darlingkaveh

[darlingkaveh]

synopsis: a short story, based on my take on Caleb’s childhood & the mysteries involving it

tw: death, major violence.

other: in third person, and mc has a name and is described as “pale” once or twice (ain’t my name or looks tho, this is not self-indulgent of me haha 🙅 i still consider it x reader bc it’s lads’s mc but i kind of had to give her a name for story purposes, sorry 😞)

( caleb x f!reader , both children. 21 pages )

————————

CALEB loved his family. Each and every one of them, from his mom to his dad, to the little black lab that he had found in a park as a boy. His family was small. Condensed, like four atoms bonded together. He had always wanted a sibling, but his parents were always oh so busy — they were researchers, see; scientists, to be exact. So they left him home with the pup, or, sometimes, if he got lucky, Grandma Josephine, until the sun sank below the horizon, and they trudged home in their rumpled white coats.

Today was no different. He had been playing with his newest science kit, sticking red and blue bulbs onto the ends of black sticks to construct a double helix, when his parents stumbled inside. He could hear their frantic footsteps all the way from the kitchen, and could imagine them scurrying about, like a pair of bespectacled mice, squeaking to do this and that, put this here and tidy that there. Oh, and not to forget to push Caleb (a smaller mouse, kept in a different cage) a little bit of cheese now and then, so he’d shut his squeaking while they chatter away. He was no brilliant mind, no quantum physicist or astronautics expert, not like his parents.

“Sometimes I’m glad I’m no genius.” Caleb popped a grape into his mouth. “Mom and dad are always so busy. Seems like a lot of work, huh, Snoopy?” He looked at the black lab sitting on his bed, who was quite a bit bigger now — the mattress sunk more under his weight than Caleb’s — and he barked in response. Caleb grinned.

“Well, at least I do more than you.” He plucked a cucumber from his fruit salad and tossed it Snoopy’s way. It was gone in an instant. “Hah,” he muttered. “All you do is eat, sleep and play. Though, I guess that’s all I do, too.”

The lab set his head down on his paws, and looked up at him with sad, wet eyes. Caleb scrunched up his nose. “Okay, you’re cute, I’ll give you that.” He sacrificed another cucumber.

“Caleb!” His mother hollered his name. “Come on out! We want you to meet someone!”

Caleb frowned. “Oh, man, don’t tell me…” he set his bowl aside, cramming the last few grapes into his mouth before stepping out, Snoopy hot on his heels. “Yes, mom?”

“Oh, there you are, sweetie, we were starting to think you had fallen asleep.” His mother raced past him even as she spoke, checking her purse, clipboard, coat, and maybe a hundred other places. 

“Mom, your glasses are on your head,” said Caleb.

”Oh! Yes, yes.” Her hands instantly started to pat down her face, and she fixed her glasses. “Thank you, dear. Thank goodness. What might I do without you?“

“Certainly nothing at all!”

His father burst through the front door, glasses askew, though with how much he was beaming, Caleb doubted he could see much, anyway. “He’s our little genius, isn’t he, Amelia? Quite the bright boy, he is.” His father laughed and went about his usual ramblings; the effect of the humidity on his hair, the neighbor’s cat digging through the trash cans again. Caleb noticed a little girl standing in the doorway. He didn’t mean to stare, but she was most odd. She had skinny, knobby knees, and the thinnest hair he’s ever seen.

A feeling of dread crept over him like a cloud. He knew what was coming.

“Are you listening, boy?” His father ruffled up his hair. “Guess not, hm?”

“Is anyone surprised?” His mother gave her husband a pointed look. “You talk too much for your own good.”

“Dreadfully true, dear, though I’m afraid you knew that when you married me, didn’t you?”

Caleb crossed his arms and didn’t say anything, hoping that’d somehow catch their attention. It didn’t.

“Mom?” He said irritably. “Dad?”

They both looked at him.

“Who’s that?” He pointed at the little girl. She raised her head at that, and took a couple steps closer. She walked like she did not quite know how to walk, knees knocking together and toes pointed in.

“Toes out, Leslie,” his father scolded. “No walking pigeon-toed, that’s bad for you.” Leslie fixed her toes, but Caleb wasn’t sure if it really helped. “There you go.”

“Brilliant, darling.” Amelia took Leslie’s hand and smiled as she kneeled to her level. “Well done. Now, Leslie, I’d like you to meet someone.” She gestured at Caleb. “Leslie, this is your new brother, Caleb. Caleb, this is your new sister.”

