#2.7k

[coralinnii]

Congrats on 2.7k! The villain(ess) saga is my bread and butter hehe.

Anyways Id like to request borderline desperate Jamil trying to figure out Readers fav food as they can and will literally eat anything without complaint(even Lilia's cooking lol). Thank you 💖

‧₊˚✧A Dash of Sweetness ‧₊˚✧

↳ Reader S/O who eats anything

feat: Jamil  genre: fluff (like shojou manga level sweetness) note: no pronouns used with the reader, idiots in love, kinda oblivious!reader, roughly 1k words,

Random storytime, my big bro once got hungry and cooked himself eggs while the rest of us were out, and no one told him the eggs went bad. He was absolutely fine the entire day and none of us would have known if not for my bro saying it’s weird that the egg he ate was green. Yet, he said the french toasts I made once were bland T_T

Anyway, this took a while because I honestly didn't know how this story will end up, hopefully you enjoy it ^_^

2.7K Followers Writing Event 2023

Jamil can deny all day and night, but he really likes to see you enjoy his cooking. For all the times he told you that he already has his hands full with Kalim, there was suspiciously always a warm lunchbox filled with aromatic meals made by yours truly. All for that bright smile of yours whenever you would finish off the “leftover” meal that Jamil would generously share with you. 

When Jamil realized that others have fed you, his hidden competitive nature rose. While there were many competent students with skills in the kitchen, within Jamil was a desire to see a special shine in your eyes when he cooks your favorite dish, a visual only for him.

But be it due to pride or embarrassment, Jamil doesn’t seem to be the type to be upfront with his intentions, nor does he take the straightforward tactic. Instead of asking you directly, he would ease his way through conversations with your friends just to find out your most favored dish per chance. But that turned out that that was harder than he expected. 

Day after day, Jamil would hand you a new type of dish and watch your reaction for the slightest hint of preference. Perhaps a raise of your eyebrows, a slower time to take in the taste, anything. He's racking his brain and looked for every sort of dish and recipes from all parts of Twisted Wonderland for the slight chance he comes across a dish to your absolute liking. But each time, you simply smiled graciously and thanked him for sharing with you, not that he disliked it since he did get to spend more time with you through all of this. 

But each attempt makes him all the more impatient, and curious. If you looked this beautiful just eating something good, Jamil wondered how you’d look if he served you your most favored dish? Would he see your eyes light up with joy, your body shaking with excitement, your cheeks so cutely puffy and full with every bite, maybe even bring him into a spontaneous embrace filled with so much gratitude, perhaps even a kiss…  

“I’m getting ahead of myself.” Jamil hid his face in embarrassment, but the burning ears and racing heart revealed how much he wanted to see that side of you.

You found it odd how often it’s been that Jamil was offering you leftover food this past week. You’re certainly not complaining but it’s always something new everyday. Sometimes Jamil would hand you a meal mixed with aromatic spices, other times an array of sugary sweet treats and pastries. It could be a simple stew that warms your soul one day, or it could be a unique cuisine with a variety of paired side dishes. 

But every day, you would notice that he would glance your way occasionally as you partake in this gracious meal, and it’s making you a bit antsy. 

“You’ve been watching me for a while.” Your voice seemed to break whatever concentration the Scarabia student had. “Is there something you’re expecting me to say?” 

Like a deer in headlights, Jamil flinched and felt a small wave of embarrassment when he realized he was caught watching you. He was sure that he was being discrete, but he supposed that as days went on he had gotten a tad bit restless and hasty. He got sloppy, he cursed to himself.

Quickly shaking his nerves away, he replied with a smile to ease you. “I’m simply glad the food is to your taste.” 

You were hardly convinced by that. Was he experimenting with dishes, you wondered. You tried to offer some insights and compliments which seemed to satisfy the long-haired upperclassman, but you felt a sneaky suspicion that he was hoping for something else. 

“Jamil, I’m really happy that you’ve been sharing all this food with me.” You said as you settled the lunchbox to your side. “But I don’t think I’m the best person if you're looking for a detailed review on food.”

Ah yes, Jamil was aware of your generous palate. While trying to discreetly find your preferences, Jamil first assumed you had a sweet tooth when you praised the Heartslabyul vice-housewarden for his sweets. But then, Jamil overheard you enjoying your visits to Mostro Lounge so perhaps you had a pension for seafood…Then, he was thrown for a loop when he heard from a giddy Lilia that he was delighted to see you have such a rigorous appetite, having tried and finished the beef-seafood-fruit stew he made for his dormmates. 

You...were not picky, to say the least.

You felt a pang of shame for your lack of refined judgment in cuisine. “Your food is really good. Sorry, I don't know what else I can say about it that is helpful to you.”

That’s it. Jamil saw an opening. “Perhaps, I could make your favorite food,” his voice sounded as though it was a spontaneous thought. “Then it would be something you can speak more on a personal level.” 

All other attempts to learn your food preferences failed in the past, but now there was an opportunity to learn firsthand from the source. It wasn’t strange, was it? It was simply the flow of the conversation, and all the long-haired upperclassman did was offer an option. What an auspicious break for Jamil.

But when Jamil looked to you to gauge your reaction, you surprised him. 

You stared at him, eyes wide with shock. Your lips quivered and shook, as though your body was nervously processing his words, which deeply worried Jamil. Has he somehow offended you? How?! 

Finally, you spoke. “You would make something…just for me?” 

“Yes, if that’s something alright with you?”

All this time, you were under the impression that Jamil was offering you food that couldn’t be finished, and you were content with taking whatever was offered, happy that the vice-housewarden thought of you in some way. But having Jamil make something homemade purposely with you in mind… to think of you as he makes the effort to do something, hoping you will enjoy it. A sweet gesture made for you, and you alone.

Feelings of butterflies filled you as your cheeks felt hot at such thoughts. You felt your lips quiver as a goofy smile crept its way onto your face, but you tried to hide your giddiness behind your fingers.

You thought for a bit, then softly you replied. “Curry would be nice.” 

Hmm? Jamil was surprised. That’s his favorite…  

“Then, we can eat together.” You smiled nervously. “I think sharing with someone you like makes food taste better.” 

Such a lovely sight of two shy fools. One was grinning oddly while the other was hiding his shamefully burning face behind his hood.

[roosterr]

everybody stop and look at what my friend bought me😭😭 the brain rot is so bad my irls know how down bad i am for him😭

[golden-cherry]

let's spread the word

hello everyone,

as I announced yesterday, I have something (small) to share with you today. Since I read and take each and every one of your comments and messages to heart, it's time to share the story with more than just you (even though you all stole my heart and it's yours forever). The Deal series has gotten more attention than I could have ever imagined - which is why I've been asked by several to share it on other platforms as well. So - welcome to AO3 and Wattpad! These two links will redirect you to my only other profiles where I officially post the story. This wouldn't have been possible without my beloved friend @elisysd. Dear, your input, your creativity and your motivational nudges have motivated me to do this. Thank you for everything - and the awesome slogan. This one is for you.

Also, a big thank you to everyone who's made this possible. I have a few people in mind and when the time is right, I would like to dedicate something to you. But we're not there yet. Nevertheless, I am grateful beyond measure.

Thank you all for taking this (small) step with me and motivating me to keep writing this story that I love so much.

love you lots,

cherry

[candyredappledragon]

"what's your favorite flower?"

daffodils

'Daffodils are flowers that are often associated with unrequited love, loneliness and a longing for something that cannot be obtained'

[nymika-arts]

I've been seeing a number of posts opposing the whole "likes are worthless" idea on here and I feel like a lot of yall are purposefully misunderstanding what creators actually mean when we say that. no one is saying that getting a like means nothing. it's a nice little indicator that a single person enjoyed your post, but it's not helpful in any way to circulating art/creations. likes are worthless to the process of getting your work seen.

we're talking about likes this way because we're trying to push back against the huge disparity in the likes to reblogs ratios. we're trying to get people to understand that your likes, while not damaging in any way, do absolutely nothing to help creators boost their work. they're nice, but that's it. you should be reblogging the work that you enjoy.

