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[jays-bookmarks]

:')))) I felt so bad coming home to that omg I was legit apologizing while I was drying it out and now that I've played date everything I feel worse lmao

Sliding in to your inbox to say, re: Mac being scared of water

Would they also be scared of rain? As someone who accidently let my laptop computer get rained on I bet Mac has ptsd about that :') would it feel like drowning when there's water all up in their fans?

I think rain... would take some time. As human, they know rain exist however still the fear their parts are going to be destroyed. I think anything on Mac's fans would be like.. life-threatening. Like too much dust? They will be...coughing? But water it would probably be similar to drowning. Poor Mac

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i need domestic fluff with mac 😭 like bedtime routine, watching movies together, having game nights on the pc together im so down bad for this computer i will take anything <3 ty

HI HII!!! OH MY DOUBLE GOSH. I LOVED THIS REQUEST! I HAD LIKE A GAZILLION IDEAS SO I JUST DECIDED TO CRAM THEM INTO HEADCANNONS (plus i was looking for a reason to spread more of my mac propaganda) I HOPE THATS ALRIGHTY!!💗💗Now, MOST of these headcannons are for once they are realized!! I've also included some other just random blurbs i thought of while writing these out! I hope you enjoy!!!

Warnings? Mac being a cutie pie

‼️Gender neutral reader‼️

• Once mac is realized they surprisingly dont change much. Its very hard for them to adapt to having human needs but you help them. Things get easier for the both of you.

• Im gonna be so fr, they are lowkey SO jealous if you decide you want to buy a new computer once they are realized. They are just so scared you wont need or want their help anymore.

• Mac is still a MAJOR nerd. Im serious. They get so geeked out to play new games with you, or read about some new tech advancements. I hope you've upgraded your vocabulary because you ARE getting an earful that you may or may not understand.

• Mac would help you find a job that keeps you at home so that they can be around you and you can teach them about life and stuff. If you cant find one though, they literally wait ALL day for you, calls you multiple times a day. Your breaks are usually spent texting and sharing stupid pictures with them.

• Mac LOVES to help with literally anything. It helps them reassure themselves that you want them around, that they ARE enough for you

• Mac is one of the most supportive people ever. They look at you like you hung the moon and stars. They ADORE when you show off a new outfit you bought and maybe some other purchases…

• Another favorite pastime is taking baths together, they just like the idea of sitting in your lap and having their hair washed.

• They love to play games with you, it's just so wonderful to have something like that with you. They weren't sure they would like it at first, BUT they love playing little world building games like Minecraft or animal crossing with you. I also feel it in my soul that they like the Hades games and probably deltarune

• Obviously they are still a tech nerd and since they can't just not sleep anymore you have to remind them, I'm so serious, they will not even recognize the exhaustion unless you come and get them and take them to bed

• Speaking of beds and cuddling. They ADORE to cuddle. I don't think they have a favorite way to cuddle because they just love being with you. They do like to spoon a lot and lay on top of you though!

• nighttime routines are really nice and calm. (Let's pretend you are strong enough to carry Mac up the stairs, let's be real though that twink can't possibly weigh more than 5 apples) Mac LOVES to help you comb through your hair or read something with you to get nice and tired, they can also think of... alternative....methods, they do tend to be quite creative in their options... Mac loves to help you wipe off your makeup (if you wear any) and they really like to rub your shoulders and whisper you some sweet words. They feel like you don't get the praise you deserve and make sure that you fall asleep knowing that they love you so much.

• Like I said in my last post about mac, They are so affectionate. LOVES HAND HOLDING. It's a requirement. No options

• Mac is actually really good about reminding you to do things, but forgets their own stuff. Like if you need to charge your phone but you forgot they'll be like “you need to charge your phone babes” and their phones dead. Deader than any straight white man who says, “school dosent matter” entrepreneur dreams.

• Honestly genuinely a wonderful partner. Plans fun dates for you two to go on every other week because they understand that it might could overwhelm you a little bit and you work hard, you would probably rather have a nice relaxation week. and on the weeks you dont have a date you guys have a movie or game night. Also, you two make dinner together frequently, they really like to help in the kitchen, big fan of baking.

• They totally have planned dates based on the fanfiction that you've read.

• Sometimes they feel incomplete not knowing everything you're searching up or browsing, not in a creepy way, it's just that was their purpose before you realized them, that was what they spent years doing, so sometimes they like to lean over and peer at whatever you're doing. And maybe they just so happen stalk your socials a little bit.

• They really like matcha and coffee, I am so sure of this. They were not sure they would like it. They get this strawberry matcha drink with sweet foam on top, and they share it with you everytime because they love sharing with you.

• That's another thing, Mac loves to share. Cold? “Well, I'm warm enough, take my jacket, win for both of us because you'll be warm and I get to see you look cute in my stuff.” (they are FREEZING, but their CPU- I mean, their heart just feels so warm around you that they hardly notice) Thirsty? “Here, you can have some of mine, lovely.” Hungry? “Aww babes, it's a good thing I'm coincidentally eating a food you really like!” (they got it because they KNEW they were going to give you some)

• Mac just loves you and is so happy that you're in their life.

Random headcannons because I can.

🖥️- yk those goofy stickers you have on the back of your MacBook? Those funny stickers are definitely on mac too. All over their back. Much like fantina except theirs are like tattoos until you remove them. But they disappear in their realized form. Which honestly makes them sad.

🖥️- macs glasses are blue light and they are not afraid to offer them to you when they can tell you're gonna be working overtime on Ao3

🖥️- they LOVE to smell nice. I'm so fr. Bath and body works for-lifer. ESPECIALLY a fan of that aromatherapy line they have. Will ask you what your fav scent is and then buy it so you snuggle up with them more.

“Hey baby, which one of these do you like” they say holding out two bottles of some type of soap. After taking a quick sniff of both you ultimately decided on the one in their right hand. “Hmmm, the one on the right is my fav” you say with a small hum. They made their purchase so fast you'd barley even finished picking out the rest of your things! (Speaking of which, if you've never tried the eucalyptus bath and body works shower steamer, YOU SHOULD, oh my double goodness, it is DIVINE)

🖥️- in the most loving way, Mac is a smartass. They are aware of this. They don't mean it in a malicious way. They just love to teach and inform you of things! It's the way your eyes light up and process the information, and don't even get them started on the fact that you sit there and let them explain for as long as they want, even if they drag on the most elementary of topics

🖥️- terrible immune system, horrible. Seasonal allergies kick their ass.

🖥️- we all know this FREAK makes whatever they can sensual and flirty, you can be chilling on your phone while cuddling on the couch with them and they'll whisper something so devious in your ear you actually throw the damn phone

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PHEW... That was a lot. Kinda proofread, kinda didn't, I KNOW, YOU CAN BOO ME IN THE COMMENTS. I'm SOOO sorry this didn't get out sooner. life is crazy, right?? I hope you guys enjoyed this tasty meal I cooked up for y'all. Love ya, songbirds!

[jays-bookmarks]

me waking up to see comments on my Mac fic <3

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emerges from the void to hornypost about my computer instead of doing art fight

anyway thinkin about how when it's fuckin hot I don't bother to re-clothe after a shower before going back to youtube as usual...........

[jays-bookmarks]

Good Enough for You (Mac x gn!reader)

I can't believe I'm writing fanfic about my computer.............

anyway this is based on my actual computer in real life which does indeed overheat for no reason so hello valdivian I'm waiting for my dateviators so I can smooch my macbook

Summary: Mac had always been good enough for you, so what made them say such a thing? Words: 731 Warnings: light angst but it's hurt/comfort. slight canon divergence in that Mac is a macbook (yes I am a wretched apple user) and that apple + youtube are mentioned by name

"And more importantly, I'm finally going to be good enough for you."

You stopped swiveling in your chair and turned to stare at them. Mac looked back with an expectant smile. When you only furrowed your brow in response, their expression fell. They seemed to be scrambling for something else to say, but before they could, you spoke first.

"Mac… you've always been good enough for me."

Mac seemed to freeze for a moment, eyes widening as a blush began to spread on their face. The whirring of the computer fans suddenly kicking up was the only sound that broke the resulting silence. You stayed quiet, giving them time to process your words.

When Mac finally spoke, their voice had lost their usual note of enthusiasm.

"But… you were looking to buy another computer…" they said.

This time it was your turn to freeze. You had indeed been thinking of buying a new computer a few years back. It was after you had finally taken your current computer to the repair shop to see what exactly was causing the CPU to heat up so dramatically just from normal internet browsing. The techs couldn't find any physical damage, and their stress tests didn't reveal any unexpectedly high temperatures. Their reports had left you wondering if perhaps you simply needed a new machine. After all, you had purchased this computer before you even started college…

But now you knew the reason behind Mac's overheating CPU. And also, it seemed, the reason behind their insistence on this system update.

"Oh, Mac… that was—I didn't mean—" you took a breath, trying to organize your thoughts into something more coherent. "I just couldn't figure out why you were running so hot when I wasn't doing anything more than watching youtube videos. I thought maybe you were just… getting old. And, well, you know how impossible it is to repair apple devices when they started soldering everything to the motherboard…"

Mac didn't respond, only kept their gaze fixed to the ground. You bit your lip. What else could you say to them? That you hadn't considered their feelings because, up until now, you hadn't known that they had any? But still, you had agonized over that decision, and ultimately couldn't bring yourself to make the purchase. It felt like abandoning a dear friend, one who had been with you throughout college and the first years of your true adult life.

Finally, you stood and crossed the small distance between the two of you. Mac's pensive gaze turned into one of shock when you knelt down beside them and took their hand in yours. You smiled gently when you heard their fans start up again.

"Mac, I'm sorry I made you feel inadequate," you said. "You've always been good enough for me. More than enough. I couldn't just replace you… it felt wrong."

Mac took a shaky breath. Your guilt from earlier sank its claws deeper into your chest as you noticed tears gathering in Mac's eyes. When they next spoke, it was in a quiet, trembling voice that broke your heart.

"I thought…" they squeezed your hand, as if trying to reassure themself that you wouldn't leave. "…when you stopped updating my operating system, I thought… you were already done with me, and you just didn't have the money for a new computer yet…"

"No—" You sat up to look them in the eyes properly. "I stopped updating because I knew apple deliberately slowed down older devices with each new OS. I wanted to keep you as long as I could."

If you hadn't already been staring at Mac so intently, you would've missed the slight hitch in their breath when you spoke your last words. Tentatively, you reached up to touch their cheek. They flinched, then raised their own hand to cover your own. On the table beside you, the fans on the computer hummed ever louder.

"You… really mean it?" Mac said.

"Of course." You smiled. "Where else am I gonna find another computer like you? Now that I know you're not actually on your deathbed with that overheating CPU, we've still got a long road ahead… together."

"…Together," Mac repeated. They let out a breathy laugh before turning aside to wipe their eyes. "You have no idea how happy I am to hear that…"

"I'll say it as many times as you like."

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𓆩⟡𓆪 𝙣𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙧𝙞𝙯𝙯 𓆩⟡𓆪

Pairing: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd X F!Reader Word Count: 1187 Warnings: Immense amount of cringe, Synopsis: Dimitri is not acquainted with the art of courting, and yet he is determined to make good on his side of the bargain with Sylvain.

It was a pretty stupid bargain.

One that he did not think too much about, for desperate times required desperate measures.  However, even if desperation was enough of a cause to accept Sylvain’s unfathomable request, Dimitri wondered whether or not his pride would betray him sooner or later.

“Naive and uptight…” His friend’s words rang at the back of his mind once more, and the poor prince could not help but scowl deeply. He was aware of Sylvain’s cutthroat attitude, and it was not the first time he had fallen victim to its harshness. What was most difficult to swallow was the realization that, once again, Sylvain had manipulated his way into what he wanted: A way out of trouble.

“Just invite a girl out, and I will behave according to your... decorum.”

“And how exactly should I do that?” The prince inquired.