Caleb’s mouth dropped open.

“Sister?” He spluttered. “Sister? She’s the third one this year, mom! You can’t be serious!”

“It’s just for the time being, dear, we’re fostering her.” His mother hushed him as she stood. “You’ve always wanted a sibling, so here we are. Be polite, won’t you? We raised you better than that.”

“Where is she going to sleep?!”

“In your room, dear, your father will set it all up, it’ll be quite nice, really.”

“Mom! You can’t—“ 

“Caleb, I advise you to be careful with your next words.” 

He fell silent, feeling the tips of his ears heat up.

“Don’t fret, chap, it isn’t so bad.” His father tried to pat his shoulder, but he dodged. “Oh, don’t be like that, now.

“I don’t want to talk to any of you!” Caleb ran back into his room, slamming the door behind him. He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, before looking at Snoopy, who had stuck his head into the bowl of fruit.

“…Oh, Snoopy.” Caleb sighed, half-heartedly petting the lab. “Get your nose out of there.“

Snoopy licked his hand a few times and whined as Caleb sat down next to him. A slice of cucumber sat on his snout.

“Gross.” Caleb plucked it off, and Snoopy ate it in one fell swoop. “You’re like a trash compactor.”

He flopped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling — his ceiling — decorated with paper planes and planets, twirling around on strings. His mother had bought the craft, and his father had helped him hang them up. He had spent a good few hours playing with the hole puncher alone. Now, he had to share it, with an odd, pigeon-toed girl with skin too pale and funny brown eyes. She was like an opossum.

He had plenty of brothers and sisters before her, sure — it had started a few years back, when his mother and father suddenly seemed to take interest in fostering — but he was different now than then. He knew how this went, how it was going to go. His new sibling would stay for a little while, but they still left in the end. It had happened to the one before, the one after, and it’d happen to this one, too. His siblings had all been odd, yes, but odd on its own was fine; one might argue he was odd, his parents were odd, his family was odd, and he’d hardly care. But family who left was hardly family at all.

Caleb shut his eyes. There was whispering outside his door. He couldn’t stand it. Eventually, it stopped. Ten minutes later, his door crept open. Leslie stood there. Her hair was wet and stuck to her face, and she was in new clothes and shoes. She blinked owlishly at him.

“Hi.” Her voice was raspy. “My name’s…Leslie.”

Caleb rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow.

“You’re…Caleb, right?” He could hear her shuffle closer, with her odd legs and steps and walk. Snoopy barked. “You have a dog?” She brightened. “She’s cute.”

“…He’s a guy.” He sat up and heaved Snoopy into his arms. “His name’s Snoopy.”

“Snoopy?”

Caleb grumbled. “That’s what I said.”

The dog wriggled in his arms, and he eventually released him. Snoopy made his way over to Leslie and sniffed her hand.

“Snoopy’s a cute name. A cute name for a cute dog.” Leslie rubbed Snoopy’s neck. His tail thumped against the floor. 

“…It’s ‘cause I found him in a bush.” He looked away. “A blackberry bush,” he continued, slowly, “in a park nearby. He got all pricked by the thorns, so me and my parents took him home and helped him.”

“Your parents…like to pick up strays?”

“No,” he said. She stared at him. “Well…” Caleb thought about it. “I guess. They’re kind of strays themselves. But the good kind. They’re scientists.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Yeah.”

Curiosity pricked at him. Eventually, he caved. “How?”

Leslie nearly poked Snoopy’s eye out trying to pet him. Caleb stood up.

“Don’t pet him like that. Use your palm, not your fingers.” 

“Like this?” She tried again.

“Yeah.” He smiled a little. “Good job.“

She looked surprised, but soon smiled back. “Thanks.” She looked around. “I like your room.” His walls were decorated in a variety of posters. His favorite one was of the solar system. Sometimes he’d go up on the roof with his father and watch the sky.

“Thanks. My parents helped me decorate it. What stuff do you like?”

“Hm?”

“Stuff. What stuff do you like?” He repeated.

“Like…my clothes?” She picked up the edges of her yellow skirt and did an awkward spin that wasn’t really a spin, but Caleb clapped for her anyway. “I do like these clothes, they’re certainly nicer than my older ones. I wore those nearly every day.”

“Um…not really, but that works, I guess. My clothes are ok, I guess.” He tried to think of something better to ask. “Hey, wait, you didn’t tell me how you know.”

“Know what?”