[mollysolo]

can i pls request a song fic based off of seven by taylor swift with steve harrington x fem!reader?? congrats on 2.7k btw!

I Still Got Love For You

Pairing: Steve Harrington X fem!Reader

Summary: A love filled summer romance with Steve Harrington and its aftermath.

Warnings: Crying, mentions of Steve’s shitty dad + Steve’s trauma, the reader going to college, sadness, a breakup, angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 2k

a/n: i hope you like this !

My 2.7k follower celebration !

Currently Steve was laying on his bed alone for once because you had to use your last night in town to pack up all of your things. You would be driving up to NYU first thing in the morning. Steve didn’t want you to leave but he also didn’t want to hold you back from your dreams. So he stayed silent on how much your approaching departure had started to hurt him.

You were all he had ever wanted and this love you two had shared seemed to be over before he knew it. And while he laid there, he began to reflect on your romance and picture the happy moments like you had asked him to.

He pictured that one day the two of you went swimming in lovers lake early into the summer.

Steve had climbed up a tree that hung over the lake just ten minutes ago, jumped in and he had somehow convinced you to try it not long after his head popped out of the water. But you were too scared to jump down.

“C’mon, (y/n)! It’s not that far! Hey, what about this? I’ll catch you!” he remembered yelling up at you, which eased some of your worries and moments later you jumped into his ready arms.

“See! I knew you could do it!” he had also said before kissing you for the first time while you two were still in the water.

You looked so beautiful that day and he wished that could live in that memory for the rest of time. That was one of the happiest day’s of his life.

And before he fell asleep that night, he pictured one of the more calm evenings you spent together almost a month and a half ago. You had been drinking iced tea together while cuddling on your porch swing and watching the sunset.

That was when you finally got the courage to tell him you loved him and he had said it back right away. “I think I’ve always loved you.” he had said afterwards, which made heat sprint to your cheeks.

He thought about the way you crossed over each others hearts and promised to not tell anyone about your love for a little while. You wanted to keep your loves to yourselves so that you could indulge each other a bit more.

————————————

The following morning, Steve didn’t come to see you off before you left. And though you expected this after how badly he reacted when you told him a couple weeks ago that you would be leaving for New York soon, you still wished that he would’ve shown up. You wished that you could’ve hugged and kissed him one more time, even though the two of you were now broken up.

But you still loved him with your entire being, even if he wasn’t there to hear you say it anymore.

The way he loved you this summer changed your whole perspective on the world and you would always be grateful for that. But you knew that all good things must come to an end at some point and for your relationship, now was that point.

And you couldn’t help but yearn for him as you drove away, almost considering driving to his his house. But you didn’t want to be late, so you continued on your way to New York.

————————————

It had now been a year since you had left for college and you were now back in town for the summer. And even though you didn’t think of or call Steve that often anymore as a result of your busy schedule, you still had love for him. You always would.

But you even with you back in town, you still didn’t call Steve. You were a little afraid that he’d be furious with you for not keeping in touch with him. When in reality, while he felt sad that the two of you no longer spoke, he was still happy for you and he still had love for you. He always would. That wasn’t something that would go away easily.

The love you shared was meant to last a lifetime, both of you were sure of it although you were still too nervous to speak to one another.

————————————

In the middle of one of the nights during your first week back in town, Steve called you and asked if he could come over. He said he wanted to talk and you said yes. How could you not when he sounded so sad and broken?

He arrived at your front door just fifteen minutes later, not using your bedroom window anymore. He wasn’t a teenager anymore after all and he wanted to seem more mature to you.

You let him in right away and tightly held his hand in yours. Once reaching your bedroom, you let go of his hand so that you could close the door and he hesitantly went over to sit on your bed. It was just as soft as he remembered it to be.

Your room looked a lot more bare than it did when he used to spend many nights here. But he assumed that was because you had taken most of your stuff with you to New York.

You then sat down next to him and took both of his hands in yours, “What is it you wanted to talk to me about?” you asked him, a look of concern on your face.

Tears began to well up in his eyes almost immediately, he looked so sad and that broke your heart. “I can’t take it anymore, sweetheart. I hate being so far away from you.” he told you while tears began to fall down his face.

You placed your dominant hand on his shoulder while you responded, “I know, I miss you too and I’m sorry that I didn’t call more or send a letter. I just got too busy. I still love you and I will always be yours, I hope you know that, Stevie.” you told him, making him smile for a second.

He then wrapped his arms around you and swiftly pulled you onto his lap so that he could hold you against his chest. “I still love you too, I never stopped. And I am still yours, I promise.” he replied, causing you to smile as well.

But although you two had resolved your problems and you were together again, his tears didn’t stop. You could practically see the gears in his head turning as he decided whether or not he was going to tell you what was on his mind.

You cupped his face in your hands and tipped his head up so that his eyes were looking into yours, his brown eyes looked so beautiful even as he cried. You pressed a light kiss to his lips before you spoke again.

“What’s on your mind, Steve? You can tell me, I promise. You’re safe here.” you said, encouraging him to get whatever was bothering him off of his chest.

He then buried his face into your shoulder, not having the confidence to look into your eyes while he told you what had been bothering him other than your relationship.

“My parents have been back in town for the past two months now.” he paused to let out a shaky breath, that was the longest they had ever been in town since Steve was 15, “And my dad is constantly on my ass about everything. He keeps telling me that he wishes I went college and became a real man instead of a failure. And whenever he talks to me, all he does is insult me and make me feel worthless. And sometimes I can’t help but believe him. I just don’t know what to do anymore.” he explained to you and you felt as though your heart had broken even more for him.

It didn’t surprise you that his father was still being horrible to him. Whenever you went over to his house last summer, it always seemed as though Steve’s house was haunted by his fathers violence and merciless screams.

You brought him closer to your body and began to rub his back in soothing circles, “First off, Steve I am glad that you felt like you could trust me enough to tell what’s been going on.” you paused to slowly pry Steve’s sad face from your shoulder, you wanted him to look at you while you said this next part, “And second, I need you to know that you don’t deserve to be spoken to that way. I don’t care what your father says or thinks, you are not a failure. You are more of a man than he could ever be. I mean, you’ve literally stepped in and saved my life multiple times. You are not worthless and even though we haven’t talked in a while, you are still my favorite person and you always will be. It’s okay to take things at your own pace, even if your father doesn’t think so.” you assured him, truly meaning every word you said to him.

He nodded once you finished speaking and gave you a tight hug, “Thanks, (y/n). That means a lot, coming from you.” he replied, still tightly hugging you as if his life depended on it.

“Anytime, pretty boy. I’ll always be here for you.” you said, making him chuckle at the sound of that sweet nickname you once had for him, causing you to chuckle with him.

Steve missed the sound of your laugh, it was like a beautiful symphony he wanted to listen to on repeat for the rest of his life. He could feel genuinely happy anytime he heard it and he adored you for that.

And while Steve got lost in the sound of your laugh, you started to think of a solution, when suddenly it hit you, “Steve, I have an idea. You could live here with me for the rest of the summer and in the fall, you could move back to New York with me. And you can even bring Robin along with us if you’d like to, I do have an extra room in my apartment after all. I don’t you want you to ever have to deal with your fathers anger again.” you suggested to him, hoping that he’d want to live with you.

He smiled up at you as these words fell from your lips, the first genuine smile that had appeared on his face since you left, “I’d like that.” he said, still smiling up at you.

“Good.” you replied, staring into his eyes for a moment before he closed the gap in between you two and kissed you. This kiss communicated all the love you felt for each other and how much you had missed one another during your time apart.

Steve pulled away from your lips a few minutes later, a certain set of questions now on his mind, “But what about your parents? Are you sure they’ll be okay with me living here for the summer?” he asked, a nervous tone to his voice.

You could sense his nervousness and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead then spoke again, “Don’t worry about that, Stevie. They adore you as if you were family. I told you, you’re safe here.” you answered, easily making all of Steve’s worries melt away again.

He nodded in response to your comforting words, “We’ll go over to your parents house tomorrow to pack up your things. But for now, I just want to cuddle with you and make up for all of that lost time.” you said, prompting Steve to scoop you into his arms and lay down with you on your bed.