"Come on, Your Highness. All it takes is a little show of interest and voilà. And don’t forget to smile—ladies love a good smile." He gave his friend a light tap on the shoulder, while the latter sat rubbing his jaw thoughtfully.

As a man of his word, Dimitri accepted the challenge. The task at hand could not have sounded so impossible, especially for a knight of his calibre. He was a prince, after all, and the heir of a most powerful Kingdom. With his swoopy blond hair and lean figure, some would even describe him as the pinnacle of charm and chivalry. Who would not fall for his perfect smile and honest demeanour? 

And yet, he was sure his honesty would be the death of him. 

Though the academy was full of eager suitors who would’ve volunteered for the mission faster than Raphael could finish his dinner, the heart has a foolish way of letting love trample over sound judgment.

Love, to Dimitri, was a concept he had yet to grasp fully. Aside from once gifting a dagger to a girl he admired long ago, he knew little about the art of courtship. Truth be told, Dimitri was utterly clueless when it came to the likes and dislikes of women.

He did, however, know the time at which your lessons ended. Not that he knew your entire schedule, of course… Dimitri simply enjoyed watching you burst through the doors of the Dining Hall, a book under your arm and a hunger that was almost tangible in your expression. The cheerful click of your heels and the last golden rays of sunlight breathed life back into the sombre halls of the monastery.

The prince lingered near the entrance of the dining hall, lost in thought at the mere notion of you. His steel boots clanked against the stone pavement in a staggered rhythm. He was busy counting the monastery bells until the last, signalling the end of the day. The collar of his tailored uniform seemed to tighten with every chime. 

His eyebrows pinched together in worry. Typically, you would’ve already been seen rushing through the doors. Some sweat gathered at the edge of his hairline and he could feel the Fodlan wind turn colder and colder with every minute.

Students passed by in waves, bestowing Dimitri with confused stairs and ushered giggles. Ladies gossiped amongst themselves: Who was the Heir of Faerghus waiting for? Why did he look like he was about to be sick? 

Maybe this was an incredibly stupid bargain.

How was he even supposed to approach you? Should he be direct; just come out and say it? No, that would probably send you running. How would Sylvain handle something like this? Of course, it was easier for him as he’s never loved anyone but himself.

This was different. You were different.

Before he could even begin to form a plan, you appeared at the top of the staircase, arm in arm with your friend Dorothea, laughing at a snarky remark she had made about one of your classmates. Your smile echoed in his mind for a moment, pulling him back to reality. Dimitri watched in silence as you made your way toward the Dining Hall, completely unaware of his gaze.

It was now or never. 

"Y/N.” His voice caught your attention. Your eyes perked up at him. A look of surprise manifested itself on your face before cracking with the gentlest of smiles.

“May I borrow you for a moment?" He silently prayed to Sothis that you hadn’t caught the slight crack in his voice.

"Your Highness, good evening." You greeted warmly. Dorothea slipped from your grasp and made her way toward the Dining Hall. You caught a faint, knowing grin on her face as she walked off to get a serving. Dimitri remained rooted in place, his posture stiff and an unmistakable mix of discomfort and awkwardness written across his face.

"Is everything okay...? You do not seem well." Your head tilted to the side as your eyebrows pinched together. Dimitri swore he could have died on the spot.

“Yes, the hour is late, is all.” He gulped and readjusted his neckband.  

“Of course.” You nodded hesitantly. “Were you in need of something, Your Highness?” 

What next? He had seen women swoon over Sylvain with little more than a smirk and a tilt of the head. No words needed. Was that what his friend meant by a show of interest? A glance? A gesture? Some unspoken magic he clearly didn’t possess?

An idea suddenly sparked in his mind. It was half-formed and reckless, but maybe boldness was exactly what this situation called for. He straightened ever so slightly, his pulse quickening.

"I was wondering... Are you good at Faith magic?" The question hung in the air for a second too long before Dimitri started to truly doubt himself. 

"Not really... I'm more acquainted with Reason if we are being honest. I really think you should see the nurse-" 

"Because I seem to have scraped my knee falling for you." He cut you off so abruptly, you needed a moment just to process what had sputtered out of his mouth. The words hit you like a gust of wind, sudden and disarming. He stood frozen before you, as still as a statue, clearly realizing what he’d just said but far too stunned to recover.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, blooming all the way to the tips of your ears. Your mouth hung open in silent shock, struggling to form a response. What had he just done?

The silence stretched on before it was shattered by a sudden burst of laughter. You tried desperately to suppress the giggles bubbling up inside you but one after another slipped free. Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes. The awkwardness of the moment only seemed to deepen, now mixed with genuine amusement.

Dimitri felt a wave of shame wash over him like never before. He bit down hard on the side of his cheek, trying to hold himself together. Was it because he had forgotten to smile?

"Please, excuse me." He marched away, eyes fixed on the ground. 

You exclaimed out from behind him."No, your Highness, I did not mean to laugh-"

[jays-bookmarks]

「 blue lions x gn!reader | what type of s/o they'd fall for 」

sfw | tw: n/a a/n: yeah, it's been a while... anyways, i've been replaying azure moon and i figured i would finish one of the many drafts in my docs.

[ dimitri a. blaiddyd]

dimitri has such a sincere and genuine personality that he could fall for a variety of personalities. first and foremost, he would be incredibly attracted to someone kind and empathetic. despite being good-natured himself, he’s prone to falling into depression and moments of self doubt due to his traumas. a kind, empathetic individual would balance out his low moods and bring a light to his darkness.

there would have to be something else on top of kindness, though. dimitri would be drawn to a partner that has a quirk of some sort, whether it be corny humor or wacky hobbies & interests. he considers himself to be rather plain, so encountering someone that could bewilder him with their uniqueness would have him particularly drawn. you enjoy collecting bugs? he doesn’t quite understand it, but the novelty of it has him intrigued enough to ask you questions and show his support. always cracking jokes? he might act stern and annoyed with your humor at times, but he’d look forward to seeing you just to hear your laugh.

someone with strong ideals and morals would also be incredibly attractive to him. he has his own goals and ambitions he’s passionate about, and he’d want to hear about yours, too. he would only fall harder if his partner shared the same ideals as him. 

he struggles to initiate and can get consumed by his own thoughts, so a straightforward significant other would keep him grounded and build his confidence. someone comfortable making the first move until he’s ready to take the lead (this is less of an issue post timeskip and post unhinged emo era). he’d be simultaneously flustered and infatuated by someone who wasn’t afraid to praise or compliment him outright, anything to show he’s not overthinking the possibility that his affections are reciprocated. it would be a bonus if they had enough charm to tease him and bring out his playful side.

[ dedue molinaro ]

as shown in his supports, dedue is not much of a conversationalist. that being said, he would be drawn to a significant other that can fill the silences that are sure to come in the beginnings of your relationship. he can be flighty and dismissive at times as a means to keep others at a distance, so being around someone that compels him to stay with their own outgoing nature would make his heart flutter. he wouldn’t like feeling pressured or pushed to talk, but having a partner with the ability to smoothly coax responses out of him until he’s fully engaging in the conversation would go a long way. 

dedue with a chatty partner! even if the conversation consists of them rambling about their interests, or their day, or the food served at dinner evening, he’s enamored. dedue is an exceptionally good listener, and overtime he would come to realize that he could listen to you for hours on end. there would have to be moderation, though, as he would want to be able to enjoy quiet moments with you, simply enjoying each other’s company.

stoic and reserved, dedue can be difficult to read. he would benefit from an observant partner that could pick up on his body language and subtle tells. being able to notice when he’s uncomfortable with something and see past his neutral front would make him feel seen in a way he isn’t accustomed to. 

and, of course, be kind to him. ignore his protests that there is no need to flatter him or treat him kindly, and be earnest and genuine in your affection for him. he would be taken aback at first, possibly even uncomfortable, but overtime your amicable gestures would break down his defenses. dedue would fall for a kind soul, one without discrimination or malice. 

[ sylvain j. gautier ]

oh sylvain. moving past his issues with genuine connection and intimacy, sylvain would be capable of falling deeply for someone, given they were able to work with him and his issues. he would be attracted to someone more on the no-nonsense side, someone capable of putting him in his place at first. pre-timeskip sylvain would be difficult to grasp unless you’re able to see through his flowery nonsense and be straightforward with him about not tolerating his behavior. there would be push and pull, and the game of that alone would keep him engaged. he would shift between waving off your rejections, becoming internally frustrated with his developing feelings, and ultimately seeking out your company for genuine connection. it’s stereotypical, but being “not like the others” would unfortunately catch his attention and draw him to you. 

in order to keep this up, you would need to have a lot of emotional maturity. sylvain can be incredibly perceptive and introspective when he wants to be, and having a partner with a high level of emotional maturity would encourage him to show this side more. he would try to deny it at first, but being with someone that’s able to “read” him upfront and see his true feelings would be… relieving, to say the least.

he would be attracted to someone creative and intelligent, with their own set of unique interests and hobbies. a benefit to being with sylvain is that he’s incredibly open-minded and nonjudgmental, so a nerdy, eccentric partner would only intrigue him further. he’s also a lover of the arts himself, and he would be enamored if you had a knack for art or writing (his supports with bernadetta are a testament to this). his encouragement may seem insincere at first, especially if this is before the timeskip, but he’s genuine in his interest in your work. 

[ felix h. fraldarius ]

felix is a tricky one. he’s so stubborn and people averse that he wouldn’t even have an idea of what traits he’s attracted to. in an opposites attract sort of way, i can see him falling for someone sweet and cheerful, or at least kinder than he is. he would act annoyed at first, of course (unless your personality is similar to annette, in which case he may be less harsh), but he would find himself drawn to a friendly and kind disposition. the stark contrast to his own rough around the edges personality would soften him, much to his dismay, and encourage him to loosen up a bit. it would also cause some inner turmoil, as he tells himself to stay away for the sake of preserving your light, something he doesn’t believe he has. in the end, his own infatuation would compel him to stick around despite his inner protests.

he’ll deny it at first, but felix would like a playful partner. not in a boisterous, pulling pranks sense, but a good-natured, humorous, “saying something that you know will crack a smile out of him” kind of way. he can stand to be teased a bit, too, even if it initially seems like a way to instantly annoy him. he would come to appreciate the lightheartedness, as it would coax him into somewhat letting his guard down.

he would appreciate someone strong, though their strength wouldn’t have to be purely physical. a quiet, unyielding strength would intrigue him, especially if he initially saw you as weak. he would also appreciate someone that isn’t too sensitive, as he can be harsh with his words and delivery. granted, he would try to mince his words for someone he truly cared about, but a partner that’s, for the most part, unbothered by his brash way of speaking would put him at ease.

going further into felix preferring someone with thicker skin, he would secretly swoon over a partner that’s willing to stand up to him when he’s being too edgy or stubborn. he admits that he can be a fool at times, so having someone to keep him grounded and embrace his own humanity would benefit him.

of course, he would immediately fall for someone that challenged him. someone he can train with, improve with, someone he can lose to. that alone would keep him engaged and wanting to be around you more.

[ ashe ubert ]

i have a headcanon that ashe gets crushes rather easily, giving him a wide range of personalities he’d fall for. of course, he would find someone kind and cheerful to be endearing, feeling soothed by their gentle nature. he would also admire a confident, outspoken personality, since he’s working to find his own voice and confidence. i could even see him falling for a shyer personality, as it would encourage him to seek you out and initiate conversations.

a commonality amidst all of these personalities would be that his potential significant other would have to match his earnestness. ashe wouldn’t care if you didn’t share the exact same interests, but seeing you passionate about anything would fill him with admiration. he would fall for traits he could admire; tenacity, creativity, vigilance. 

 similar to dimitri, i think ashe would appreciate eccentricity. he’s open-minded and intrigued by most things, so being around someone that introduced him to new and novel interests would enthrall him. he would appreciate someone that he can explore new things with, someone open to adventure and exploring. bonus points if they’re more adventurous than him, as it would encourage him to come out of his shell. 

though he would definitely fall for someone kind and good-natured, he would also be drawn to someone blunt and straightforward. ashe can be too kind at times, and he would genuinely appreciate being with someone that can help him decipher when he’s people pleasing too much. 