“What you said before. That my parents are strays. Or, scientists, or whatever.”

“Oh.”

“You can sit down, by the way.” He patted the space next to him. Leslie’s smile grew, and she obliged.

“Well,” she said, “I just thought they look like scientists.” She flicked one of the paper planes hanging from the ceiling. “You know. White coat, glasses, always carrying a clipboard and pen.”

“That does sound like them.” He pushed one of the planes, too, laughing when it swung through the air and bumped into the one Leslie had nudged. 

“Time for bed!” The door opened, and his mother stuck her head inside. She smiled when she saw them sitting together. “I’m glad you two are getting along. You can play more tomorrow.”

“Okay. Good night, mom,” he said. 

“Good night, miss,” said Leslie.

“Good night, kids.” She set up a mattress for Leslie on the floor before she shut the lights, guided Snoopy out, and closed the door.

Moonlight filtered in through the blinds, illuminating strips of the room.

“Isn’t that mattress uncomfortable?” He said.

“Not really. The bed’s too soft. I feel like I’m sinking.” He could just barely make out the outline of her body, curled up by the foot of his bed.

“Are…you sure?”

“Yep. This is the type of thing I’d sleep on back home.”

He shifted. “Home?”

“Where I met your mom and dad.”

“Oh.” He figured she must be talking about the orphanage. “How is it, there?”

“Cold, mostly. But fine. The people are nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah. Most of the time they do things I don’t like. But that’s just how it is in the world.” She pulled her blanket snug around her. “They’re my family. They…they have my best interests at heart, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“…Do you think we could be family?”

Caleb looked at her smiling face. “Maybe.” He propped himself up with his elbows. “If you can promise me something.”

“What is it?”

Don’t leave. The words were heavy on his tongue. He swallowed them.

“Actually, nevermind.”

Promises meant nothing.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s silly, anyway. We can be friends.“

“Huh.” Her breathing slowed. “Friends. That’s good, too. I don’t have any friends. Didn’t, I mean.”

“Well, I’m happy to be your first friend.”

“Thanks. Do you have a lot of friends?”

“I guess. I don’t know them very well, but yeah.”

“That must be nice.”

He rolled around, facing the window. “Something like that.”

He could hear the last of the lights in the house being shut, and the last of the doors being closed.

“…I’m sorry. For earlier.”

He laid there, listening to the sound of his own breathing. Waiting. A response never came.

She had fallen asleep.

——

There was a room in the house that Caleb had never seen. It was an ugly thing, grey and withered, tucked away in a little nook that never saw the sun. Its wooden door hung on rusty hinges; Caleb could hear it squeal from his bedroom every time his father went in. Though he had never seen what laid inside, he could guess: failed prototypes, spare parts, and dusty textbooks from his parents’ school days.

“I bet there’s a monster in there,” said Leslie. She sat cross-legged on his bed, flipping through an old science magazine as Caleb peered into the hallway, staring at the grey room.

“Maybe,” he mumbled. “I wish they’d just tell me. I tried to open the door once, too, but it was locked, and my dad got mad.” He shut the door when his mom rounded the corner.

“So, either a monster, or some top secret work things.” She grinned. “What do your parents do, anyway?”

“They work for some bigshot company called Ever. They’ve been a big deal since the Deepspace Tunnel appeared.” He leaned over, closing her magazine. On the cover page was a swirling, blue-purple mass, inhaling the sky and stars.

Her eyes went wide. “Oh, I’ve seen that somewhere! What’s it called? A w…”

“Wormhole?”

“Yes!” She beamed. “That.”

“Yeah, Ever does research on it and stuff. Most of my classmates think it’s scary,” he said. “Since a lot of people think it made Wanderers — do you know what Wanderers are? — appear.”

“Nope, never heard of that.”

“Well, they’re these really weird looking monsters. Some of them look kind of cool, but most just look…I don’t know, mutated? Abnormal. They don’t look like animals or anything.“

“Do your parents study them?”

He thought about this. “Not Wanderers. Just wormholes, I think. I’ll ask. Anyway, a lot of my classmates think the wormhole is scary, but I don’t think so. I think it’s really pretty, actually.”

“Like space?”

He smiled a little. “Yeah. Maybe space is just pretty to me.”

Leslie looked at the wormhole again. “It’s nice,” she agreed. “I think I’d still be a little scared of it, though. I mean, there’s nothing we could do if it suddenly decided to suck us all up.“

“I don’t think wormholes do that…”

“Still!”