And once the two of you were comfortable, you turned to face him and placed your hand on his cheek, “I love you, Steve.” you told him, a soft smile on your face.

He smiled back at you, “I love you even more.” he replied while he peppered kisses all over your face, making your smile even brighter than it was before.

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My 2.7k follower celebration!

[lavenoon]

“Your kindness is imprinted upon us. You are entirely brave and brimming with love when there is fear and malice roaming this world. We profoundly care for you, sweet heart.”

@naffeclipse CAN YOU HEAR ME SCREAMING?

comic callbacks: three names, clever heart, oops trauma

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

“Riddle, did you hear about the new war refugees?”

Tom sat comfortably in a fine leather chair by the fireplace. Its top back boasted a swooping curved wood carving of snakes at play, the detail work all done in delicate silver filigree. Admittedly, it wasn’t a very comfortable chair at all, as ostentatious as it was and no doubt older than Headmaster Dippet himself—but Tom would not be seen as picky of all things. His image of imperturbable Head Boy was undoubtedly always at stake.

Glancing up from his book, a spelt hidden copy of Dark Curses; The Uncounterable, Tom deigned Abraxas with his already drifting attention. “You’ll have to be more specific, Abraxas. There have been, after all, nearly sixty or so of them.”

Abraxas never huffed, but this was a near thing, “Yes, yes. Well, all those other ones aren’t worth our time. These refugees have just sorted Slytherin.”

Ah, that was interesting. The children sent here from Grindelwald’s warpath have all been the same in some way. They have come injured almost beyond repair, some still recovering in the medi-wing. They have come devastated by their loss, newly orphaned and longing for their homes. They have come angry, lashing out and vicious, headstrong to a fault— Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs through and through.

It was almost a surprise none had so far come with any ambition or cunning loud enough to sway the hat to their esteemed house. Surely the rumours of Slytherin House and their darker leanings could not have reached every new ear.

It almost had the makings of a conspiracy. Or it had, before these new students.

“More than one?” Tom asked.

Abraxas crossed his arms and raised his chin, pleased to have Tom’s attention. He loved gossiping, a terrible and useful habit that Tom often happily exploited. “Three of them,” he leaned in closer, “and they all claim to be siblings. But it’s absolutely absurd; they look nothing close to related. The only thing they share in common is their surname.”

Tom thought it odd that they would feel the need to lie about something so simple. “When did they arrive?”

“This morning. I passed by Slughorn, who could not help himself from sharing with Avery and me his absolute delight at having new Slytherins to take under his wing.” Abraxas frowned, “Though that was ages ago. It is strange he’s yet to introduce them to you.” He continued muttering, and Tom’s attention returned to his book, “You’re his favourite, Head Boy and all. You’d make the best impression….”

Tom hummed, noncommittal. It wouldn’t do to look anything more than humble, though he doubted Abraxas would notice. “I’m sure we will meet them soon. Lunch starts in an hour.”

— —

And meet, they did.

New students used to be all the rage. Tittering and giggling and whispering abound. Some stares of sympathy, pity. New students used to be an unnecessary building of energy that would last over the course of several days until it inevitably died off. So Tom was grateful when the shiny lustre of sad little children arriving in droves finally pittered into solemn, if curious, acceptance. Not an unusual occurrence by any means.

These three students appear to have brought that ridiculous energy back.

They entered the Great Hall late, and Tom assumed this was reason one of a long list that triggered the excitement. Slughorn and Dippet were decidedly absent, and when they arrived, it was with the new Slytherins in tow. This wouldn’t have caused any fuss if it hadn’t been for Slughorn’s naturally boisterous voice and Dippet’s worried frown at whatever inane things he was spouting. Their conversation drew attention like moths to a flame.

“And this is the Great Hall! Truly a marvel, is it not?” Slughorn proclaimed with large, outstretched hands. Displaying the hall like a muggle magic trick. Disgusting.

Reason two revealed itself in the new students’ reactions. It was customary to feel some sense of awe when seeing the Great Hall for the first time. Tom certainly remembers his. How the night shone brighter than he’d ever known it capable of away from the smog of London. How magic made even the stars that much more attainable.

But one of the students had simply stopped. He was half a head shorter than the other boy and about level with the girl, with dark hair and glasses. Tom couldn’t see much else that distinguished him from any other classmate, but there was a way he held himself that was so different from the other students that had come and toured the castle. He looked upon the duller grey sky of today’s dreary rainstorm with something that wasn’t quiet wonder or amazement. His siblings certainly didn’t share his interest, hardly glancing at the ceiling at all, finding the food much more appealing.

No, Tom was sure he wasn’t taking in the majesty of the hall’s fine spellwork; if anything, he seemed so incredibly relieved.

His siblings’ reactions to his pause, when they finally noticed he’d stopped at the doors and they’d gone on without him, Tom assumed caused reason three for the excitement. They rushed to him with a startled “Harry!” and grabbed his arms, gripping him hard enough to pull him out of his trance. His head bounced rapidly between the two, a lanky ginger and a girl with hair so poofy Tom thought her part puffskein, obviously bewildered.

The girl had gone so far as to cradle his face, her palm pressed to the flat of his cheek. Tom couldn’t make out the words from here, but the students lunching were suddenly less inclined to make much noise, the sound dropping to a polite chatter. Everyone wanted to eavesdrop, it seemed.

This led to reason four: these… siblings… they were really very, very close.

And suddenly the excitement knew no peace.

“Merlin,” Emmett Parkinson scoffed, “what are they? Lovers? I thought you said they were family, Malfoy?”

Abraxas dragged his attention away from their display to respond indignant, “That’s what I was told!”

“He’d also said they were triplets,” Cygnus Black chimed in, revulsion evident across his features. “Those mudbloods seem to have carried a nasty muggle trait here with them,” he smirked, “careful. It could be catching.”

Muted laughter carried its way through the seventh and some sixth-year Slytherins. It was rich of Cygnus to throw such blatant accusations of incest around, but Tom could admit that if they kept this up, the Evans would be torn apart within the day. Such softness was frowned upon in their house.

Slughorn and Dippet brought them to the staff table and quickly introduced them to the Professors. “These three bright minds are Harry, Ronald, and Hermione Evans! Our newest seventh-years! I’ve been told we can expect great things from them,” Slughorn said. He puffed up like he always did when he boasted about his Slytherin students. However, it was rare to see him boast about students he hardly knew.

Then the most curious thing happened.

Slughorn turned toward the Slytherin table, eyes searching until they fell upon Tom and ambled over. This wasn’t surprising; Tom expected to meet them as Abraxas had said and expected Slughorn to introduce them to him first. Abraxas was not wrong about Slughorn favouring Tom over others.

“And this is our very own Head Boy, Tom Riddle! Tom is an exceptional young lad. He’ll be invaluable during your time here regarding any questions or concerns you might have— a vital resource!” Slughorn chortled and patted Tom’s shoulder.

What surprised Tom, and what was wholly unexpected, was the blatant hostility after they were introduced.

Hermione Evans was a plain girl with a deep complexion, made plainer by her pinched brows and tilted head as though Tom were a very disagreeable book but one she just needed to get through to argue its faults fully. Finally, after a long moment of staring, she gave a little nod that seemed more toward herself than him and said, “Hello.”

“Merlin,” started Ronald Evans, broken from whatever trance had consumed him by the girl’s voice. He was decidedly the odd one out of the trio, with his tall frame rivalling Tom’s height and his bright hair and pale, freckled face. Seeing them all up close made it even more apparent how impossible their claims of being triplets were. Surely if they were triplets, they’d be a medical marvel. “I promise we won’t go to you for shite.”

Tom’s brows raised. Hermione Evans hissed out a berating “Ronald” and whipped around to stare at him aghast. She hit his arm when he simply shrugged unapologetically.

Tom ignored them in favour of casting his attention to the final Evans, Harry. Hermione Evans and Harry shared more in common. They shared wild hair and sun-kissed skin and height. Yet their differences were aplenty. Harry’s hair was darker, and his eyes were brighter— a vivid green that Tom couldn’t seem to place but knew was undoubtedly familiar— and he had a long jagged scar that cut down his forehead and through his brow. It marred his face with a dull unhealed red.