[ annette f. dominic ]

annette would like a strong but silent type, someone that balances her cheerful and bubbly nature. she wouldn’t be attracted to a personality that was too dark or brooding, rather a grounded presence she can feel secure around. she’s naturally clumsy and prone to occasionally making small mistakes, so having someone that can keep her on her toes (figuratively and literally), would be endearing. 

to add to this, she would like having a partner she could spend a lot of time with. it could seem like she’s dragging you around, but ultimately she just enjoys being able to try new things with someone. she would fall for someone open-minded and lacking in harsh or judgmental opinions, as she has her own quirks and hobbies she would want to feel comfortable sharing. 

she would fall for someone hard working, earnest, and willing to grow with her. she’s incredibly heard working and fastidious, and she would benefit from a partner that shares her desire to succeed and improve. with this comes patience as well, as she wouldn’t mesh well with someone too critical or irritable. 

[ ingrid b. galatea ] 

ingrid would fall for someone hard working, passionate, and goal-oriented. she would prefer a partner that she can work alongside; i don’t see her faring well with someone lazy and unmotivated. she takes her ambitions very seriously, and she would be drawn to someone of a similar nature, even if their goals are different than her own. the passion alone is what matters to her, and she would seek a significant other that could provide a dynamic of mutual support and encouragement. 

with encouragement comes improvement, and she would admire a partner that wasn’t afraid to give her constructive criticism. she prefers direct communication, even if it’s difficult, so her ideal partner would be capable of communicating clearly and honestly. 

she would enjoy a competitive partner, or at least a partner that’s playful enough to push her out of her comfort zone. she can get stuck in her own routines, so having someone that can steer her away from comfortability would be a must. 

the ultimate bonus is someone that can cook or shares her love for food. omitting everything above, food might be the key to her heart; she would inevitably find herself falling for someone with culinary prowess. 

[ mercedes von matritz ]

perhaps this is controversial, but i feel that mercedes would fall for a significant other that harbors their own fair share of issues and trauma. if they were troubled in their own way, but earnest enough that they were clearly willing and trying to improve, her heart would draw her to them. not necessarily in a savior complex way, but in a such way where she would appreciate your emotional complexity and find herself drawn to your humanity. 

this goes both ways, as mercedes has her own issues and traumas that she mostly keeps to herself. one of the reasons she would find herself drawn to a partner with their own set of baggage is that it would encourage her to open up about her own. she would appreciate the mutual connection, and having someone that understands and empathizes with her would warm her heart. 

even though mercedes is perceptive enough to read you on her own, she would appreciate a partner that’s open and honest. she loves candid conversations and values communications highly, so she would be drawn to someone sociable and outspoken. 

mercedes is very nurturing, and as such can get lost in taking care of other people. it would catch her off guard, but ultimately relieve her, if you showed her the intense attention and care she shows others. surprising her with kind gestures, words of encouragement, and acts of service is a surefire way to her heart.

[jays-bookmarks]

heyyy so i'm imagining the fe3h guys in a modern club setting. who's dancing with you and who's in the corner wishing they were at home?

i feel like sylvain is an obvious answer; he'd be catching ass and dancing and doing all the works- idk about the rest though. i feel like obviously felix is wishing he was anywhere but out, maybe dimitri is awkwardly trying to match the vibe and claude isn't taking anything seriously. what are your thoughts 🎤

Y'know, technically my requests are closed, but it has been FOREVER since I did a little FE3H headcanon break, so let's talk "sexy run-in at the club" - especially since weirdly enough this is a scenario that makes its way through my brain semi-frequently. Maybe because I'm one of those people who listens to music while thinking "how can I make this about my OCs and/or the character I'm currently fixated on"

As a heads-up, these will be of varying degrees of implied spiciness, and a general CW for booze and cigarettes applies.

FE3H guys x GN!Reader

A night out at The Club TM

Modern AU, semi-NSFW

Linhardt: Absolutely does not want to be here, got dragged here by his friends- that said, connecting with you over a surprisingly in-depth conversation while lingering at the far end of the bar is a welcome oasis in this maelstrom of noise and chaos. The suggestion to find a quiet place to continue your chat (depending on the type of club, a private room or a tucked away back hallway) very gradually and naturally turns handsy and heated as the conversation continues. (tbh I always imagine Lin preferring a hookah lounge over all, but maybe that's because of my own fondness for them- plus, sharing a pipe can be so intimate)

Caspar: The noise, the energy, the hype, he is absolutely living for it, he's ready for a loud and wild night. If you're ready and able to match his energy, it's awesome if a little concerning- but more likely, you'll be the level head to help keep him just a little more focused and sane. It won't be long before he stumbles into you with his face flushed and a goofy smile on his face and leans close to make sure you can hear him over the music when he tells you he can't believe how insanely hot you are.

Ferdinand: He thinks he's there as the group chaperone (he is not, that's Hubert), and he's buzzed sooner than he wants to admit. That said, he absolutely loves dancing, and will gleefully take your hand and pull you into the crowd with him. He's gentlemanly about it, of course- genuinely here to have a good time with you. But the pull between you is undeniable, and he's just so charming when he smiles at you through the flashing lights. You'll have to be the one to make any serious moves if you want to go further, but damn is he receptive if you do.

Hubert: Actually the group chaperone, and only along because he knows exactly how out of hand things could get without someone holding the reins. If you're a wild sort yourself, he'll of course tease you a bit with that crooked, sardonic grin- but he's ultimately gentle and doting about getting you home safely. If you're more the responsible type like him, he enjoys the end of the night, when you both have gotten everyone else settled and finally have some quiet time at your apartment to wind down and get comfortable in a more intimate environment. (Those late night/early morning post-club conversations hit different)

Felix: He's another who's been dragged along by his friends, though depending on the club, he may at least be into the band or DJ. You're more likely to find him smoking out back, more for an excuse to get out of the noise for a bit than anything else. If you're so inclined, he'll definitely share his cig with you, but one way or another by the time Sylvain or Ingrid comes to find you both, he's leaning over you with your back against the brick outer wall and your bodies so close that you have to lurch away from one another when you realize you're not alone. Who knows when he'll have the guts to follow up on the undeniable sexual tension.

Sylvain: As you say, he's absolutely in his element here and is positively drinking it all up. Half way through the night, he's got you pulled against him in the middle of the dance floor, his shirt half-open and his hands shamelessly all over your body. He is genuinely a pretty good dancer, and while your dancing together could practically be considered foreplay, he is impressively on-rhythm. Of course, while he absolutely relishes in the tension between you, the moment you lean close and say into his ear that you want him, he's ready to find somewhere private.

Dedue: He's working the bar, serving up drinks with stoic efficiency and keeping an eye on things to make sure no one gets up to anything too risky. Throughout the night, you just barely catch his eyes lingering on you from time to time, and when you accept your drink from him with a smile, he finally lets slip just the smallest shy smile of his own. By the time you work up the courage to ask him when he finishes his shift for the night, he's got his number written on a cocktail napkin for you and hands it over with your drink order, which he insists is on the house.

Dimitri: Visibly awkward even just walking into the place, probably gets carded a couple times even though he's obviously of age, simply because he looks and acts like he doesn't belong here. That said, with time and maybe a drink or two (not too much- he gets existential when he drinks), he'll relax enough to enjoy just spending the time with you and his friends. Hell, you may even persuade him out onto the dance floor "just for one song," which soon turns into another, and another, as he forgets himself for once just for the chance to be close to you like this.

Ashe: Ashe is always someone who's surprisingly adaptable, so while he's not exactly a party animal, he knows his way around a night out with friends. He's attentive to your mood and your vibe, encouraging you onto the dance floor with him if it seems like it'll help you get out of your head and let loose, or simply lingering against the outer wall and watching the crowd together while you two share a drink and conversation. You two gradually stand closer and closer together- you know, to hear each other better over the music, of course. But when he tentatively asks if you'd like to go get some air with him, you can't help your heart fluttering when you nod.

Claude: He's absolutely down for a rowdy night, and is even more so looking forward to whatever dumb bullshit he and his friends can get up to- he loves a bit of drama on a night out, though he prefers to observe and gossip, rather than be directly involved. Halfway through the night, you'll find him lingering alone on a balcony overlooking the dance floor, but the moment he sees you, he'll call you over with a charming grin, slipping an arm around your waist oh-so casually as he offers you a sip of his drink. It's absolutely intentional that every time he leans close for you to hear him, his breath warmly grazes your ear.

Raphael: He's working security for the venue as a bouncer or some-such, and it's hard not to notice his huge, muscled frame on your way in that night. The next time you see him, he's stopping by the bar while on break, and he greets you with a wide and earnest smile when he notices you staring. He quickly gets caught up chatting with you, and barely remembers to finish grabbing a water and snack before getting back to work- but before he goes, he stammers out that you're really cool and really gorgeous, and fumbles out his phone to ask for your number. (You can also bet that if anyone tries to get even a little fresh with you that night, he'll physically lift them off of their feet to escort them out of the club)

Ignatz: Definitely got peer-pressured into coming along by Claude and Lorenz, but he's doing his best to be open to the experience, at least. He's open minded enough about music that he's enjoying the band or DJ while he nurses some kind of eclectic craft beer in hand. He hadn't realized his friends had persuaded you to come along until you're inviting him out onto the dance floor and they're pushing him towards you with knowing smiles until he follows you, tripping over himself a bit and bumping into you until he steadies himself and starts to get into the rhythm of it all.

Lorenz: If it's a night on the town, Lorenz is going all out; he's got a table reserved for everyone on the second floor balcony and gleefully buys the first round of wildly over-priced cocktails, offering a toast to a night to remember. That said, he also severely over-estimates his tolerance, so a couple hours of dancing and pricey drinks later, he'll be pink in the face and rambling to you about how incredible you look tonight and that he can't keep his eyes off of you. The following day, he vaguely remembers how he embarrassed himself, but does assure you that he meant every drunken compliment with complete sincerity. Maybe something to discuss over a hangover-cure-brunch-date.

Seteth: It's a coworker situation, and he's definitely only here because everyone in the office convinced him that it would be a "productive, team-building exercise" for everyone to get drinks together after work. While he's stiff as ever, even he can't hide the way his eyes linger on you all night, and the way he fusses over you as you work your way through a few drinks raises more than a few eyebrows. Canonically, Seteth has unusually high alcohol tolerance, so he's likely to spend the night adorably flustered by your flirtatious looks and touches while putting all of his focus and energy into making sure you (and everyone else, to be fair) get home safely. And hey, being sternly told to let him know when you get home is one way to get your handsome but uptight coworker's number.

Jeritza: Honestly, he's giving "drummer in the band at a grimy punk bar" vibes, and I'm so here for it. He seems completely entranced and in his own world while performing, but after the set when you need a second to breathe and collect yourself, you step outside to find him smoking out back, and the intensity of his stare freezes you in place. You trade a few words and a few drags of his cigarette, but it doesn't take long for him to quietly admit that he noticed you in the crowd, and it takes even less time after that for him to have you back inside and pressed up against the wall of the green room.

Balthus: He's always in for a good time, and more importantly, a messy and rowdy time. He's got running bets on who's going to tap out first for the night, and it sure as hell isn't gonna be him. Before he's even that tipsy, he'll have you out on the dance floor with him, clumsily but enthusiastically jamming along while screaming the lyrics of every song you two recognize. With enough time to get lost in the blissful chaos of it all, you'll be "that couple" aggressively making out in the middle of the crush of bodies on the dance floor until he huskily whispers to you that you should head to his place.

Yuri: Oh, Yuri has got the hookups. He knows the bartender, knows the owner (or hell, maybe he is the owner), and you'll have as many free drinks as you can handle and night-long access to a private room at your request. He's perfectly comfortable on the dance floor, of course, and sees the push-and-pull game of gradually experimenting with touches and friction while feeling the rhythm along side you to be positively stimulating. He'll have you blissfully pressing your body against him by the time he wordlessly begins to pull you back to the private room with him, a smirk across those lovely lips.

