the first time, not feeling drowsy. Regardless, you've taken to treating his skin as paper (“Save the trees,” you told him once, ignoring the disbelieving expression on his face), and Alhaitham has already accepted that you won't stop doing it as long as you still find it amusing.
“We do talk. Normally.”
“And if you do, why are you still doing... that.”
Alhaitham doesn't have anything to say to that. He did think it was inconvenient to wash all the messages off, and there are far more practical modes of communication.
But for some reason, he can't find it himself to say that he outright dislikes it.
And maybe he traces the shapes you draw on his skin, in the private confines of his room where no one can see him. Maybe he admires the smooth strokes of your penmanship, the adorable curls of your letters, the bubbly font that always makes him chuckle because it's just so like you.
There are hearts sometimes, or even flowers when you feel like drawing something more detailed. The ugly sketches of him sleeping are somewhat annoying, but he still finds himself endeared. Though some things are appallingly inaccurate—you've done his nose a horrible injustice more than once—he notices the correct placement of beauty marks on his face, the sharp edges of his eyes, the meticulous dimple that faintly appears when he smiles.
A thrill runs through him when he thinks of you paying attention to him, more than you've ever given anyone else.
And, well. Alhaitham's certain he's been doing plenty of that for you.
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“Don't you think you're being unfair?”
You pause in your typing, averting your eyes from the computer monitor to glance at Alhaitham. “Unfair in what, exactly?”
He mindlessly spins a pen with his fingers, staring at the blank canvas that was your arm compared to the sketchbook you've made out of his. “You're the only one who writes on me.”
“What, you want to write your shopping list on me for a change?” you arch up an eyebrow, unperturbed. “I thought you said it was impractical.”
“I never said I wanted to write my shopping list.”
“What else would you write, then?”
Alhaitham reaches for your arm. “Give me your hand.”
You blink, not quite unwilling yet confused all the same. You offer your hand and he uncaps his pen, scribbling on your palm. You've never been on the receiving end of this little game, so you're not sure what to expect from him.
“There.” Satisfied, he lets go and stands up. “I'm going home for the day. Good luck with the rest of your shift.”
“See you tomorrow, I guess...?” you wave at him in farewell, but he's quick to spring on his feet and dart out the door. “What's his deal...”
You turn over your hand, seeing a string of numbers written in neat font.
“Oh.”
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Alhaitham feels silly for anticipating a text like some lovestruck teenage girl who exchanged numbers with her crush.
The blinking cursor on his blank essay document almost looks mocking, and as time passes by, the only word he's managed to type out is “The.” Even so, his attention is completely locked on his phone, devoid of any notifications.
If it weren't for Kaveh being nosy the other day, he wouldn't have gotten the idea of giving you his number. He did think something had to change, but he didn't know how to get there. But now that he's gotten this far, he can expect a little bit, right?
At last, his phone chimes its long awaited notification. Alhaitham is quick to ditch his laptop and shuts it closed, reaching for his phone where it sits on his desk. He swears he's never typed his password so fast before in his life.
Unfortunately, the text he's been anticipating for a good portion of the day is nothing but a disappointment.
Unknown number: eggs milk whipping cream flour
Unknown number: baking powder cocoa powder vanilla extract sugar
What was he expecting anyway?
He sighs and leans back on his chair, solemly pushing his laptop open. He doubts this message requires a response back.
Another notification lights his phone.
This time, Alhaitham doesn't even have the energy to unlock his screen. He squints at the notification preview.
Unknown number: wanna come over when I finish baking the souffles?
He doesn't quite drop his phone in shock, but it's a near thing.
You: I'll go carry the groceries too.
Unknown number: thanks! 💖
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every-miles-and-space · 5 months
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tags: fluff, gn!reader, kinda jealous wrio WRIOTHESLEY knows he’s screwed when even a melusine seems to understand his own feelings better than he does.