Harry did not look at Tom, refused to, and kept his head held high and sight straight ahead to the wall opposite. Such an intense focus.

When it became clear Tom wouldn’t receive much of a greeting from Harry either, he spoke. “Welcome to Hogwarts,” Tom smiled charmingly. It was the kind he pulled out on rare occasions when he knew people were looking down on him for his name and, ultimately, blood status. Though, he didn’t think that to be the problem at the moment. “If you do find yourselves needing assistance, I would be happy to lend a hand.”

“Very good!” Slughorn continued, oblivious or simply ignoring the odd tension. “I’ll be sure to get you your timetables by tomorrow morning, students! For now, enjoy the rest of your day!”

And then they were alone with all of Slytherin House paying very close attention.

Tom opened his mouth, readying himself to invite the trio to sit with him during lunch. If anyone could pick information out efficiently, it would be his knights, but Hermione Evans beat him to it, “Thank you. We would stay, but we have a meeting.”

She hooked her arms through her… brothers’ and stole them away. She dragged them back up the hall and through the doors, clamouring to get out as though the devil were on their tail. How very odd.

What meeting could they possibly have on their first day here?

Druella Rosier scoffed. “Mannerless, who could have guessed?”

“Evans certainly isn’t a wizarding name,” Emmett frowned, “and how are we meant to put up with more siblings? The Blacks are already ridiculous enough. Someone says ‘Black’ once, and five heads turn!”

“Come now, Emmett,” Alphard Black twisted around his brother and smirked. He pointed his fork at Emmett, careless even as it barely grazed Cygnus’s nose, who leant back unamused. “If anything, you could consider us practice. But judging by the look of them,” Alphard sat back and straightened out, “I doubt they’d even answer you if you called.”

The rest of the Slytherins bickered among themselves, content to poke their fun and gossip. Tom held his tongue; he kept a careful ear and tuned out when uninterested. The Evans seemed odd but nothing special. Tom could care less about their decorum or lack thereof as long as they didn’t make any trouble for their house.

— —

Tom spoke too soon.

They had vanished for the remainder of the day. No one had seen hide nor hair of all three Evans since their grand entrance during lunch. Tom was confident they’d gotten lost. But as he settled into his chair by the fireplace once more for the evening, enjoying the last moments of the night before his prefect rounds, they finally arrived.

Harry was in low murmured talks with Ronald, their heads bent close together, while Hermione Evans had her full attention on a tome in her hands. Following behind her in the air was a stack of five or six more. Had that been where they were? The library?

Walburga Black tutted from her perch on the leather chesterfield opposite, “They haven’t even introduced themselves and have hardly been here some hours, yet have already riffled through the library shamelessly?”

Tom was more bemused than offended. How they remembered their way to the library after Slughorn’s (most likely brief) tour was a more pressing mystery. But given how Hermione Evans flipped through pages of a book like a windstorm, he wouldn’t be surprised to learn she had a photographic memory.

And as absorbed in her text as she was, and without her brothers’ careful guidance while distracted as they were, she walked right into Waylen Mulciber. Who, Tom supposed, in her defence, anticipated her blunder. He had watched her wander deeper into the room with a vicious grin and hadn’t been inclined to move out of the way. Instead, Waylen stood there, arms crossed, wand already out, and took her minor collision with dramatics only rivalled by Abraxas himself.

“Watch yourself, mudblood!” Waylen shoved her back, and Tom’s brows arched as her brothers sprung into gear. Ronald caught her before she fell to the floor, and Harry Evans cast a quick spell to keep her trailing books up as they’d begun to fall when she did. The students still left in the common room took to the scene like the play it was, smiles sharp as they kept a close eye on the performance.

“What a joke,” Waylen continued, “to have tainted—“ his mouth pressed shut into a fine line. He panicked and reached up with both his hands to touch his throat and face, wand delicately balanced, and panicked more when his wand was ripped from his hold.

Harry Evans seemed to have taken Waylen’s starting rant as a cue to silence him and his shock as a cue to disarm him. Tom was nearly impressed at the speed of his casting, blindsiding one of the better duelling students, but it was hardly a fair fight. And Mulciber was an idiot on a good day.

“Harry, wait-stop. It’s all right; he doesn’t matter,” Hermione Evans said, holding a vice grip on Ronald’s arm, reaching out a hesitant hand to Harry’s wrist. His eyes were locked on Waylen’s, a severe frown pulling at his face, but when he turned his gaze to Hermione, they softened.

There was something about that look. It was certainly chastised, very apologetic, but also stern. A sureness that almost radiated. A loud he deserved it echoing throughout the common room.

But it relented. Harry Evans sighed and rolled his eyes to the heavens. When he spoke, Tom noted his voice as quiet, clear, and nearly casually authoritative. “Here. Fetch,” he said and tossed Waylen’s wand across the room. It stopped just beside Tom on the floor, a roll away from the burning fireplace. Tom did not doubt that was artfully intentional, and he felt the amusement of it all curling his lips. “If I ever hear you say that word again, I’ll do more than embarrass you.”

The silence lingered. Or it did until Ronald whistled something low and encouraging, its sound causing Harry and Hermione Evans to look at him bewildered. Then, when he gave Harry a pleased grin and a thumbs-up, the tension popped like apparition.

Harry snorted loud and unattractive. His hand slapped across his face in a poor attempt to conceal his onslaught of… giggles. Hermione shook her head in awe, a growing smile tugging at her lips, and kept a firm hold on Ronald’s arm as she grabbed at the sleeve of Harry’s robes and once again dragged them out and away from their fellow Slytherins. In a commendable show of magic, the tomes still hovering beside Harry kept stable and unwavering, following them out even as Harry Evans’s laughter became near uncontrollable. The sound of it echoed down the hall until the common room door slid shut.

The overall reaction to their escape was mutiny.

Loud screeches of how dare they and someone go stop them and does anyone know the counter for Mulciber rang out across the room amongst the murmured contemplation. When Tom looked over at Walburga and took stock of her appalled face, he was tempted to laugh too.

What a fascinating final year at Hogwarts it was turning out to be.

[laitdechanel]

i love romance

[raekensarcher]

One Single Thread of Gold Tied me to You

“Why are you on the floor?”

And that’s certainly a question. One Liam wishes he had an answer to, wishes he could find the words to explain it. But he can’t, doesn’t think he’s ever going to find the right combination of letters shoved together to make any of this make any sense for him.

Or: Liam might be spiraling and Theo just wants to help.

[shysneeze]

🐛 robin buckley with a very hyper reader?

omg love this:

so robin is also hyper (i believe steve calls her that in season three) and to an extent you should probably clash but it honestly works out so well???

like you talk really quickly but so does robin so there’s no need to reign it in

(steve has tried to understand what you talk about together in the back of his car but he can never can when you’re together because it’s less full sentences and more chaos)

you grab robin’s hands when you’re talking to her and pull and twist at her rings (i’m never letting it go okay?)

she loves when you start on something you’re passionate about because you’re entire face lights up

sometimes she can’t help the urge to kiss you mid sentence

“sorry, that was rude. you just look really pretty talking about this though… please continue,”

dates like going to lovers lake to find cool rocks to show each other, or stargazing to talk about all the constellation

(there’s such a large collection of random shells and rocks and dried flowers that robin has no idea where to keep them anymore)

swinging your joined hands back and forth whilst you walk omg

when the inevitable burn out hits, you’re curled up together on the couch or in bed, playing idly with robins hair until you’re both falling asleep

this would be v v cute

2.7k sleepover

[coralinnii]

Can I please request Cater, Ace, Deuce and Epel helping you after a rough break up (with someone else, not them)?