“Okay, okay, yeah, that’s true.” He leaned back, staring up at his ceiling. “So what could we even do?”

“Build a secret shelter?” She suggested. “An underground bunker?”

Caleb hummed in response, thinking. Leslie set the magazine aside and reached out and pushed a dangling paper plane, knocking it into the moon.

“Well, I’m going to be a pilot, anyway,” he huffed. “So I’ll just fly us far away!”

“That’s silly.” She giggled. “You’re not gonna have your own plane!”

“I will if I’m important! I’m not gonna fly an airplane. Something cool, like a jet.“

Leslie made a face. “What if you crash-land and die?”

“What? I’m not gonna die!”

“I’m just saying!”

“Well, it’s not gonna happen.” He crossed his arms and huffed. “You’ll see.”

“I guess I will…”

“Don’t look at me like that!”

She dodged his attempt to hit her, laughing.

“Okay, I’m sorry!”

He pouted. “Look!” He reached under his bed and pulled out a large white box. Inside was a colorful assortment of origami cranes. “If I fold a thousand of these, I get one wish. If I wish to be a pilot, it’ll be sure to come true.”

“Whoa, really? How do you fold them?”

“I can teach you!”

By now, Caleb had forgotten all about the grey room, and whatever mysterious things that laid within.

——

“Look, Leslie! Watch what I can do!”

Caleb took out a piece of orange paper, and made it into an airplane with a few clean folds. Then, he set it in his palm, and it began to hover. He guided it through the air, swishing up, down, left, right, until it perched atop her head, making her laugh. She was stretched out, sunbathing under an oak tree. She looked better under the sun, more full and happy and sated. It made her face less gaunt and her smile more clear.

“Wow, Caleb! That’s amazing.” She cradled the plane in her hands. “Is that your Evol?”

“Yeah! I awakened just yesterday.” His smile faded slightly. “While you were at the doctor’s.”

 She made a face and prodded his foot with one of her crutches. “Caleb, don’t get all soppy on me now. I’m okay.“

“Right.” She had never been as fast or strong as him, sure, but he hadn’t thought there was anything wrong with her. His shoulders squared. “Okay.”

“It’s not your fault.” She sighed. “Maybe they’ll get these things off me some day.”

“Maybe,” he agreed sadly. He didn’t like seeing her like this.

She patted his shoulder. “So, what is your Evol? Telekinesis?”

“Gravity, actually,” he said. “That’s what mom said, anyway. Apparently there’s a difference.”

“Gravity sounds a lot cooler.”

“I don’t know, telekinesis makes me sound like a superhero. Gravity is whatever.”

She laughed. “If you say so.” She leaned back, looking up at the cloudless sky, and Caleb followed her gaze.

“…Think you’ll get an Evol, too?” He glanced at her. 

“Who knows?” She shrugged. “It’d be nice, but I don’t need it. Like you.” She grinned. “Your Evol is nice, but you don’t need it to be Caleb.”

“Huh.” He smiled. “Guess that’s true. But, it is part of me now.” He kicked a pebble. “Caleb prefers the version of him with cool powers.”

“Yeah, of course he does,” she snorted. 

A collective groan from the other side of the school yard drew their attention. A group of boys and girls were huddled around a tree, pointing up at a kite stuck in its foliage.

Leslie nudged him with her crutches again. “Looks like it’s your turn to shine.”

He pouted. “But I don’t wanna! Gym’s almost over. I wanna talk to you.”

“Oh, it won’t take long. Go and help them.”

He whined, but her expression didn’t change.

“Fine…”

He ran over to join his classmates, who were making a half-hearted attempt at climbing the tree. Others had left to get the teacher.

“Hey, guys,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, Caleb!” One of the boys, Timothy, waved. “My kite got stuck in the tree.”

Caleb craned his head back, up at the kite, which had twisted itself into the tree’s foliage. “I’ve got this.” He raised his hands up and started to untangle the kite, willing gravity to tug and pull it around until it broke out of the tree. He made it soar above the school courtyard, swishing through the air with a few loop-de-loops, before it fluttered to the ground, landing in Timothy’s hands.

“Whoa!” Timothy held his kite up, beaming. “Wow, Caleb! Your parents work for Ever, and you’ve got an awesome Evol. How cool is that?”

“It was nothing.” Caleb smiled. “I can do it anytime, if you want.”

“Really? Thanks!” Timothy rushed off, kite back in the air. A few kids lingered, asking Caleb if he wanted to play basketball or could help them with their science homework.