"Is that what your books have taught you?" he asks, masking his jitteriness with a light smirk before lifting the tea cup to his lips.
"Partly, your grace." Sigewinne smiles innocently and leans on her tiptoes to reach for the empty cups that have accumulated during the morning. All the paperwork that Wriothesley had to deal with the past couple days barely left him time to keep his office tidy. "Displaying traits of jealousy is a natural phenomenon that one does when seeking attention of a second party."
"I'm not jealous." Wriothesley corrects, and despite his seemingly calm exterior, if you look closely enough you'll catch his eyebrow twitching in slight irritation. He has always admired Sigewinne's eagerness and motivation when it comes to the study of human behavior. Though, he would have never thought that her devotion would one day bite him in his ass.
"Of course not." She must have stumbled upon the chapter named "sarcasm" in one of her books at the way her voice seems to take on a teasing undertone. "I'm sorry for the misunderstanding, your grace. I'm sure you won’t mind then if I tell you that Y/n is currently having lunch with one of the inmates."
"Of course I don’t mind." Of course he does. His hand tenses before he puts the half empty cup back down on his desk, fearing that he might snap its handle in half. Enjoying a meal with your inmates is nothing out of the ordinary, right? Sure, he might have witnessed a few of them ogling you and throwing animalistic glances your way as if you were some piece of fresh meat. But even if so, there is no reason for it to be any of his concerns.
Sigewinne keeps him company until he finishes his tea before heading out of his office. However not before the duke stops her in her tracks, her name sounding … nervous as it leaves his mouth.
"Would you happen to know the name of that inmate?"
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every-miles-and-space · 6 months
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they take up so mushroom in my heart
[image is a drawing of Alhaitham and Kaveh as little fungi.]
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every-miles-and-space · 7 months
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every-miles-and-space · 7 months
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I love Lyney and Lynette's relationship, and I have a lot of thoughts on how they operate as siblings, and their respective personas (some character story/voiceline spoilers!).
Lyney is the charming, social one. He uses lies and sweet words to win the trust and affection of others. Lynette is the quiet, observant one. She picks up on all the little secrets that people's body language betray. Lyney is the face of the operation, and Lynette supports him from the shadows. These are the ways that they both learned to survive growing up, and their respective personas compliment the other's perfectly. Lyney obfuscates, distracts, charms, leaving Lynette room to gather the intelligence necessary for their plans.
Lyney and Lynette, due to the way they grew up, cling onto each other. They are the sole "truth" amongst the lies and betrayal of their childhood, the one person they understand without needing words. Family is the core of who they are.
Lyney is fixated on the idea of being the big brother, of taking care of her. He stakes a lot of his identity onto that role, to the point he was willing to take a delusion to work alongside Lynette, back when she received a vision before he had one of his own. Part of this stems from the trauma of being unable to protect her in the past, and a lot of it is the way he's built himself up to be a protector. He has a hard time relying on others because he can't trust them, and even though he loves his other siblings at the House of the Hearth, Lynette is someone special to him. He trusts her in a way he doesn't trust anyone else.
Lynette, on the other hand, wants to support and protect Lyney. And part of the way she protects him is by letting him take care of her. Lyney can't be a big brother without a little sister, after all. It may look like Lynette is the one hiding behind Lyney, but she's the one who supports him the most. Lynette has her own hang-ups with feeling weak and being unable to protect her brother, as she receives her vision out of her desperation to save him during a particularly risky mission. Lynette prefers to not be close to anyone if she can help it; unlike Lyney, she won't spare the energy to pretend and lie.
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every-miles-and-space · 7 months
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Welcome back to “Translating NORN9”, where I translate NORN9 content!
Today I’m going to translate the Hiyoko Page. As a bit of trivia, all of the Hiyokos share thier VAs with the main characters
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The Hiyokos living in Norn
These hiyokos take care of the personal belongings of those who board the Norn. However, no one knows their identities.