[jays-bookmarks]

Honestly so with you on the genshin story omg. The reason I stopped playing was bc all of their interlude quests were so hyped up but NEVER gave us ANYTHING like when we fully met our sibling at the end of Sumeru????? And we didn't even talk about the abyss?????? Wtf?????? And then we canonically don't even remember it??????

I only liked this quest bc of Albedo and bc of the whole 5d chess stunt he pulled (and bc of this line right here. When the strike ends I need someone to replay this quest and put it on youtube bc I need to see Khoi Dao voice this)

And once I finished playing it I put the game down again bc there was nothing else keeping me there :/ like if I had someone to coop with and just fuck around and explore the world I would but otherwise :/// eh

PENGU I WAS SO FUCKING RIGHT

got hit by apollo's dodgeball of prophecy four years ago and didn't even know it...........

Holy fuck I'm rising from the dead again. Look, I'm gonna preface this by saying that first, excellent seer powers. I like that even tho its been four years, genshin hasn't forgotten about their established lore even if it took awhile. Having said that, possible spoilers below

I need to say this with my whole chest: I’m getting so annoyed at HoYo and their game trailer reveal bullshit. We get these super hyped moments in the trailers and then when the actual story drops? We get served NOTHING. You go girl, give us nothing.

I was honestly losing interest in Genshin for a while, but then the story trailer dropped with Albedo, and wowee—suddenly I’m excited again?? I get to see Diluc and Kaeya fight side by side?? The water dragon gets stabbed???

Oh… so it’s a fade to black and I don’t even get to see them fight? In fact, the entire trailer was the in-game cutscene. The water dragon thing? Literally just Paimon reading a newspaper headline—and that’s it??? Holy shit. I’m gonna uninstall this game for Silver Palace. At least I can drift with a horse there.

[jays-bookmarks]

The only cheating we do is on diets.

— You receive a text message one day that reads, 'Your boyfriend's cheating on you.'

— Phainon, Aventurine, Dan Heng + Blade

[Masterlist]

This isn't angst I swear. We don't write angst on this blog (occasionally). Please don't take this too seriously, tyvm.

Phainon

You read the message once, your eyes scanning the words, “Your boyfriend’s cheating on you,” with a mix of disbelief and amusement. A quick flick of your thumb, and the sender is reported as spam and promptly blocked. Cheating, huh? The thought barely registers before you can’t help but smile. The idea of Phainon—of all people—engaging in something as mundane as infidelity is laughable. You stifle the laugh, trying not to disturb the pillow beneath you. It’s a warm, familiar weight, his arm draped lazily over the dip in your waist. He’s still asleep, the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing the only sound in the room, his hair mussed from sleep, a stray lock falling over his eyes. You catch yourself watching him for a moment, a soft chuckle escaping as you think of the stupidity of the message. The only thing Phainon is "cheating" at is at life for being effortlessly pretty no matter the setting.

You move to sit up, but the dull ache in your back makes you wince, a reminder of how long you’ve been lying in the same position. As soon as you shift, Phainon’s face scrunches up, and he lets out a quiet, almost imperceptible groan of discomfort. His hand instinctively reaches toward the space where you had been resting, brushing over his chest as if expecting to find you there. His fingers lightly graze over the soft fabric of the blanket, but when he doesn’t feel the solid warmth of your presence, his hand starts to wander, searching aimlessly across the bed. He shifts, his eyes barely open, heavy with sleep, yet his expression holds a mix of confusion and mild irritation, as if he’s not quite sure why you’re not there.

His fingers flex in the air, like he's trying to pull you back with just a gentle grasp. The movement is slow and languid, a sleepy sort of desperation in his touch. His gaze flickers toward where you were lying, and for a moment, he looks like he might drift back to sleep, but then his eyes focus on you, clearly irritated by the interruption to his morning routine. Still, underneath the grumpiness, there's a softness to it—an unspoken yearning for you to be there with him, the kind of vulnerability he doesn't usually show when he's fully awake. It's as if he’s not quite ready to face the day without the comfort of your presence by his side.

"Come backkkk," he whines, his voice thick and sluggish, still wrapped in the warmth of sleep. The words tumble out lazily, like he's half in a dream, and it makes you smile despite the situation.

You think back on the message again. Cheating, huh? Yeah right. You can't help but shake your head at the silliness of it all. It’s hard to even take it seriously when Phainon is clinging to you like this, completely oblivious to anything but you. If he knew about that message, he’d probably just laugh, but right now, it’s clear his only concern is you being glued to him. With the weight of his hand still reaching for you, his grogginess is almost endearing, and you can’t help but feel a little lighter, a little amused. How could anyone even think he’d be unfaithful when he acts like this? It’s almost like he’s a child in need of comfort, his normally sharp demeanor dulled by sleep and a simple desire for your closeness. The message doesn’t seem to matter now. You’re not going anywhere.

Aventurine

You blink at the text that flashes on your phone screen, reading it twice to make sure you're not imagining things. The bold, slightly aggressive tone of the message makes your eyebrows furrow in petty amusement. Looking up, you see Aventurine casually shuffling a deck of cards with the kind of ease that comes from years of practice, his fingers flicking each card as if it's second nature. A mischievous glint dances in his eyes as he flips each card with a flourish, the soft sound of laminated card stock brushing against each other filling the quiet room. His focus is entirely on the game he's playing with himself, his brow furrowed slightly as he concentrates. Even when the next card reveals a joker, the corner of his lips twitches upward in satisfaction. It’s almost as if the world could be burning around him, and he’d still be unfazed—except when it comes to cards. That’s the only game he should be cheating at, you think with a smirk.

"Hey, I know you've got a not-so-subtle thing for Dr. Ratio, but if you seriously leave me for him, I'll kill you."

The next card stutters and flies off the table as Aventurine’s head snaps up, his eyes widening for a split second. Good. Bafflement looks good on him. You can feel the corner of your lips twitch as you try to suppress a smile, so instead, you hold your phone up to your lips, pretending to innocently read the message, though the sound of your muffled snickers betrays your amusement.

Aventurine stares at you, his shock quickly replaced by a teasing smirk, “Do you think so lowly of me?”

His voice is light, but laced with mock offense. His expression is still a bit off-kilter as he leans back, resting his arm across the table, and presses his cheek against it, propping his head up with a casual ease. He looks at you sideways, his eyes narrowing in playful challenge, as if he’s trying to gauge whether you’re serious or just messing with him.

"Yeah, I'll make sure they never find your body. Then, I'll go seduce Ratio to make sure you’re rolling in your grave," you say, your voice dripping with honey sweetness, the words lingering in the air like a venomous lullaby. You lean back in your chair, a playful glint in your eyes as you let the threat hang, watching Aventurine's reaction. Your tone is teasing, but there's an edge to it that makes it impossible to fully tell if you're joking or not.

Aventurine’s eyes narrow, the corners of his lips curling into a slow, dangerous grin, his amusement clear. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink—just watches you with a cool, calculating gaze. The soft rustle of cards shuffling between his fingers fills the silence that follows, his movements deliberate, almost too smooth. His entire posture suggests he’s unfazed, though there's something in the air that tells you he’s far from it.

“You’re getting bold,” he mutters, his voice low, edged with a trace of amusement that dances in his tone. His fingers pause over a card, as if savoring the moment, "I guess I’ll have to keep an eye on you. Wouldn’t want you planning my demise too soon."

Dan Heng

You frown at the text before looking up, the words still lingering in your mind. It’s breakfast time for the entire Express crew, and the warmth of the morning has settled into the dining area. The table is filled with an eclectic spread of dishes, each one more unique than the last. There’s a jar of sweet, amber-colored jam next to perfectly buttered toast, its golden crust promising a satisfying crunch. A bowl of congee steams softly beside century eggs, their dark, mottled shells cracked open to reveal the soft, translucent black eggs inside. The aroma of freshly brewed tea mingles with the milk and the clink of forks against plates fills the room in a gentle, rhythmic harmony. It’s a mundane yet content scene, one that, despite its simplicity, brings a sense of comfort and belonging to all who gather here.

"Dan Heng?"

"Yes?"

"Are you cheating on me?"

The table goes deathly silent, the clink of chopsticks and the soft murmur of conversation cease. Only the soft hum of the ship's engine breaks the tension. Everyone’s eyes dart between you and Dan Heng, the sudden question hanging in the air like a thick fog. Dan Heng's hand is mid-air, his chopsticks frozen, the bite of food he was about to take now forgotten. His gaze flickers up to meet yours, brow furrowed in confusion. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he places the chopsticks down, his full attention now on you.

"Never."

It’s a single word, but it’s spoken with such firm, unshakable conviction that a sudden wave of embarrassment washes over you. The lingering weight of your question dissipates as if it had never been there in the first place, and you’re left feeling strangely silly for asking. You take a breath, feeling oddly lighter.

"Okay, just checking," you murmur, nodding with a small, sheepish smile, feeling the slightest hint of heat rise to your cheeks. You return your focus to your food, the question now a fleeting thought as you try to act like it was never even spoken. The smooth porcelain of your bowl feels comforting in your hands, grounding you back into the moment. And just like that, the world picks up where it left off—the familiar clatter of chopsticks against bowls, the soft hum of casual chatter, the warmth of the morning sunlight spilling through the window, casting a soft glow on the table.

"Woah, woah, you can't just say that and pretend nothing happened!!" March slides in, a look of mock outrage dancing across her face as her eyes flicker between you and Dan Heng, clearly having sensed the shift in the air. You nonchalantly flip your phone over to show the group the text you received. The digital scrawl of accusation is there, glaring at everyone with its bold letters and insinuating tone. Before anyone can react, you swipe the screen, blocking the sender with a swift motion, sealing the conversation off.

"Dan Heng said he wasn't cheating. That's all I need. But, um… sorry… it just came out of nowhere, so I just blurted it out," you murmur, subtly hiding behind your bowl as if it could shield you from the attention now directed your way. The warmth of the ceramic is comforting against your hands, and you find yourself absentmindedly stirring the contents, hoping to distract yourself from the awkwardness of the moment. Your gaze flickers up, just enough to catch March's smirk and Dan Heng's steady, unbothered expression. The weight of the conversation feels lighter now, the tension having dissipated, but you're still acutely aware of the eyes on you.

"I mean, I trust him," you add quickly, trying to smooth over your slip, though the self-consciousness creeping into your voice betrays your attempts to act casual. March, ever the teasing spirit, grins wider, but her expression softens when she sees how genuinely flustered you are.

"Hey, no worries," she says with a playful wink, "we've all had those moments."

The reassurance brings a little ease to your shoulders, and you finally lower your bowl, feeling the heat of the moment start to fade, replaced by the gentle flow of conversation and the next adventure.

Blade

You stare down at the text message. It's from an unknown number, but considering who your boyfriend is, you're not really surprised. Blade can be terrifying when he wants to be. At first, you consider ignoring it. After all, if Blade seriously didn't like you anymore, he’d make it obvious. He wouldn't send cryptic messages, you don't even think he knows how to, or play mind games. He'd be direct, like he always is. He'd say it to your face—tell you to leave him alone permanently, no strings attached. So cheating just doesn’t seem like his style, especially considering the effort it took just to worm your way into the corners of his heart. To think that after all that, he’d start seeing someone else? Yeah, right. The whole idea feels almost... laughable. Then again, there’s a small, cynical part of you that wonders if that would be a green flag or a red one, given the context. It’s not that he doesn’t care about you—it’s just that the thought of him cheating on you seems... inconvenient, rather than a calculated betrayal. Maybe that’s a good thing? Or maybe, you think bitterly, it’s just the twisted reality of being with someone who’s as emotionally distant as he is.

You exhale a quiet breath, tossing the phone onto the bed beside you. The message still lingers in your mind like a weight, its implications gnawing at you despite your better judgment telling you to let it go. Blade isn’t the type to pull this kind of stunt. If anything, his indifference to emotions—his refusal to let anyone in—would make any kind of infidelity pointless, wouldn’t it? You shake your head, trying to push the thought out of your mind.