‧₊˚✧ Let me love you until you love yourself ‧₊˚✧

↳ Helping you after a rough breakup 

feat: Cater ❋ Ace ❋ Deuce ❋ Epel genre: hurt/comfort note: no pronouns were used with the reader, reader is implied to be Yuu!reader, depictions of toxic relationships, implications of violence,

Similar prompt: finding out you got brutally rejected

2.7K Followers Writing Event 2023

You see, Cater already had a suspicion that your boyfriend wasn’t the greatest pick. Years of listening to his older sisters talk about red flags to look out has honed his sixth sense about these kind of stuff.

But what was he supposed to tell you? He’s not going to just barge into your relationship and tell you that he feels some off vibes about your man. All he could do was be there for you when you needed an ear to hear you out. 

But he started to notice that you were less like yourself as the relationship went on. Your Magicam account wasn’t as active and soon even your close friends weren’t sure when was the last time you hung out with them. Cater could only catch you in class or with your glaring boyfriend clinging to you. 

Your relationship finally hit an ugly crescendo when your boyfriend publicly humiliated you and ended things in the open hallway. The reason Cater learned was because you wanted to go out with your friends again, even if he didn’t want to. 

Night Raven College has a knack for choosing students with rather vindictive personalities and no matter how subtle it is, Cater is no different. The sociable redhead may not always be the type to step up to lead or start something, but he is more than willing to teach a tactless underclassman a lesson on respect.

It doesn’t matter which dorm your ex is from since the extrovert Cater has friends and contacts of all the Housewardens, vice Housewardens and other notable students with authority. Call it his privilege for his chatty nature and years on this large campus.

With a charming set of words and implications from the smooth-talking Cater, most of them picked up the hint that a certain jerk needed some well-deserved punishment. For disgracing the dorm’s dignity, they all claimed. 

With the personified ick dealt with, all of Cater’s attention is on you. The versatile upperclassman can be anything you need in your time of healing. Cafe dates, unhinged frustration venting, screaming karaoke sessions with a chill support group (an exclusive privilege courtesy of the Pop Music Club), or a judgeless crying session as he held you together both metaphorically and literally. 

The screaming karaoke and dessert binging was fun and all, but the feeling of Cater’s warm hands as he gently rubbed your back as you hiccuped through your tears was a healing moment that left you raw but appreciative. 

Perhaps there was a little bit of guilt, or even something deeper within his heart for you, but as he wrapped his arms around you closer whilst you fell asleep in comfort, Cater thought to himself to protect you from something like this for as long as he can stay with you, for as long as he could do to stay with you.

“Hey now, no tears. Cay-Cay to the rescue!” 

Oh he hated your ex from day 1. No, it wasn’t because of his personal feelings for you, it was just literally everything about that jerk. At every chance, Ace would snidely comment and jeer the as*hole. The only reason he would stop was if you personally asked him to get along with him. 

“Tch. Fine, I guess” 

So Ace is a liar, but at least he’s a good actor. He’s willing to smile and laugh but he never lets the suspicious feeling fade. 

That suspicion quickly became rage when Grim told him that jerk of yours broke up with you over text. 

Turns out your (ex) boyfriend was dating you in hopes to catch the attention of a crush from his hometown, sending pictures in hopes to stir up some jealousy. Questions became screaming matches in your room and soon you were left a broken mess alone in your bedroom.

When Ace knocked on your door sometime later, you saw him in a familiar heart-shaped collar which wasn’t a surprising image. Without saying much, all Ace offered as a vague explanation was that he got into a fight with some jerk student.

As Ace was getting comfortable on your sofa, Cater later texted you, giving full details of what happened. Turns out the “jerk student” was your ex who was running his mouth oh how you were crazy and unbearable out in the courtyard, where Ace was passing by.

“Riddle is pretty pissed right now. Ace just went crazy on him and wouldn’t let up until we pulled him away. But still, be kind to him, k? He had good intentions.” 

Sitting together on the sofa, the two of you made quite an interesting image. Your eyes were red with wet tracks all over your face from crying while Ace had swollen patches of blue and black on his normally boyishly charming face. 

You broke the tension. “You didn’t need to do that, you know.” 

Ace brushed your words off. “What are you talking about? I did it for me. That dude always rubbed me the wrong way.” 

Ace is a liar, but strangely you didn’t mind it when he did it.

“Just so we’re clear, I didn’t do it for you. Alright? Good, so don’t go thinking too deep into it…”

A model student would support all of his peers, Deuce convinced himself. It was why he kept himself from just straight-up wrecking this punk that you found yourself dating. But Deuce trusts you. Maybe Deuce’s misjudging him since he can’t imagine you falling for someone beneath you, and he assumed that despite how he feels about your partner, this dude wouldn’t be stupid enough to not treat you good. 

But unbeknownst to Deuce, arguments were common in your relationship with your insecure partner. From complaining that you don’t spend time with him (um, because you were busy saving your friends from overblot?) to outright blaming you for emasculating him in his own relationship because of your popularity in school for your accomplishments. 

The breakup itself was honestly anti-climatic, and everyone could see it from a while away so it came to the surprise of no one. 

It was the aftermath of all of the arguments with your ex that truly hurt you. What was once a source of pride to you became reasons of your anxiety as you wondered if your ex held truth in his accusations. 

“You think you’re perfect ‘cause you’re doing a little better than me? Get over your high horse, you pretentious b-“

“Are you ok?” Deuce’s voice snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts, bringing you back to the library where you were helping Deuce with a subject he was failing. 

You tried smiling but Deuce noticed the tenseness of your features and try asking once more, which led you to ultimately voicing your worries. 

“Maybe I was being too boastful, I shouldn’t just talk about me- Wait, Deuce?!” 

You managed to catch Deuce by the hem of his sleeve before flinching at the sight of the glaring rage in Deuce’s fiery eyes. 

“Where is that no-good coward! That punk’s getting what's coming to him!” 

It took some time (and getting kicked out from the library) for Deuce to finally settle his rage. Still, he was muttering some choice words to describe your ex which made you chuckle just a little. You wanted the breakup to be civil and simply pass as an unpleasant memory but you admit that seeing someone get mad for your sake was…nice. Almost heart-warming, really.

Suddenly, Deuce turned to face you. Back straight and his strong fist firmly pressed to his chest, Deuce looked to you with pure honesty as he promised to protect you from your worthless ex with everything he’s got. 

It took you quite some time to admit that when Deuce made that promise, you felt your heart skip a beat. 

“If anyone gives you grief for that, just ignore 'em. Let me handle them, I’m pretty strong.”

Romance honestly flies over Epel’s head. Afterall, the relationships he’s seen are his town’s couples who've been married for decades with kids all grown up, and the ones he’s seen in films and books. All he knew was, if you like someone and you’re dating them, you should be counting yer lucky stars and make sure you treat them right.

So, imagine the genuine look of surprise on his face when his dormmates whispered rumors that you were caught in an ugly argument with your boyfriend, with accusations that your man was actually cheating with someone supposedly prettier than you. 

Now, imagine his unbridled rage when Epel found that it was true. Your ex-boyfriend apparently held high expectations of himself and the partners he deemed to be worthy by his side. While he settled for you, he was looking around for another companion that “best suits his standards” as he said. 

It took a strict scolding and promise of harsh reprimanding from Vil to calm the young freshman down as his hometown habits rushed back to him. How he wanted to give that no-good son of a backyard mutt a mighty beating for what he did to you.

Instead, Vil suggested that Epel rather hit him where it would really hurt for unsavory fellows like him, through his pride. 

“If he thought he was better off with someone that “best suits his standards” as he put it, try proving to him he ended up with what he deserved. ” 

After deciphering what Vil meant, Epel used his noggin to hurt your ex where it really hurts. No longer was he the runt of a small village, but a man with various connections and skills to get a leg over his enemies. 

With his persistence, he convinced his Spelldrive captain, Leona to sit with you during lunch, and have the Vil Schoenheit spoil you with high-end gifts in public. With the attention of the most famous students showing you favor, everyone in NRC whispered and commented on who really won in the breakup. 

“He cheated while dating someone like that? What a mistake.” 

Behind his soft expression, Epel mentally smirked at the plummeting image of the man who prioritized fame over love. "You darn right a mistake it was, he thought.

In the entire time Epel treated you like the most important person on campus…in public at least.