Pu Hiyoko
Voiced by: Takuya Sato (Masamune’s VA)
Pu Hiyoko has no particular role and always sits outside relaxing. He is dazed as if he doesn't care if he is thrown.
Maid Hiyoko
Voiced by: Ayumi Fujimura (Koharu's VA)
A solid Hiyoko who is good at cleaning rooms. When the bath is ready, she may come directly to notify the passenger.
Captain Hiyoko
Voiced by: Tomokazu Sugita (Ron's VA)
A Hiyoko piloting a Norn. With a scar on his forehead, wearing goggles and holding a cigar, he has a wild vibe.
Hiyocook
Voiced by: Ayahi Takagaki (Mikoto's VA)
This Hiyoko is in charge of managing ingredients and supporting passengers when they cook. They get angry when the passengers play instead of cook.
Librarian Hiyoko
Voiced by: Koji Yusa (Itsuki's VA)
A Hiyoko who manages Norn's library. Due to his timid personality, he doesn't pay attention to people who are making noise in the hall.
Reporter Hiyoko
Voiced by: Mitsuki Saiga (Sakuya's VA)
A Hiyoko who works as a reporter for the "HYC Channel". He is too enthusiastic and sometimes annoys others...
Cameraman Hiyoko
Voiced by: Daisuke Ono (Natsuhiko's VA)
He works as a dedicated cameraman for the "HYC Channel" and always supports the Reporter Hiyoko from behind.
Doctor Hiyoko
Voiced by: Asami Seto (Nanami's VA)
A Hiyoko that examines a passenger when he or she is sick. As an experienced doctor, they immediately respond to any disease.
Programmer Hiyoko
Voiced by: Hiroyuki Yoshino (Heishi's VA)
A Hiyoko who manages programs related to Norn. When it speaks, it chirps in a low, machine-like voice.
Introverted Hiyoko
Voiced by: Hiro Shimono (Senri’s VA)
A Hiyoko with a birthmark under his eye that appears in a dream. His feeble squeak and troubled expression are very similar to Senri's.
Hiyoko?
Voiced by: Noriaki Sugiyama (Akito's VA)
A Hiyoko that can catch fish. Its appearance is so confusing that Akito worries about it, but it is a chick, and if he is mistaken, he will be hurt and go insane.
White Hiyoko
Voiced by: Yuki Kaji (Kakeru's VA)
A white Hiyoko made by Natsuhiko and powered by AI. Using the green board it has, it acts as Mikoto's caretaker while having a conversation.
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every-miles-and-space · 7 months
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Some Yuugen Romantica Stuff I Saved A While Back
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Arahagi and Utashiro <3
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I'm not sure if I remember all of them but by order: Hifumi, Utashiro, Hanawo, Arahagi, Iriya uh.. Zakuro, Merry, and Toneri.
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every-miles-and-space · 7 months
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i was thinking of lyney hitting on someone for funsies or bc oooo pretty person but after a while said person tells him that while they don't pretend to know his secrets they'd like to be an actual friend and give him some peace of mind.
and then he explodes
Lyney when someone wants to use him: haha okay. weee!! ^_^
Lyney when someone wants to be his actual genuine friend: ?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
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every-miles-and-space · 7 months
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rules of rationality.
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summary: You’re one of the few people Alhaitham trusts to take care of him when he’s injured.
notes: 1.5k words, fic, mentions of injuries + blood, slight suggestive content
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He always comes to you when he’s injured. 
Alhaitham never explains why, and you know better than to ask. He simply shows up at your door, methodically reciting his list of potential injuries, as you guide him to the couch and press gauze and disinfectant on his wounds. 
There could be any number of reasons that he’s been hurt, though you had joked that you didn’t think being the Akademiya’s Scribe was such a dangerous job when you first met him. Now, you think that it’s less of his job that’s the cause of all his little altercations, and more of a symptom of his personality. 
“You might need stitches,” you say. “I recommend going to a doctor.”
Keep reading
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