"What did you read?"

You glance up, and you're not surprised to see him—the man of the hour—leaning casually against the opposite wall. His eyes are closed, the dark shadows beneath them hinting at a sleepless night, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His sword, held close as if it's part of him, glints faintly in the dim light. The atmosphere shifts, the air thick with unspoken tension. Instead of answering, you walk over and slide between his legs, the space around you feeling charged as you come to a halt just inches from him.

"I don't care about your vendetta against that man," you say, voice low and deliberate, your hands lightly brushing his thighs as you settle into place, "But you're mine. All mine. Do you understand?"

His jaw clenches, his brows furrow slightly beneath his lashes, but he doesn't answer immediately. His gaze lingers on yours, sharp and intense, almost daring you to push further. He doesn’t answer right away, just watches you, his lips curling into a half-smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. You take a breath, your hands coming to rest at his waist, the space between you charged with an unspoken promise.

"Say it," you demand, voice dropping a notch lower, "or I’ll make sure you never get permission to die."

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—something that tells you he’s heard the weight of your words. For a long moment, he says nothing. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he leans in just enough to close the distance between you, his breath warm on your cheek.

"I'm yours."

[jays-bookmarks]

I literally haven't even seen the trailer I just heard from my friend and booked it back to the game LOL

He's literally fixed my art block AND writing block. I have made so many things for this mans in the past few days

Look at him. My husband <3 he has done nothing wrong 😌 I'll let him murder me any day bc I know he'll bring me back w alchemy and we can be together forever 😌😌😌

PENGU. I AM RUNNING. BACK TO MONDSTADT. TO DEFEND MY HUSBAND IN COURT

fr tho I haven't touched genshin in literally a year but then my friend who still plays the game told me Albedo was going on trial for murder and I naruto ran back to the game

in his defense your honor he looked really hot while doing it........

YOOO I saw that reveal trailer thumbnail and nearly tripped over the play button—WHAT DO YOU MEAN ALBEDO IS BACK??? GO GIRL, BURN DOWN MONDSTADT!!!

This always happens. Just when I finally decide to quit a gacha, they drag me back in with the best character imaginable. I was originally going to roll for Lighter in ZZZ and then quit, but then Harumasa dropped—FOR FREE, BY THE WAY. And now, with Genshin, I was planning to roll for Ifa and dip, but ALBEDO storms through the door, and suddenly I'm locked back in.

Hoyo saw the player base slipping and pulled the emergency lore lever. What do you mean I get to see Diluc and Kaeya fight side by side???

[jays-bookmarks]

Romance with the Alchemist.

pairing: albedo x reader

warning: not proofread, rough draft, grammatical erroes (i think), wrote this like a year before and continued it on the spot so it's going to be a bit confusing but anw idc i js need to delete these drafts mehn HWIEHDJWJAH.

It began with a cup of tea.

Not yours—his. Albedo had brewed it, left it on the table, and forgotten about it amidst a string of calculations. You passed by, noticed the cup, and without a word, picked it up, warmed it again over the flame, and set it beside him with the gentlest clink.

That was the first data point. He didn’t write it down, but it stayed. He told himself it was curiosity at first.

You behaved unlike the others who visited Dragonspine. You didn’t press him with questions, didn’t ask for favors or boast about surviving the cold. You were…quiet, in your own way. Attentive without demanding. Present without pulling.

A quiet variable that returned, again and again. He found himself measuring time in your visits. Not in hours or days, but in the way the cave brightened when your boots left shallow prints by the door.

Noted. Unspoken.

Albedo’s affection bloomed not like fire, but like frost—slow, creeping, unnoticed until everything beneath was touched by it. He began adding a second chair beside his. “In case Timaeus visits,” he said. But he never offered it to Timaeus. Only to you.

He stored a second blanket in the corner—“for emergencies.” You used it once. After that, it was always folded neatly at arm’s reach from your favorite spot. These weren’t declarations. These were constants. Quiet insertions into his environment that proved your presence was not only expected, but accounted for.

The acceptance came not with a realization, but with a recalibration. One night, after you left with a soft wave and a promise to return “next week, maybe,” he found his mind drifting. Not to your face.

But to your voice, saying “next week.”

To your hand brushing his wrist as you passed something he needed.

To the warmth of your scarf still left behind on the hook.

He stared at it for a long time.

Then, without a word, he hung it next to his coat.

It was in the way he started pacing when your return was delayed. The way his brush hovered above the page, unsure whether to draw the tree outside… or the way he could see your breath on the cold air as you looked at something from the distance.

He never called this feeling to be something possibly like romance or affection, he does not believe he could feel such emotions.

But he stopped testing it. Stopped resisting the instinct to brew tea for two. To write notes in the margin for you to find. To reach for the scarf you gave him even when the cold didn’t bite.

One evening, you fell asleep near the campfire in his lab, book in hand, cheek resting against your arm. The silence was soft, comforting.

Albedo didn’t move you. He sat, watching the snow beyond the entrance, the curl of your fingers against the page. And for the first time, he allowed himself to speak aloud—not to wake you, not to be heard, but simply to let it exist:

“Stay as long as you’d like.”

It was not an invitation.

Not a request.

But it was a hypothesis proven true, quietly, patiently: In a world of shifting truths and elusive formulas, you had become the one constant he never needed to solve—only preserve.

To be honest, the snow never bothered Albedo.

Most avoided Dragonspine unless they had no choice, but not him—and not you, either, much to his quiet surprise the first time you trudged through the thick frost just to bring him a scarf. It was hand-knitted, a little uneven in stitching, dyed a blue that didn’t quite match his usual palette. You apologized for it, babbling that you weren’t sure he’d like it, but—

He took it from your hands, wore it immediately, and didn’t say a word. But he wore it again. And again. Every time you visited. You never noticed the way his gloved hand would linger over the fabric when you left. He made sure of that.

Albedo didn’t love like others did.

There were no grand proclamations. No impulsive touches or clumsy declarations. He didn’t stumble over his feelings or turn crimson at your smile. Instead, he observed you—like an unsolvable equation that he didn’t want to solve too fast.

He remembered the way you liked your tea: a dash of honey, not sugar. So when you visited the lab, a steaming cup always waited near the heat lamp. He noted the books you skimmed in the library, then borrowed them in secret, reading ahead so you could “coincidentally” discuss them together.

He never said the words. But he showed them in ways he knew how—through routines, through precision, through the silence between thoughts where your name lingered like an echo.

One afternoon, you arrived while snowflakes danced lazily outside, clinging to your cloak. “You’re not cold?” you asked, setting down a wrapped lunch you made for the both of you.

“I’m adjusted to this climate,” he answered without looking up, yet he slid a warmer chair closer to the heater for you. “But you should be careful. I noticed your gloves are worn. I’ve… made you a pair.”

You blinked. “You made them?” He nodded. “Woven from wool. Reinforced with wind crystal shards. A minor alchemical enhancement for warmth retention.”

You laughed softly, slipping them on. “They’re perfect.” He turned away too quickly. “I’m glad.” He never said the three words. He didn’t need to. The way he watched you with steady, unwavering eyes—the way he noticed what even you didn’t—said it all.

It wasn’t until much later, when you found an old sketchbook half-buried under his pile of notes, that you truly saw it. Pages and pages of you. Not exact portraits, but impressions—the curve of your hand holding tea, the softness in your gaze when you looked at snow falling outside his window, the tilt of your head when you read aloud.

Each drawing carried a different kind of tenderness. And at the corner of one, written in his delicate script: “Hypothesis: In the presence of [Name], the concept of home shifts. It is no longer a place, but a person.”

When it came to everyone and their thoughts regarding the both of you, Lisa knew first. Of course she did.

You visited the library one afternoon looking for a book Albedo had once mentioned in passing—Floral Properties of Subzero Climates, Vol. II. You didn’t ask for it by name. You simply described the way his voice softened when he last spoke of it.

Lisa smiled, handed it over without a word, and watched you leave with a knowing hum. “That boy…” she murmured. “Head over heels in his own way.

Kaeya noticed when he caught Albedo adjusting his gloves one evening at the tavern. “You’re headed back to Dragonspine, aren’t you?” Kaeya asked. “Say hello to our favorite snow visitor for me.”

Albedo blinked once, the way he did when caught off-guard. “You mean Timaeus?” Kaeya chuckled. “Sure. Timaeus.” But Albedo didn’t argue. He just quietly picked up the satchel with two thermoses inside—one with his usual tea, the other with yours.

He wouldn’t call it affection. But he made sure the one labeled with your initials was sealed better, warmer.

Sucrose found one of your hairpins tucked into the corner of Albedo’s desk. She reached for it absentmindedly, only for Albedo to stop her gently. “That’s not… for use,” he said.

“Oh.” She blinked. “It’s the traveler’s, right?” Albedo didn’t answer. He just took it and placed it into the locked drawer where he kept his most fragile samples. Not because he wanted to hide it—but because things that mattered should be protected.

You never talked about what it meant. When you arrived, you simply sat beside him. Sometimes you read. Sometimes he painted. Sometimes you both just existed in quiet parallel.

But small things kept building up.

The sketchbook left open where he knew you’d peek.

The comment you’d drop about something he made—just enough to make him pause, the corners of his lips curling slightly.

Once, you brought lunch and forgot utensils. Without hesitation, Albedo offered his own.

Two hours later, he was still touching the spot where your fingers had grazed his.

Amber visited one time and caught the two of you mid-conversation—or rather, mid-silence. You were both just sitting, sipping tea, watching the snow fall outside. Nothing romantic, at first glance.

But then Albedo leaned closer, brushing a stray snowflake from your shoulder without breaking eye contact. You didn’t flinch. You smiled, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Amber blinked. “Wait,” she whispered under her breath. “Are they…already dating?”

You weren’t.

Neither of you said anything.

But everyone could see it and they had bet on it. In the way Albedo set aside a space for you in every part of his world. In the way your laugh softened his features in a way no potion or pigment ever could. Still, the words were never spoken.

Not when he adjusted your scarf before you left.

Not when you left him your gloves by mistake and found them cleaned and folded neatly in your bag the next morning.

Not even when he handed you a notebook one day—filled with formulas, sketches, pressed flowers, and on the last page: “Certain variables defy classification. I’ve stopped trying to define what you are to me. I’ve decided instead…to keep you.” There was no name on it. But you knew.

And when you returned the next day, you didn’t say anything either. Just sat beside him like always, eyes shining a little brighter.

And he, ever subtle, simply handed you your cup.

Still warm. Still waiting.

[jays-bookmarks]

Damn dieting sucks sm I admire your dedication bc I've never even tried to do it LOL I know for a fact that I won't stick to it

Also I've been rotating Seth SO hard in my head lately............. the catboy agenda has got me in a chokehold. I literally have him as my phone bg so I can stare at him at work and sigh dreamily bc I like him a Normal Amount

And he's gotten me drawing again:

^ idk if you've seen the debate of "do catboys have human ears in addition to their car ears?" but I am a staunch believer in the secret third option—only car ears but they extend to where the human ears are. Not only is it more proportional to a real cat's head it also solves the issue of short hair on catboys 😌

hello Pengu I have an offering for you as a welcome gift for joining the zzz fandom 🤲

AYOOO IS THAT A FIC 👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️

AND FOR ZZZ????

😌🙏

Thank you for the food, I have been on a diet and hating life, but today is the lord's day to have a cheat day

[jays-bookmarks]

Slapping his ass >:3c (ZZZ boys x gn!reader)

It was recently brought to my attention that Harumasa has CAKE underneath that jacket of his 👀 so this idea became a thing..........