In the privacy of your dormroom, you worked hard in holding in your laughter as Epel swore up a storm like a drunken sailor about the worthless ex of yours. Like Vil, it’ll be up to you to make sure he won’t go off picking a fight with your ex. 

Still, there was something undeniably true to Epel’s character to defend your honor, however he does it. 

“I ain’t too good at these sneaky schemes, but you gotta admit I got ‘im real good. Don’t cha think?”

[seraphiism]

𓆩 ღ 𓆪 𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚

( i hope your dream won't just be left as a dream. )

chara : alhaitham fandom : genshin impact quote cr : agust d a/n : i must be honest . i have no idea what i wrote (ﾉ `Д`) ﾉ. focuses on alhaitham's past, might be ooc

prologue : ( the absence ) of dreams.

there is a place where knowledge survives in the depths of the world, its roots far and wide : agile, ubiquitous, resilient. how it fosters progressive growth and brilliant minds, sets the driving force for discovery and beyond.

there is a place where knowledge remains stagnant in the depths of the world, its roots damaged and decomposed : devitalized. dying. dead. how it fosters an insatiability and never ending greed, sets the expectations for discovery to come and go with such ease.

in this place, dreams are stolen away, only witnessed by youth. because there is always something to be learned in these visions, they'll say, because they'll stretch the truth, make something out of nothing ; they'll find a way to justify the theft of one's mind and soul and spirit intertwined in the manifestation of reverie, and you would have never known.

in this place, a scribe thrives, mind sharp and knowledgeable. in this place, a loneliness grows up and distances himself from the rest, finds that solitude has always been a friend first and foremost.

in this place, the foundation of wisdom and greater things-- home, alhaitham learns to dream again.

prologue , revisited : ( the absence ) of dreams , the absence of what could have been.

alhaitham remembers little of his childhood ; ask him of his origins and he will remember seldom through first-hand experience. they won't question it, not too much-- because oh, well-- it's hard to remember those things when you're so young, and they'll leave it at that because that's normal, isn't it? to be forgetful of a time where you knew so little, knew only how to rely on others and how to breathe and live and survive through the hand that feeds.

they'll leave it at that, but even if they didn't, he doesn't think he would mind. perhaps there is a distant sadness that survives in the crevices of the heart, never learning to fade in years past, and maybe that's just part of the human equation. he doesn't think about it much. no need to, after all.

yes, they'll leave it at that, blame the lack of memories in youth from age. they won't know that he lost his parents too early, lost something he never quite had, because can you really say you had something when it slipped out of your grasp so quickly and so soon? alhaitham finds some semblance of logic in that, but maybe that's selfish. of course he had his parents. he is sure that he loved them and he is sure that they loved him. maybe it is easier to cope somehow with these thoughts, even if there may be some cruelty in it.

perhaps he does miss his parents, after all, even if he understands that sometimes, it is hard to miss what you never had.

chapter one : the first dream.

it's an ordinary sunday and the room is white. look out the window and there's sunlight to be found, and what a beautiful sight it is, but what a frightening realization it is : it reaches and reaches, begging, but it never reaches the room, obstructed by the glass.

alhaitham doesn't know what it means. he doesn't know how he remembers that it's sunday, doesn't know why this place is familiar. it's cold. he doesn't think he's afraid, but this feeling that creeps up his spine deems an unrest, but he'll call it uncertainty, because there's always an explanation for everything, but even he cannot find the answers to what lies before him.

it is a vast space, endless, but he continues anyway. the path is tiresome, progress indistinguishable in the white. the sunlight stays, too. there is something to be found here. liminal space or not, he continues forth. the unrest brews. something in him trembles, but he walks, anyway.

endless. unforgiving. endless. unfamiliar. an undesired forever, the tiring of self, the burning in one's limbs, the extinction of energy, then --

a faint orange and yellow. alhaitham glances at the windows now, finds that the sunlight has found its way to the place where it belongs. he walks again. the orange and yellow hues grow with each step ; the cold slowly dissipates, and in his trek, it is almost like he is unearthing a life. he doesn't run, no, but part of him wants to, because there is something to be found here, but he doesn't. not yet.

the colors flood in. the white becomes something unforgotten, summons everything else in its absence. there is something that lies at the end -- he can see it -- it is something so terribly familiar but not known, so he runs and he runs and he runs until he becomes of close proximity, then he stops.

there is something to be found : a memory, a happiness, a sorrow.

it is almost a vision of some sort-- a strange sight, the image of himself. he doesn't move, frozen in place. he wonders what sort of expression he wields.

because before him, there is a happy family. a mother and father, one with the same shade of gray hair, another with the same shade of green eyes. it's a tranquil scene, and he cannot make out what is being said, but there are smiles on their faces as they look down at the child the mother holds.

he swallows hard. he does not know what to make of this. he takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes, almost smiles at the sound of distant laughter, and wonders if this is a dream. if it is, then this is not reality -- so he can find distance from this, somehow, and release himself from the fear and confusion of the unknown.

yes, perhaps this is a dream. maybe this is a memory of when his parents first brought him home.

his eyes feel heavy. he opens them anyway, witnesses the blooming of a newfound love and joy. he smiles a bittersweet smile and wonders if he will remember this when he wakes.

chapter one , aftermath : the first dream.

alhaitham wakes with a racing heart. he blinks, stares absentmindedly at the ceiling. he remembers bits and pieces of something; it lingers on the tip of his tongue, threatens to be forgotten. he should remember. he knows it was something very dear to him.

his heart slows eventually. he doesn't move. he has to remember, but the pillow under his head and the warmth of your body slowly lull him back to slumber, threaten to bring him under and free him of a lost memory on the verge of discovery.

"that's not sleeping."

he snaps from his train of thought at your mumbling. you don't think much of it at first; alhaitham is such a light sleeper that the smallest movement would wake him, but there is something different about his countenance that piques your curiosity.

"you okay?"

he looks at you, almost uncertain-- an expression you rarely see from your lover, but he nods before his gaze returns to the ceiling. he looks more perplexed than anything, deep in thought, and you almost want to press the issue, but you don't.

"i dreamt."

the knowing of dreams is no longer a shocking revelation nowadays, but even so, the restoration of them is a celebration. you do not remember yours too often, but when you do, you write them down, knowing that the recovery of such a vision should be cherished. you wonder if this is the first time he remembers his.

you wonder if it was peaceful. you wonder what it is that brings him uncertainty : the dream itself, or the ability to dream once again.

"was it a good one?" your voice is quiet. careful.

silence. the wind is a gentle breeze outside, barely heard. alhaitham inhales deeply, turns on his side to face you. it's almost instinct that your hands meet, palm against palm, and he smiles gently when he compares his hands to yours.

"it was." he laces his fingers with yours. "i dreamt of my parents."

even in the moonlit darkness, you feel the kindness in his gaze. you squeeze his hand, feel that lump in your throat when you remember his past hardships.

"i'm glad." your lips brush against his knuckles, grateful. "i hope you dream of them again."

chapter two : the second dream.

it's an ordinary sunday and the room is already filled with sunlight. alhaitham recognizes this, surrounded by rays of tenderness and warmth, and knows this to be yet another dream. he wonders if it will be different than before. he is reminded of that endless loop of dreams, understands them to be both wanted and unwanted, but he recalls the first dream, knows that to relive such a sight would be most welcome.

he walks. the path is vast once again, but there is hope in his stride. this time, there is a familiar shade of green and white that fills his vision. distant figures. he walks, anyway.

before him there are two people. one wields that same shade of gray, but this time, it is through age, and the other--

alhaitham suddenly feels an ache. the other is a young child. the other is him, an orphan, an outcast. he sits next to his grandmother, bright curiosity and intrigue in his eyes as she reads to him. a day like any other, he remembers, but special, nonetheless.

he smiles a bittersweet smile. dreams are not always beautiful, and even if this one hurts, it still is.

he swallows hard, takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. somewhere in the distance, he hears his grandmother's laughter when his younger self asks for yet another story.

one more, she'll say, he imagines, and she does.

he smiles a bittersweet smile. something aches so terribly.

he should wake soon.

chapter two , aftermath : the second dream.