“I can’t play right now, but maybe later,” he said. “And if you need help, I tutor after school. Two to three.” He patted their shoulders as they groaned in unison.

“But Caleb! You’re our best player!”

“Ah, you’ll be alright without me,” he waved his hand. “I’ll be at practice tomorrow, anyway. Get some sleep in before then, don’t overwork yourself.” 

They reluctantly accepted that answer and dispersed, returning to the court. Caleb looked back at where Leslie was, and waved at her as the teacher blew a whistle, calling the end of the period. She waved back.

“Did you see it?” Caleb grinned as he rushed over to her. “I got it out really quickly!”

“I know, I saw,” she laughed as she stood, leaning onto her crutches. “Good job.”

His smile widened. “Thanks.”

——

It was spring when Leslie’s birthday came around. His father had gone out to buy the cake, while his mother showed him how to stick two beady black eyes into the opossum plush they had crocheted. Caleb hadn’t ended up being very good at crocheting — the yarn got everywhere, and he’d much rather assemble one of his science kits — but the stuffed animal had turned out quite nicely.

Leslie herself, meanwhile, was at the doctor’s.

“Will Leslie be back soon, mom?” Caleb pressed the black eyes into the grey yarn. Push too hard and they’d sink into its face, but don’t push enough and they’d bulge. “What’s wrong with her legs?”

“Your father’s picking her up now, honey,” she said. “The doctor said the muscles in her legs have been deteriorating at a faster rate than before. Your father knows more about it than I do, but she should be alright.” She took the opossum once he was done. “Nicely done.”

“I still think we should’ve made the tail thicker. It looks like a rat.”

“I don’t think Leslie will mind, dear. And, opossums aren’t so different from rats.”

“Dad says opossums are marsupials.”

She laughed. “He’s probably right.” She set the plushie in a gift box, wrapped it, and set a neat yellow bow on top. “There we are.”

Caleb picked up the box and admired it. “Thanks, mom.”

The jangle of keys made him jump up. “Dad’s home!” He raced to the front door. The man behind it, however, looked scarcely like his father.

“…Dad?” 

His father, who had worn many expressions but never one quite so grim, looked rather pale this evening. He held a crumpled white box. He stood there, staring blankly, as if in a daze, before he at last blinked and sight returned to his foggy eyes.

“Caleb.” He set a hand down on Caleb’s head, but it was hardly a touch at all; he might as well have been a ghost and passed through him. “Is your mother home?“

“Yeah?” Caleb stepped back. “She’s in the living room. I’ll go get her.” He turned. “But…where’s Leslie?”

 He was met with a resounding silence.

He looked up at his father.

“She…needs to stay at the hospital for a while.” His father looked over the top of his head, peering inside. “So, we won’t get to celebrate her birthday.”

“Oh.” Caleb deflated. “But — but she’ll be back soon, right?”

“Well, it depends. But, hopefully.“

“Samael? Where’s Leslie?”

Caleb went back inside as his mother came up behind him. He took the yellow box and passed the grey room. It was shut, as always, and probably locked, too.

He gave the knob a jiggle.

Yep, definitely locked.

He walked straight to his room after that.

His bedroom walls had had some additions since Leslie’s arrival. A few robot posters were hung to the left side, where Leslie’s bed sat. It hadn’t taken her long to prefer a bed over a ratty mattress on the floor. He had less space, now, but he didn’t mind it as much anymore.

Caleb took out his origami paper folder, and chose the darkest color he had — a deep purple. He folded it into a little paper man, and set him on the paper moon.

He laid back and stared up at his ceiling, at the tiny universe that existed in his room. The darkening sky lulled him to sleep, and in his dreams, he saw Leslie, holding his hand in a garden of apple trees.

——

Leslie had visited Caleb, once or twice, since she started to get physical therapy for her legs. She couldn’t get very far without help, so his father always accompanied her to and from the hospital. But she was alive, and she was recovering.

And for a long while, he was alone again. His parents were more obsessed with work than ever before. Forget having dinner together, he hardly ever saw them at all. Most days, he was with Grandma Josephine. He slept in her guest bedroom. It had no stars on the walls, no planets hung from the ceiling, and no planes anywhere in sight.