Summary: You let the impulsive thoughts win... these are their reactions (ft. Harumasa, Lighter, Lycaon, and Seth). Implied relationship/close friendship. Bulleted hcs. Words: 100 (Harumasa), 116 (Lighter), 117 (Lycaon), 110 (Seth) Warnings: none :3

Harumasa:

Literally yelps and then turns back to you looking SO VIOLATED

Giving you sad wet cat eyes. You slap the Harumasa? You slap him on the butt like the volleyball????? 🥺

When you innocently explain that you just wanted to see his reaction, he gets so dramatic about it

Why would you do that to your dear partner? Don't you know that he's fragile??

But he gets his revenge when you least expect it—i.e. in front of the rest of section 6 (minus Soukaku bc we must spare the innocent baby). You'll never forget that smug smile on his face…

Lighter:

Bro doesn't even flinch. You're not even sure he felt it until he lowered his sunglasses and looked back at you like "oh?"

You don't even have a chance to sheepishly explain yourself before he does it right back to you. Zero hesitation

But he forgets to control his strength and almost leaves a bruise :') Immediately panics and starts apologizing and asking if you're okay

You're fine, but you play it up just to make him squirm. That really hurt, after all >:(

You make him carry you around for the rest of the day to make up for it 😌 he doesn't complain ofc. He loves a chance to show off his strength for you

Lycaon:

Gracefully dodges out of the way

He thought you were trying to touch his tail and was getting ready to explain that, while he isn't opposed to you doing so, he'd like some time to prepare before—

Oh. You wanted to… slap his ass?

He just stares at you without saying anything. You start to get nervous thinking you'd upset him but mans is just buffering

After a moment he coughs into his hand, looking uncharacteristically shy, before saying that as long as the two of you are in a private place, he'd be willing to indulge you

Just pretend that you didn't see his tail wagging as he said that. He'd completely melt from the embarrassment

Seth:

Literal catlike reflexes. Catches your hand and then looks at you like "wtf????"

When you explain what you were trying to do, he only furrows his brow even more

He doesn't get it. Why do you want to slap his ass in the first place? What purpose does it serve?? Do you seriously derive enjoyment from slapping him on the butt??? It doesn't make sense :/

Unfortunately he will not give in to your puppy dog eyes no matter how much you beg :(

If by some miracle you get him to agree to let you do it, he'd just stand there and have absolutely zero reaction. Very disappointing 😔

[jays-bookmarks]

I saw your post and came running 👀 I've been thinking about this since the end of December bc I really did not get into the holiday spirit until after it was over lmao BUT for any characters you want to write for: what are they like during the holidays? What traditions do they like to do? What gifts do they give you?

(Extra ideas you can take or leave if it helps your inspiration at all — How does Aventurine feel when you tell him you don't need any of those expensive gifts, just time with him? How does Sunday react when you sit him down to tell him he's stressing himself out too hard trying to find a perfect gift for you and that all you want is for him to be happy? How does Dan Heng respond when you tell him that the only gift you want for the holidays is him?)

^ I've just been rotating the hsr boys in my head all day at work lol so I have a lot of Thoughts™

gift of love.

summary. the greatest gift of all is his love.

a/n. tysm for the request!!! i decided to settle with gift-giving ideas you offered, since it sounded interesting and cute!! im just gonna stick with aven and sunday for this tho... i wanna test how sunday writes for me.

characters. aventurine. sunday.

cw. first time writing for sunday (this is more of a test with how much i enjoy writing him, sry for any OOC-ness). gift-giving. all lowercase. established relationship(s). PLS NOTE THAT I HAVEN'T DONE THE NEW TRAILBLAZE MISSION STILL CUZ I'M A LAZY MFER...SORRY.

aventurine.

tries to be soooo sneaky about figuring out what you like as gifts. he wants all of his gifts to be a surprise, after all! it doesn't work. you see right through his game plan. he's a smidgen disappointed (with himself), and might be a bit surprised depending on the kind of person you are.

he still ends up showering you in expensive gifts of things you enjoy. he tries to find the most expensive edition of any of those things even though he, of all people, should know that expensive ≠ well-made. you have to tell him to chill out.

he immediately believes you're angry with him (why wouldn't you be?). but you're not, and you can see the panic flash in his eyes for the tiniest of moments. you sigh softly with a wary smile. you briefly give him some space before talking to him about it.

you tell him that all the most expensive gifts in the world are nothing in comparison to quality time together. you remain patient with an open-mind and a listening ear – you know he needs a wealth of both. you make sure to tell him you miss him.

his mouth hangs open in silence when you tell him that, for once he's at a loss for words. his mouth closes and he smiles. he takes you into a soft hug and whispers, "i miss you too."

he makes an evident effort to be around you more often when he does have the time. you know, instead of wasting half of it out in the casino.

and it makes all the difference.

sunday.

the most perfectionist to ever perfectionist. stop him before he literally keels over from stress.

thankfully, you notice how weary he's been. and you ask him what's wrong. because at this point – everyone knows, everyone notices how he's been stuck in his head (more than usual). he frets over little things, as usual. but now he seems almost snippy. birdie is cranky.

when he eventually gives in and confesses that he cannot find the "right" gift for you, you're smiling and shaking your head. you give him a very long moment of silence, testing him – seeing if he catches on what you'll say next.

he doesn't catch on "quick enough", much to his dismay. perhaps he hasn't adjusted to your praises and reassurances...yet.

you tell him that the greatest gift of all would be for him to be happy. to be relaxed. to be in the moment. you throw in a little whisper, "maybe by my side, too."

he's silent – his mind running amok with what to say next. he settles for an awkward yet genuinely affectionate, "thank you..."

and then he asks for your forgiveness once he collects himself. you laugh softly and forgive him, you've gotten used to him asking for your forgiveness rather often. only yours, though.

at some point, you're going to need to tell him that forgiving himself is far more important.

[jays-bookmarks]

LORD GIVE ME ONE MORE CHANCE

— "I'm not here to disregard your hope, angel," the doctor says softly, their voice like a balm—calm and soothing, yet something about it unsettles him further. Sunday bristles at the nickname, his jaw tightening, but the doctor doesn’t pause. Their voice presses on, smooth and unyielding, like water slipping through cracks.

"I'm merely giving you a perhaps."

In the cold cell, another stranger visits Sunday.

— Sunday

[Masterlist]

Not me dredging up the remains of my HSR creativity juices to squeeze out a Sunday fic as an offering. This fic is literally one big meme disguised under 20 trench coats. Happy 2.7 everyone and good luck in your rolling!

Sunday does not slouch. His posture is as unyielding as his will, spine rigid as he awaits the inevitable. There is defiance in the tension of his muscles, an unspoken challenge to the forces that brought him here. He will not bow. They’ll have to drag him, force him, twist his broken neck to fit it through the guillotine’s hole. He imagines the hands that will do it trembling with effort as his ambition burns hotter than any fire they could wield against him.

But the cell is cold. Far colder than Sunday has ever experienced in his life on Penacony. The chill bites deeper than the winds of dead planets and even the defeat that landed him here. The stone walls seep an icy dampness, as though the prison itself is alive, drawing warmth and hope from its captives. How could it be that while reigning over this dreamful planet, bound to it only by misplaced duty, he has never felt so cold? His thoughts drift unbidden to Penacony's open skies, once a reminder of freedom now as unreachable as a distant star. A lingering dread whispers that it doesn’t matter. This chill feels personal, like a punishment carved into the very marrow of his existence. Even the chains binding him are crude, iron and purple venom biting into the skin that has never known injury, pushing past the small protection of his clothing. Every subtle shift sends fresh waves of pain radiating from his wrists, a sharp contrast to the numbness settling into his legs from the unmoving hours spent in the same position. The metal feels like it’s becoming a part of him, fusing with his flesh in a union of cruel irony. The air is no better. It's stale and stagnant, as though even time refuses to move forward in this forsaken space. Each breath feels thick and heavy with the scent of rust, decay, and despair. Sunday briefly wonders if the air has always felt like this around him. Has he been too preoccupied to notice?

His only hope, a fragile, fleeting sparkle, is that Robin will escape their hate. The idea of her, untethered and free, burns like a flicker of warmth in the ice-caked confines of his heart. If she survives, it will be enough.

“You only get five minutes. Be careful,” the guard’s gruff voice echoes from beyond the door, dripping with unease. The tension in the words is sharp enough to cut, underscoring a danger even they don’t fully understand, “We still don’t know if he still retains THEIR power in his voice. If he pulls you under, we can’t guarantee your safe passage out.”

Another guest? Again? Sunday’s lips curl into a faint wry and bitter line. It’s almost laughable. He’s already endured Lady Bonajade, the IPC’s well-polished substitute with her cloying charm that masked sharp fangs. Her diplomacy dripped with venom, thinly veiled promises woven into her words like poison-laced silk. He can still recall her presence heavy with expensive perfume and arrogance. If it’s that gambler next, with their cavalier smirk and penchant for empty bargains, perhaps Sunday will do them all a favor and ask for an expedited execution. Better to end this circus on his terms than dance further to their tune.

Who could they have sent this time to join him in this suffocating void?

The heavy door groans open, the sound grating against his ears. A slice of harsh light invades the cell, stabbing his eyes with unrelenting brightness. He squints reflexively, but it’s no use; the light feels like a blade carving through his defenses. Surrendering, he shuts his eyes tightly, the glow painting the back of his eyelids a fiery red as it burns into him. Then, as abruptly as it came, the light is swallowed when the door slams shut. Darkness reclaims the space, and he’s left adrift once more. Though this time he isn't alone. The shadows press closer, heavier, as though they’ve taken on a sentient weight. It’s not the barely above-satisfactory solitude he’s come to accept but a suffocating presence that lingers just outside his range. Sunday opens his eyes slowly, the dim light of the cell revealing the shape of... a doctor? The figure before him is unassuming, dressed in a pristine white medical coat that seems to glow faintly in the oppressive gloom. The sight doesn’t trigger any immediate alarm in Sunday’s mind, but that only deepens his unease. They stir no recognition, not from Penacony’s ever-shifting guest lists, nor from the IPC’s infamous rogues gallery. Whoever this person is, they carry no air of importance.

But no one sent to this place is ever what they seem. This stranger is either far more dangerous than they appear, their unassuming facade concealing power that could rival or even dwarf Miss Jade’s manipulations, or they are an ordinary person—an idea Sunday dismisses outright. No ordinary doctor would be granted access to this place, to him. In Penacony, there is no place for neutrality. There is no shortage of monsters who hide behind well-tailored costumes. Sunday would know; once, he wore such a mask himself. He doesn’t call out. He refuses to give them that satisfaction. They are not a guest but an uninvited visitor. So, he remains silent, his breath steady and measured, his posture unyielding. The figure shifts slightly first, their coat whispering against the still air. Their posture is calm, expression unreadable in the darkness, and yet Sunday doesn't feel threatened. No sense of being grounded into the dust under someone's thumb.

The wings at the sides of his head twitch, a brief flutter betraying his agitation.

For now, the stranger remains a mystery. Their gaze drifts lazily over him, studying every detail. Their eyes linger on the chains digging into his flesh and the halo above his head, its once-radiant light now reduced to a faint, erratic pulse of THEIR power. The stranger moves with maddening indifference, as though the ticking clock means nothing to them. Despite their limited time, they saunter, unhurried, as though they could stretch five minutes into five hours. Sunday meets their stare, unblinking, refusing to grant them the satisfaction of a reaction. To his irritation, the stranger smiles a slow, pleased curl of the lips that feels entirely too knowing, as if they’re privy to a secret he hasn’t yet uncovered.

"I'm quite sad that you lost,” they say at last, their voice soft, almost conversational as if they were discussing the weather rather than his downfall, “I think I would’ve enjoyed living indefinitely on a rest day.”

Their quiet laugh follows. A muted, understated sound that drifts through the stale air like smoke, curling and lingering in the space between them. Sunday doesn’t respond. The stranger’s tone, smooth as silk and disturbingly casual, grates against him. They sound exactly like Ms. Jade.

They want to use him yet have no courtesy to say please.

He replies flatly, his voice cold, “If you’re here to appeal to my ego, you should turn around now.”