"alhaitham?"

alhaitham wakes with a racing heart. there is something wrong-- there must be with the way you look at him, eyes wide and filled with worry. your fingers linger on his wrist, frantic pulse known by your touch. he doesn't quite understand, slumber weakly holding onto consciousness, and it is only when he feels something trail down his face that he truly wakes.

rare is it that he sheds tears. in truth, he remembers the last time he cried, dressed in all black, vision blurred. a burial site. words of comfort unheard, muffled. forgotten.

how many apologies did he hear until they meant nothing?

"love--" you grab his wrist, gentle, slowly ease him back to the present. "are you--" you pause, take a deep breath, ease the tension from your shoulders. there are only so many times you can ask someone if they're okay, so you don't. another deep breath. "i'm here with you."

you have never seen alhaitham in such a state, never seen him cry. although he may not actively be distressed, the baffled countenance he fails to keep at bay says more than enough. with a soothing touch, you wipe the tears away, notice how quick they are to stop. alhaitham doesn't say much, tells you that he's alright, thanks you for your comfort.

you don't ask what he dreamt of, but there is something very lonely in the way he holds you that night.

he is afraid to fall asleep. he does not know if he desires yet another memory in slumber.

what a very selfish thought to have. he is sorry.

chapter three : the third dream.

it's a special sunday and the room is white, but already is it filled with warmth and daylight. he recognizes this place, knows it to be one of many celebrations. there is no journey, no endless trek. he is right where he needs to be. the scene is different this time. he is not a spectator ; instead, he is here, now, in this moment.

around him, there is endless chatter. he imagines he would enjoy the quiet more, but this time is different -- it almost brings relief to his heart, brings a lightness to it. around him are familiar companions-- a certain forest ranger, a known eremite-- ah, there's kaveh, crying and mumbling a thousand congratulations that aren't quite coherent.

and right before him, there is you ; your hands in his, both adorned with silver bands. you look beautiful, is his first thought, and he wonders if he said it out loud, given the way you smile so brightly at him.

this is a dream. it is a beautiful one, and it is one that he hopes will come true one day.

alhaitham smiles back, kisses you with all the love in the world.

he will wake up soon. he wishes he could hold onto this dream for a little bit longer, but that's okay, because when he wakes, you'll be at his side.

chapter three , aftermath : the third dream.

"i dreamt of you."

your normal routine goes this way : annoying alarm, the impending doom of the workday, and the useless means of avoidance by burying yourself deeper into the sheets until alhaitham drags you out of bed. sometimes he kisses your head in a silent greeting, sometimes he wishes you a good morning.

this, you think, is very much new, and probably the fastest way he's ever woken you up.

"oh." you stare at the ceiling before you roll over and look at him. "good morning to you, too."

worry is your first instinct-- given the nature of his previous dreams, you do not know what to expect. the visions the dreamscape blesses him with are both nostalgic and gut-wrenching, sorrow laced with catharsis.

"good morning." like clockwork, he raises his hand, lips curling faintly when you press yours against his.

"gonna share with the class?"

"the class should practice patience." he chuckles at your mildly annoyed expression, wonders how you will react to his thoughts. "i dreamt that we got married."

you freeze at those words, eyes wide, brows knit ever so slightly as you try to comprehend the words. he says it so casually, the topic of marriage. dream or not, the mere thought of a future together for the rest of your lives brings a sense of serenity, though your expression doesn't quite reflect it at the moment.

alhaitham finds it endearing.

"i would like to remember that dream for a long time."

you shake yourself out of stupor, ignore the way your face practically feels like it's the sun itself.

"tell me more about it."

"kaveh was crying."

"okay, and?"

he hums, thoughtful.

"you looked beautiful."

"oh? sounds like a good dream."

your response is nonchalant, though it is betrayed by the blithe smile that graces your lips at the thought of what that day would be like. alhaitham's gaze is filled with an incredible fondness as he looks at you, wonders when that day will come.

"yes, it was. i'd like to make it real."

oh. you wonder how he can manage to say such a thing so casually-- one would almost think he was discussing the weather. you blink, speechless. you almost want to ask if he's joking , though you know he's entirely serious when he says that, but still--

"okay." there is no hesitation in your words. "i'll marry you, alhaitham."

he almost seems surprised himself-- a spark of shock that quickly dies down into mild relief buried in amusement.

"that isn't my official proposal."

you lace your fingers together, press a kiss against his knuckles.

"i know." your words are barely above a whisper now, almost sacred, but he hears them loud and clear. "but whenever or however you do it, i'll say yes, you know."

of course he knows. always has. he squeezes your hand before pulling you closer, lips meeting in quiet euphoria and promise.

somewhere, there is a place where dreams are deemed part of one's soul once more, unraveling and uncovering the most vulnerable parts of the spirit. in this place, alhaitham dreams once more, memories revived and revisited.

in this place, alhaitham dreams of a happily ever after with you, and someday, you will relive that dream together, and it will be wonderful.

[warriorofthesky]

more unhinged destiny theories. i'm sorry in advance.

if we assume that:

*puts tinfoil hat on*

(this is long. oops?)

the winnower as a being exists

the veil is the winnower or at least a way to commune with the winnower

the winnower "convinced" the witness that light is bad bc it is too chaotic by giving it a probably biased version of the creation of the universe (the unveiling)

the traveler didn't garden before the witness. the witness' people was the first civilization it uplifted

we can maybe theorize that:

the veil and the traveler were damaged/diminished because they had just left the "garden" and were thrown into the universe they created without much thought/intention

this damage manifested in what defines light and dark now: the winnower was reduced to memory, emotion, consciousness - the veil has no mass, apparently isn't capable of movement, it's just a big disco with a lot of thoughts, etc - and the traveler lost much of its own consciousness, becoming a force of physical change and growth

the universe was created but the winnower & gardener were crippled, incapable of actively interfering in it

until the witness' people found the traveler. i find it interesting that the traveler was buried and rose as the witness' people rose. maybe there was some sort of exchange going on there? i don't know, but anyway it isn't necessary. the traveler finally started interfering into the universe/affecting the flower game

... but then the witness got an existential crisis and found the veil aka the winnower who, through the witness, finally got the opportunity to interfere with the universe as well. see list of assumptions: the winnower started said interference by convincing the witness that the traveler was too dangerous bc the light was too chaotic. the winnower's goal is to go back to the final shape they had in the garden, and that can only happen if the traveler isn't allowed to interfere any longer

the witness, under the winnower's influence, wants to link the veil with the traveler bc it thinks this will allow them (they were still a people at this point) to rewrite reality into the final shape the veil/winnower showed them.

that's where i think the winnower & witness' goals might differ. every time the winnower talks to us (or to oryx or anyone else) it doesn't seem to want the universe to not exist. the witness has very "no death no life i want nothing to exist ever" vibe. the winnower is the sword logic. the witness is nihilism.

either way, i think the winnower is using the witness and once it has more power it will have no use for the witness anymore.

but also:

maya sundaresh heard the veil tell her its name in her own voice. that could be the winnower, once again trying to corrupt someone else into believing its story. this is what chioma says about maya & the veil:

she's convinced this thing - in her own words, she says - it'll be our "salvation."

which of course its what the witness says it is when it talks to us in shadowkeep. also the children of sol cry out for salvation yadda yadda

this could be them both (the witness & maya) drinking from the same source aka the winnower. the winnower could be tempting maya the same way it tempted the witness.

i also need to point out that maya was more or less on her way to creating a network of human minds... the witness ended up as collective consciousness merged into one being... the darkness is emotion, consciousness, memory... *wiggles eyebrows*

the unveiling could just be the witness passing on the winnower's message or the winnower itself trying to tempt us too. the unveiling has a certain "believe me, im right and you could be right too!!" vibe to it.

i think this theory is interesting because it evokes the garden of eden a lot. which the unveiling already did just by coming up with the concept of a garden before time. this would be just leaning into it a bit more, with the winnower as the snake tempting humanity/the witness.

but

many things in this ^ dont seem to work with the established lore

the sword logic is heavily implied to be nonsense. it's just something the witness used to control the hive & mold them into what it needed to work towards the final shape. the witness itself never mentions anything resembling the sword logic ideology bc it has no interest in it. see how each of its disciple had a different idea of what idea the final shape is, bc the witness told them what they needed to believe to further its goals. the sword logic was what the hive needed to believe. the end.

the latest purpose entry gives more credibility to this ^. xivu arath might mention the sword logic and the final shape as the same thing but the witness never does. it lets her believe it, but we never see it defend the sword logic itself.

the darkness itself is not bad!!! or so the game has been telling us for years now!!! it makes no sense that the darkness entity would just be bad again, after all the trouble they went through to establish the witness as a voice in the darkness and not the darkness itself. why would they make sure we understood that the witness is not bad because it uses the darkness only to make the darkness bad again anyway?

the whole idea of the winnower being a believer/creator of the sword logic makes no sense in a universe where the sword logic is implied to be nonsense.

... which gives a bit more weight to the idea of the witness having created the concept of the winnower.

not exactly the winnower of the unveiling (though this one too) but a winnower. it would see itself as said winnower and also create the winnower the hive/oryx and maybe us needed to believe existed. if the unveiling is a recruitment attempt, its version of the winnower might just be the one the witness thought would tempt us more.

the winnower beyond the veil doesn't exist in this case. or if it does, it's in a very low consciousness/individuality state. it just shows the witness stuff, it does not have an active will.

the witness did see the history of the universe when it communed with the veil and maybe it interpreted it in the wrong way as well, but there was no outside influence to this interpretation. it desperately needed purpose so it made itself one.

that would mean that the unveiling - the garden, the gardener, the winnower - is just propaganda

but not propaganda the witness believes in. the unveiling would not be its people's creation myth, it would be something it came up with to tempt others

but:

what about the voice maya heard? ok, i can understand the veil itself saying it since it is ~the mind and memory of the universe~, so maybe it just has maya in its hard drive by default

but the talk about salvation? this stinks of the witness. if we agree that the winnower - the author of the unveiling, the thing that became the darkness, the big bad behind the witness - does not exist in this way, it makes no sense for it to speak of or influence someone to think about salvation of humankind the way maya says it. the witness is the one who could have talked with maya.

but how would the witness talk to maya through the veil when it had just lost the veil and didn't even know where it was? when it approached the traveler it saw where the veil was and was actually surprised - or expressing emotion, what it usually doesn't do - so it makes no sense that it could have talked with maya through the veil. i mean, i guess it could maybe have just talked with her without knowing where the veil is, but i find that highly unlikely.

trying to mesh these two theories together is... an interesting thought exercise. but let's try:

the winnower as in the unveiling exists. it is either the veil or something beyond the veil.

the unveiling was written by it and it is recruitment propaganda. it did the same with the witness, the hive and even maya. not using the unveiling directly (it seems to just have showed stuff to the witness and talked with maya) but the idea is the same: find people, tempt them, use them to further its own goals.

this means that the witness doesn't necessarily has to believe in the sword logic. in the similar way that the witness gives people what they need to believe so it can use them, the winnower could do the same. the witness needs to believe the final shape is nothing? ok, let it believe it then. lol.

another interesting alternative to the unveiling is that it is written by the witness and that the witness believes it to be nonsense/made up stuff but it isn't. who knows!

the traveler noped out when the witness tried to strengthen its link to the veil because it does not want the universe to be rid of paracausality. the witness might think it would rewrite reality to be nothing, but i'm pretty sure in this case the winnower would just uno reverse card it and rewrite reality to not have paracausality.

now, let's try again in another way:

the winnower as an extremely conscious being does not exist. there is something beyond the veil and it could be the winnower from the unveiling but it is just like the traveler: mostly dormant, like a pond where people can drink from but not something that will reach out in return.

the unveiling was written by the witness as propaganda because it thought it was the best way to tempt us. the witness was the one speaking to oryx as the persona of the winnower aka a believer in the sword logic.

the traveler noped out because it didn't want the witness to rewrite reality into nothingness. the winnower/veil isn't an agent here - it's a tool.

the same way the witness came up with the final shape when it communed with the veil, maya came up with an idea of salvation when it listened to what the veil had to say. again, the veil is not an agent here, it has no intent of corrupting anyone - it has a LOT of information and memory, and both the witness and maya can interpret this information & these memories as they wish. the witness found the final shape aka a purpose. maya (probably) found salvation she wanted for her people.

there is a theme here of people communing with the veil and getting what they want to see from it, not necessarily the truth. it might be a facet of the truth or a warped interpretation of it, but it is not the truth in its purest form.

maybe because mortal beings - or once mortal beings - can't handle it?

i like this one better because it doesn't seem to directly contradict established lore as much. darkness isn't necessarily bad, light isn't necessarily good. both can be used in bad ways (the witness, warlords) and good ways (the ecumene, guardians).

there is an explanation for maya's interaction with veil as a parallel to the witness' interaction with the veil instead of maya speaking to the witness or to the winnower. both - witness and maya - came to the veil for answers and it gave them what they wanted to hear.

it stills leaves a lot open for the future of the franchise - the traveler and the veil are still unexplained, for example. they could be a version of the gardener and winnower from the garden, but they could not. the mystery of why the traveler is diminished even before interacting with the witness' people is still alive and well. we still don't know why it was buried in that planet. or why the veil was chilling in outer space. once we are done with the witness we can turn to these questions - or to something else entirely, who knows.

i guess i can believe this one. the one problem is that the conflict depicted in the unveiling was, in my opinion, much cooler. i guess it can still be true - who knows what the veil might reveal some day, if it really is the equivalent to the winnower of the garden. i mean, something still hurt the traveler. but idk.

it's interesting to note that light and dark as we now it didn't seem to exist in the garden. maybe we will still find out more about these forces if the garden was in any shape real.

but you know what? none of these theories explain this:

Xivu's will soars through the Ascendant Plane and crosses the barrier between this world and the next to find communion with the Witness. Within a distant hollow, they converse.

(from the last entry of the seasonal lore book, purporse)

the next? as in the next world?

what

how would "a next world" fit in *gestures to this mess of a post* this?

what is the witness even doing in whatever-it-is? i mean, apparently it takes a long time to reshape reality. the witness will hang out there for a whole ass year. so what or where or when is there? and why/how is the witness still able to talk with people in this world?

i'm just

i mean i've got ideas

the witness is back in the garden(tm)

or trying to get into it

our universe is just one of many created by the crash between gardener and winnower (WHATEVER THEY ARE) and the witness needs to ascend to the higher universes/worlds to reach the beginning of everything

the tree of silver wings is somehow involved in this, i just don't know how

there has to be a reason why it takes the witness a whole ass year to do what it needs to do but we apparently can chase after it quite fast once the expansion arrives. are we getting a shortcut once the final shape (the expansion, not the end of the universe) is released?

... unless we don't.

take a shortcut i mean.

we don't know what the next seasons will be about. there is nothing set in stone about us entering whatever the hell is on the other side of the portal only when the final shape arrives. we are waking up savathun next season, as far as i know we could be into that portal right then or on the season after that.

season 22: we wake savathun up, she comes up with a plan to get into the portal, we spend 3 months doing just that.

season 23: we enter the portal and now we need to make our way up bc the witness has got a hell of a head start.

the final shape: we reach the garden and now it is time to stop the witness.

profit?

does that mean the traveler is just... part of what the gardener was? since there are a billion worlds/universes, maybe each one has a piece of the gardener (and/or the winnower). this would explain the fragmented state of the the traveler's mind and the... inactivity, i guess, of the veil (if it is the winnower. big if there).

maybe thats why the witness can still communicate with xivu arath. the ascendant plane is just... a layer between us and the next universe and the witness is kind of astral projecting. could also be why it is still worried about us trying to figure out a way into the portal. it doesn't want us trying to race it to the finish once we are in.

or i could be completely insane. that's an option too i guess.

[sant-riley]

There's so many of you wtf

[pelucies]

thank y'll, we now have 2.7K

peluche's following me here!

thanks for the support.

see u later.