The doctor chuckles softly again, a sound that feels too intimate for the sterile air of the cell, as if it belongs to a private moment and not this standoff. Without hesitation, they begin to circle him, their steps measured and deliberate, their gaze fixed on the faintly glowing halo above his head. Sunday feels the weight of their scrutiny, the way their eyes trace the gentle flicker of light as though searching for hidden truths. Yet, to his surprise—and mild unease—the halo remains steady, its weak pulses undisturbed by the stranger’s presence, as if indifferent to them entirely. He doesn’t move, his stillness a deliberate choice. His silence is his armor, and he wears it with practiced precision. But the doctor seems utterly unbothered, their serene demeanor bordering on infuriating. The chains biting into Sunday’s flesh, the damp chill that clings to the air, the oppressive darkness of the cell, none of it seems to bother them. As if they've been in this same position before. Instead, they hum softly, a tuneless, meandering sound, as if they were lost in thought rather than examining a chained prisoner. Their head tilts slightly as they move as if searching for something intangible, something that only they can sense. Each step carries a deliberate weight, each moment of their low, aimless hum digging under his skin like an itch he cannot reach. When they finally come to a stop, their eyes meet his once more. There’s a glint in them now, something quiet and unreadable. Sympathy? Understanding? Or perhaps, something more insidious, like pity disguised as interest.

“So,” they murmur, their voice almost gentle as the pure white coat they wear, “Have you accepted your burden of guilt?”

Sunday’s jaw tightens imperceptibly, the only sign of the tension building beneath his outward calm. There is no accusation in the doctor’s tone, just a quiet curiosity, its softness more insidious than any harsh reproach. It’s not meant to provoke, he realizes, but to probe. The question feels like an outstretched hand, seeking not an answer but an opening, a crack in the armor of his resolve. He scoffs, the sound sharp and derisive, cutting through the stillness. It’s not loud, but it carries weight, a dismissal. The faint light of the halo above his head flickers, its weak glow casting fleeting shadows across his face, deepening the sharp contours of his jaw and the unyielding steel in his gaze.

The doctor, however, doesn’t flinch. Their composure is maddening, as steady and immovable as stone. They tilt their head slightly, studying him as though his reaction is a puzzle, a piece of data to be cataloged and analyzed. The only betrayal of their reaction is a subtle twitch at the corner of their lips, a movement so small it could be missed, but Sunday sees it. He knows it for what it is: the beginnings of a smile. Not a full grin, not even an expression of amusement, but a faint, restrained elation that feels far too calculated. It’s the look of someone who has just confirmed something they already suspected. A twinge of annoyance kindles in Sunday, though he douses it immediately. He won’t crack, won’t falter under their probing gaze. If they expect him to stumble, they’ll be disappointed.

“Guilty? You’re mistaken.” Sunday’s voice burns through the stale air, steady and resolute. He straightens slightly, his chains clinking softly with the movement. The sound is faint, but it reverberates in the oppressive silence of the cell. “There is nothing to feel guilty about. I did what I thought was right.”

The words land like stones, heavy and unyielding, filled with a conviction he's cultivated and forged. Yet, despite his defiance, Sunday can’t shake the sense that something about the doctor has shifted. They almost seem proud, as if they're happy about Sunday's unremorseful response. Their silence stretches, unbroken, as though they are savoring his answer. The doctor’s eyes never leave his, unblinking, as if peeling back layers to see the truths buried beneath his words.

Finally, they tilt their head slightly, their voice soft but probing. “And yet, here you are. The path to Hell is paved with good intentions, Sunday. And you? You’ve committed enough sins to pave it twice over—more than enough to last a hundred lifetimes. Perhaps even a thousand. You’re certainly going to have a hard time atoning for them. Tell me, does being ‘right’ bring you peace?”

The words are sharp and deliberate, meant to sting, yet they lack the malice that would make them truly dangerous. There’s no fury in their expression, no glee in their cruel words. There’s no gleam of a scalpel in their hand, no syringe hidden in the folds of their coat. This isn’t the cold, clinical sadism of someone ready to dissect his body or tamper his blood. No, this doctor is not here with the tools of physical torment. The doctor’s presence looms over him, palpable, like a weight settling into the stale air of the cell. He feels it—the pressure of an unspoken expectation, like a string pulled taut between them. He can sense it in the way they watch him, the way they wait. There’s only one answer they are fishing for, the one that will justify whatever lies ahead, whatever they plan to do to him next. The cold yet whimsy nature of their approach mirrors something he knows all too well, he just experienced it an hour prior. Miss Jade had played the same game, her words sharp but veiled, wrapped in the trappings of diplomacy. She had presented accusations like a ledger of business transactions, always with that smile of hers, so polished, so perfect, a lure. And when Sunday had refused to take the bait, she had simply smiled and said she could wait.

He’s not afraid of their games. They can play all they want, but they’ll get nothing from him. His silence is his shield, just as it was with Miss Jade. The doctor can wait too. He knows better than to speak too quickly.

But Sunday is so, so tired. Tired of these people and their endless games. Tired of their riddles, their insidious questions designed to unravel him piece by piece. Tired of their quiet cruelties, masked with words that sound too polite to be anything other than weapons. They think they can break him like this—one question at a time.

It all feels like waiting for the guillotine to fall.

“The one who will decide if I am guilty of my sins is not you, nor any other mortal,” Sunday says, his voice steady. The weight of his words fills the small cell, challenging the doctor's expectant gaze. “I have lived my life according to my beliefs, and I stand by every decision I have made. If THEY deem me unworthy, then so be it. I will accept THEIR judgment with humility.”

Sunday keeps his posture firm, unbowed, his muscles tense, as if preparing for a blow that might never come. He steels himself, accepting that what comes next is inevitable, like the guillotine poised above him. His hands clench into fists, but they remain steady, unshaken by whatever may come. He has nothing more to offer. If his words do not satisfy them, they can leave. He will not grovel, will not entertain their games any longer. He closes his eyes for a moment, retreating inward. His thoughts are calm and resolute, as though his body and mind are two separate entities, perfectly still. The waiting has become familiar now, a grim ritual he has endured countless times before. In the end, they will act, or they won’t. It no longer matters.

The doctor does not respond immediately. They remain still, a silent specter. The only sound is the faint rustle of their coat as they shift slightly.

And then, the doctor’s hand comes to rest lightly on his shoulder.

The touch is not harsh or commanding, but it is deliberate. A quiet, calculated assertion of presence. Despite the sudden gesture, Sunday does not flinch. Still, the cold weight of their hand lingers, sending a subtle unease coursing through him. It is not physical pain, but something deeper—a sensation of being measured in a way that makes him feel exposed despite the darkness.

It is not the guillotine. But it feels no less final.

"I'm not here to disregard your hope, angel," the doctor says softly, their voice like a balm—calm and soothing, yet something about it unsettles him further. Sunday bristles at the nickname, his jaw tightening, but the doctor doesn’t pause. Their voice presses on, smooth and unyielding, like water slipping through cracks.

"I'm merely giving you a perhaps."

The hand on Sunday’s shoulder squeezes briefly, firm enough to remind him of its weight, before withdrawing. The absence feels oddly pronounced, a phantom pressure that lingers even as the doctor moves. Standing before him now, framed by the faint, pale light from his flickering halo, their smile is gentle. Yet it does nothing to soften the unease that coils in Sunday’s gut. The doctor’s gaze, steady and piercing, seems to strip him bare, as though it peers through flesh and bone and into the very fabric of his soul. Sunday feels exposed, and vulnerable, as if the very walls of the cell have dissolved, leaving him standing alone in front of a vast, uncharted abyss. Yet he meets that abyss head-on, as he always has. He has lived in the dark long enough for its weight to feel familiar. Fear had been a companion of his youth, a shadow he had learned to outrun. Now, it is a distant memory.

The doctor’s tone sharpens, each word precise and deliberate, as they step closer. Their eyes never leave Sunday’s—dark, enigmatic, like deep pools where the bottom remains hidden no matter how far one leans to peer in.

“You’re an ordinary person, Sunday. A man, just like the rest of us,” they continue, their voice low but cutting, each syllable landing with unnerving clarity. “And everything around you, everything you once believed in, is falling apart. You can see that, can’t you?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with implication, settling on Sunday’s shoulders like a weight he cannot shrug off. Their gaze drills into him, unrelenting, and for a fleeting moment, the hum of his halo grows louder, almost as if reacting to the tension. Yet Sunday does not waver. He meets their stare, unblinking, though his jaw tightens as the words burrow deep, hitting a nerve he’s tried desperately to protect.

“Your ideals, your mission, all of it is gone. Nothing but shattered dreams, scattered like dust in the wind.”

The doctor’s smile stretches wider, but it holds no comfort, no reassurance—only a wet chill that seeps into the cracks of the words they weave. The pools in their eyes seem to deepen further, the ripples folding in on themselves, twisting into a current that spirals downward into unseen depths.

“And now you’re faced with a choice. A tough one. One that will define what little you have left. Will you continue to try and burn as bright as a little star, shining alone in the dark, fragile, flickering, doomed to fade away when the inevitable cold comes?”

The pause that follows is deliberate, the stillness amplifying the weight of their words. The water is starting to overflow, spilling past the rim, lapping at the wood and kindling that's kept Sunday alive from the harsh winter.

“Or will you choose to become something greater? A planet. Cold, distant, unmoving—but vast. A foundation. A force. Unstoppable."

The doctor steps back slightly, letting the weight of the decision settle. The water slowly retreats yet still surrounds him on all sides. The stillness stretches again, the words sinking into the space between them. The doctor tilts their head, studying Sunday’s expression as if searching for the faintest crack in his defiance. Their final words fall like stones into the darkness. “The star may dazzle, but it is the planet that builds. Which will you be?”

The silence that follows is thick, and suffocating, as Sunday’s mind races. The words hang in the air, their weight crushing, each one a reminder of the choice he must make. The doctor watches him with that same unnervingly calm expression as if they know exactly what Sunday is going through. They’ve seen it before, the internal struggle, the battle between the remnants of pride and the pull of cold reality. Sunday’s jaw tightens, his fists clenching at his sides. He wants to resist, to reject the notion that he has to choose between these two bleak paths. He wants to believe in the ideals he once held, to believe in something greater than survival. But the truth gnaws at him. The world has already rejected him. His dreams are shattered.

But have they really?

“The world has fallen apart. People like you, like me... we don’t have the luxury of holding onto idealistic dreams anymore. The reality is harsh and unforgiving. You can either fight to keep burning out, or you can accept that the world has moved on and adapt. Become something that doesn’t need to rely on hope. Become something that will outlast it all,” they pause, their eyes narrowing slightly as if waiting for Sunday to come to his conclusion. “So, Sunday... will you hold onto your dying star, or will you choose the cold, inevitable truth of being something greater?”

Sunday sits motionless, the weight of the doctor’s words pressing down on him like a mountain. The cell is silent, save for the faint hum of his halo and the rustling of the doctor's coat as they wait. His mind spins in a desperate frenzy, struggling to piece together some semblance of resistance, some last thread of hope. But the doctor’s words have struck too deep. He feels them in his bones, in the places where his ideals once lived. A small, bitter laugh escapes him, but it’s hollow, devoid of any real amusement.

“A planet,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Cold, unfeeling, and distant... But it endures. Doesn't it?”

“It shapes the world around it, whether it wants to or not. It doesn’t fade into nothingness. It stands firm, no matter the storm," the doctor easily agrees. Sunday can feel the pull of the doctor’s words, like a gravity he can’t escape. The halo above his head hums softly, as if reacting to the intensity of the moment, vibrating with the tension building inside him. He looks up at the doctor then, eyes narrowing, his gaze hardening. The chains on his wrists shift slightly as he stands straighter, every fiber of his being screaming with the desire to reject what’s being offered. He wants to defy it, to shout that he won’t become that thing, that lifeless entity, that thing the doctor’s trying to turn him into. But he knows, deep down, that the fight is slipping from his hands. He's so tired. The idealism he clings to, the belief that there’s something worth saving, something worth fighting for, feels more fragile with each passing second.

What would Robin think?

The doctor’s voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts, soft but insistent. “I know it’s a difficult one. But the world won’t wait forever. You have to choose: a flicker that will vanish in the next gust of wind or a force that will remain, unchanged, no matter the storm.”

Sunday’s fists tighten again, his knuckles white. “I never asked for this,” he mutters, more to himself than to the doctor.

“No one asks for it,” the doctor responds smoothly, “but the truth remains. The world has no room for weakness, for those who cling to ideals that no longer have meaning. What matters now is what you choose to become. You can keep trying to burn as a star, but that won’t stop the darkness. Or you can let go and rise, like a planet, indifferent to the storms around you. You'll be alive to try again."

Sunday closes his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of his halo pressing against his skull, the faint hum like a heartbeat in his ears. He can feel it. This tug, this pull, deep inside him. The pull to embrace this cold, inevitable truth, to give up the battle and accept what the doctor is offering. There’s something comforting about it. Something that promises survival. The question still hangs in the air, like a blade poised above him. He’s running out of time. His heart beats louder now, thudding in his chest as he realizes—he may not have a choice at all.

Slowly, he exhales, his breath shaky, but his voice is steady when he finally speaks. “And if I choose the planet... what then?”

The doctor’s smile widens, a gleam of something darker lurking behind it. “Then you will embrace the power that comes with it. You will shape the world as you see fit. You will no longer be bound by the past. The future will be yours to command. No more waiting, no more being preyed upon. You will become the force that others bend to. And you will never have to feel the sting of hope again.”

The words are tempting, soothing, like cool water to a burn he never knew was there. Sunday’s pulse quickens. His breath comes more shallow now, as the weight of the decision presses down on him. For a moment, he simply stands there, lost in the quiet hum of his halo, feeling the coldness creep up his spine. He’s so, so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of waiting, tired of being crushed by the weight of his choices. He can feel himself sinking deeper into that black water.

“You are Sunday. The man who almost became an Aeon, only for it all to fall apart. The dream of a world free from the harshness of reality cannot comfort you down here. Not anymore. Right now, you are alone.”

No. That's not true. It's not-

Their words scrape against him. The mention of the Aeon—of his failed rise—stirs something deep within him. The memory of what he almost was, the power he almost held, flashes in his mind like a fading echo. For a moment, he feels the ache of that loss, the hollow sting of what could have been. But just as quickly, he shoves it down. That doesn't matter anymore. Three footsteps echo through the cell, slow and deliberate, the sound amplified by those previous words. Before Sunday can react, he feels the faintest pressure, arms wrapping around his neck in a cold, hollow imitation of a hug. The touch is freezing, sinking through his skin and into his very bones. It makes his muscles tense, his breath catching for just a moment. It is not the warmth of an embrace but something far more alien, far more wrong. The doctor’s voice comes next, soft and intimate, a whisper so close it brushes against his ear.

“But it’s okay,” they murmur, their tone almost tender. “We can be alone together.”

The words, as quiet and soothing as they are, carry a weight that sinks into Sunday’s chest. There’s something deeply unsettling about the doctor’s closeness, their coldness wrapped around him, suffocating him with an intimacy that has no place here. The promise of shared isolation is chilling in its own right, an offer too twisted to accept. Sunday’s muscles tighten instinctively, the discomfort gnawing at his composure. The prickling sensation that crawls up his spine cannot be ignored. This is not a comfort. This is a reminder of his solitude, his isolation, twisted into something almost mocking. His heart beats just a little faster, and he fights the urge to shudder. The doctor’s words echo in his mind, lingering in the empty space like an unsettling shadow. He knows now, that this is not a game. This is something far more dangerous.

"The dream of the Order has dissipated," the doctor says, their voice calm, almost mournful. They run their hand through his hair, almost like a mother attempting to soothe their child. "Yet there are still those who will not relinquish their original intent. To the traveler whose wings were clipped…" Their head tilts slightly, the words deliberate and heavy. "Whereto shall your footsteps lead?"

The air in the room feels heavier now, charged with the energy of the decision that’s been made. A faint vibration courses through the halo above Sunday’s head, a subtle tremor of something. Its light pulses unevenly, responding to the storm of his emotions. Sunday’s lips press into a thin line, his jaw tightening as the words settle over him. The air thickens, and for a moment, the world outside the cell feels distant, as if the very walls are closing in. His mind races, skimming the edges of memories he’s long buried, of battles fought and lost, of promises broken by those who swore loyalty. His fingers twitch slightly, the chains around his wrists clinking softly. The doctor’s question lingers, floating in the air like a thread ready to be tugged, pulling him toward some deeper hole. The halo above him flares briefly, its light flickering erratically as if responding to the emotion rising in his chest. Sunday’s eyes narrow, just enough to show his growing irritation.

He’s had enough—enough of the chains, the suffocating cell, the endless waiting for a sentence that looms but never falls.

“Then… I choose,” Sunday says, his voice low but wavering. The doctor’s smile deepens, and they step back, giving him space to breathe, to make the final step. Yet close enough to loom over him, their invisible shadow smothering him. "I choose..."

And most of all, he’s had enough of these strangers—these meddling interlopers who waltz into his prison with their veiled words, cryptic challenges, and their insufferable, thinly disguised disdain. His patience is gone, frayed to the breaking point. When he speaks, his voice remains deceptively calm and steady, but the smoldering flicker of anger in his gaze has become unmistakable—a faint ember flaring into a wildfire. “Neither. I am not some helpless bird without purpose. I have always chosen my own path, and I will continue to do so—even in penance."

The hum of his halo surges, vibrating louder in the cell, an electric pulse that reverberates against the walls and into the rocks and sand. The sound is raw, and primal, matching the rage that courses through him. His fist swings, a blind, furious arc toward where the doctor stood a moment ago, but the space is empty. Of course, it is. The doctor has already moved, slipping away as though they had expected this—no, wanted this. Their entire presence feels like a calculated provocation, an engineered storm. His breath comes in ragged gasps, his muscles coiled and aching from the violence of his strike. His eyes burn as they sweep the cell, searching for the shadow that dares to mock him with their calm detachment. The pounding of his heart is deafening in his ears, a counterpoint to the relentless thrum of the halo above his head. Anger courses through him, sharp and unrelenting, demanding action, demanding release. The weight of his declaration hangs in the air, heavy despite being simple words he’s repeated in his mind countless times. Yet, they feel different now—sharper, more potent—carried on the air for another to hear. He doesn’t feel strange letting them out, even though doing so feels oddly like exposing something raw and unguarded. Sunday doesn’t know what comes next, but he knows this: the small flicker of his old self is fading, and something else—something more unyielding—is beginning to rise. In contrast, the doctor hums again, their voice eerily in sync with the faint vibrations of Sunday’s halo. The resonance feels deliberate like an unspoken language only they understand. The sound threads through the space between them, burrowing under his skin. Their gentle smile lingers, unshaken, as though they had been expecting his answer—or perhaps even orchestrating it. The way their gaze rests on him feels less like scrutiny and more like careful calculation, their expression distant yet unnervingly focused, as though assembling a puzzle only they can see. Sunday’s fingers flex against the chains that bind him, the faint creak of metal grounding him as time stretches unnaturally. He wonders, not for the first time if the allotted five minutes have passed. It feels like far longer, the oppressive air in the cell distorting the flow of moments into something alien and unrecognizable. Finally, the doctor’s smile shifts into that soft, almost imperceptible, but undeniably there smile. It’s not a smile of triumph, nor one of satisfaction, but something more elusive. Almost… admiring.

“No...no, you are not some caged bird,” the doctor murmurs, bringing their hand up to feel the vibrations of their voice through their lips, the words rolling out with finality. As if they're talking to themselves rather than him. Then, suddenly, the air lightens. The weight that had hung between them vanishes as if it had never existed at all. The water recedes, growing calm and quiet, as though it was never trying to drown him in the first place. The doctor's smile becomes unexpectedly kind, even a little silly. It's disorienting—this sudden change from the sharp, probing presence to something almost affectionate. They step a little closer, their expression now open, becoming someone simply offering comfort rather than delivering an execution.

"I'm glad," they say, voice lighter, warmer now. Even the light in their eyes has returned, "When I heard Ms. Jade had come to speak with you, I was worried you would accept her offer. I’d hate to see you make the same mistake as the others. After all, you’ve been alone long enough, haven’t you?”

The change is subtle but undeniable—the sharp edge in their demeanor has dulled, replaced by an almost maternal kindness, as if they're genuinely concerned, even protective. Sunday feels the shift, though he can’t fully understand it. The calm in their presence is unsettling, and yet, for a moment, it feels less like manipulation and more like... care. A care that feels strange coming from someone who only moments before seemed intent on breaking him. Sunday's muscles remain tight, still coiled from the tension that had just been released. His mind races, trying to decipher the sudden shift in the doctor's demeanor. The warmth in their voice, the ease in their smile—it feels foreign, out of place. He’s been surrounded by manipulation and false kindness long enough to know better than to trust a sudden change. But the doctor’s presence is no longer suffocating. There is no sharpness in the air, no tension laced into their every word. It's almost... normal. And that’s what unnerves him the most. He takes a slow breath, pushing the unease back down, and forcing his body to relax, though his mind remains wary.

“Alone?” He repeats the word, tasting it on his tongue as if it might reveal something deeper. The doctor’s gaze doesn’t waver, holding his attention with that same unsettling steadiness.

“Yes,” they nod, “Alone. You’ve been isolated long enough to start thinking your only options are escape or destruction.”

They step back, creating just a little more space between them, “But that’s not all that’s left, Sunday. You don’t have to keep fighting against the tide, drowning in the same thoughts over and over. There’s another way. You don’t have to be the only one holding yourself up.”

They turn slowly, their coat trailing behind them, their presence still palpable even as they begin to walk away. Sunday’s gaze follows them, his chest tight with a mixture of uncertainty and something else he can’t quite name. The hum of his halo pulses faintly in his ears, but the oppressive stillness of the cell settles back in, thick and heavy. The doctor pauses at the door, their hand resting on the cold metal, and turns their head just enough to meet Sunday’s eyes once more.

“I’ll leave you with this. What you do with it is up to you. I know you won’t make it easy, Sunday, but I hope you will come to visit sometime. Perhaps even later today if you're feeling generous?" the doctor laughs lightly at their joke yet it carries a weight that lingers. The doctor slides a sleek paperslip colored in a luminous palette of metallic gold and red out of their pocket. The top section of the paperslip is adorned with geometric and circular designs, with small circular holes on the bottom line. A subtle rainbow light emanates from its edges and central emblem.

It's a train ticket. It flutters in the wind, landing gently on top of his hand.

And with that parting gift, they step through the door, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the empty space. The door clicks shut with a finality that feels too real, too absolute. Sunday remains still, the silence pressing down on him like the weight of an unspoken truth. The offer- no - the perhaps lingers in the room, intangible but undeniable, swirling in the corners of his mind. The weight of his decision, of what comes next, rests heavily on his shoulders. His fingers curl around the ticket, shining brightly in the middle of his palm. The choice, the path he will take, is entirely his. The possibility of something other than solitude, other than endless struggle, hangs in the air like a question he has yet to answer. But for now, there is only silence and the slow, steady pulse of his halo, waiting for him to make his next move.

[jays-bookmarks]

Bro the struggle is so real. It's like. Do I want to wake up before sunrise just so I'd have daylight when I come home from work? Do I want to have more sleep at the cost of never seeing another human being again?

Omg you're back again hello 👀 how have you been????

Big mood on the "man I wish this author would finish their fic" LOL I've been rereading my own wiring recently and going wtf. Where's the rest of it?

For a limited time only babyyy

But I've been good. Extremely busy but it's okay, the pto is worth it. That's what I keep telling myself at least :) but how are you??? Is anything interesting happening? New developments perhaps 👀

The funny thing is that I've actually been talking with a few mutuals, and they've all told me that they recently went back to re-read their drafts. Maybe it's something in the air or we're all feeling a bit nostalgic? Or because everyone is on break since it's summer.