When he was back home, it hardly felt like home at all. The grey room had grown teeth, and seemed to snap at his heels if he walked too close. He could make out two slit eyes on the door, gnarled knobs coming out of the wood. On their off days, his father would hurry in there, his mother close behind, and they’d stay in there and mutter to themselves until the sun sank below the horizon and painted his room gold. The little man on the paper moon had started to wrinkle from constant poking.

It wasn’t until one late autumn night did things begin to stir; his father burst through the front door as per usual, though this time with a small red wheelbarrow, muttering something about this and that, this and that, nearly knocking Caleb down as he bulldozed through the house. Snoopy was barking incessantly, pawing at his coat.

“Down, boy!” His father snapped. “Down!”

Snoopy whimpered, his tail stilling as he slinked into a corner.

“Dad—“

“Ah, hell.” His father cursed under his breath as he started to wipe some dog drool off his coat, but stopped when the wheelbarrow nearly tipped over. “Son!” He held his arm out expectantly.

Caleb quickly took his father’s coat and hung it on a rack. The ends were torn, like they had caught on something and ripped. He would’ve pointed this out, had the wheelbarrow his father was pushing around not have a bigger mystery: sitting in it was an odd lump, covered with a large sheet. It was driven through the kitchen, around a corner, and, to his horror, into the grey rooml

Just what was in there?

He brewed some tea for his mother; she was sure to arrive shortly. The buzz of the pot was comforting.

When his mother at last stumbled inside, she was panting, and her hair stuck up in curious directions. She kicked off her flats, breathlessly gesturing for him to step aside, so he did. 

“Mom, what’s dad moving?”

His mother glanced at him and smiled. It was an odd thing, that smile, not unlike the lump sitting in that wheelbarrow. “Nothing of importance, dear!” She hurried to pat her hair down. “Simply something work-related. It’s rather boring, quite frankly, you’d find no interest in it.”

Now that was interesting.

“No interest?” said Caleb, as he handed her some tea. “But you always think work is interesting.”

“Interesting to me and your father, yes. And thank you, darling.” She sipped at the drink. “But to you? Not so much, sweetie. It’s a lot of…” she waved her hand around, like that was somehow helping her explain, “well, a lot of nonsense, really. Also,” she let out a pleased hum, “lemon, is it? The tea.”

He glanced at her cup. “Yes. Grandma Josephine gave it to me.”

“Ah.” Her eyes grew misty. Snoopy curled around her legs. “Josephine. Nice lady, isn’t she? I’d let her babysit you more, if she didn’t live so far away. Shame, really. Wonderful woman. She was a family friend, on — on your dad’s side. Was always like a mother to me, though.”

Caleb pulled out a chair for her, and she sat down wordlessly.

“My own mother passed away,” she added softly. “Years ago. Decades, even.”

The steam was starting to fog up her glasses, so he took them off and wiped them clean with a handkerchief. Her smile was starting to fray.

“…I know.” He glanced up at her as he handed back her glasses, her fingers barely registering his touch. “You’ve told me this before. Never how she died, though.”

“Huh.” She laughed a bit. “Is that so? Perhaps it’s silly of me to not.”

“I don’t mind,” he said. “You can tell me when you’re ready.” 

Her eyes moved to him, and some of that mist cleared. “My darling boy…” she reached out and kissed the top of his head. “You’ll do amazing things. Brilliant. I just know it.” She put her glasses back on, and blinked some. Her eyes were blue again. She reached out and gave him a hug. She smelled like apples and cinnamon. He blinked away tears of his own.

”Thanks, mom.”

Amelia laughed some more. “I should be the thankful one, dear. Or, better yet, both of us. How about it?” She took his hand, small in hers, and squeezed. “Thank you, Lord, for letting me be with my son.”

”And husband!” Samael piped in. He had returned from the grey room. Caleb assessed him. “Your very charming, lovely husband, who—“ he pinched their cheeks, making them both grumble, “positively adores his family. Maybe even more than his exhilarating job, eh?“

“Honey!” She swatted at her husband. “I was just telling Caleb here about how dull our work as been as of late. Miserable, honestly.”

“Ah, codswallop. Listen here, son,” he ruffled up Caleb’s hair, “life is all about adventure. And, since you and I are both clever individuals, with enough brain in our heads to not go sideways,” he rapped his knuckles against his temple, grinning, “find the little adventures in your everyday life, and make them the greatest, most exhilarating things you’ve ever gone through. Even if it means you’re tricking yourself into enjoying filing data reports. Everything can be something enjoyable, as long as you don’t spoil it with your attitude, first.”

“Your father’s a hopeless romantic,” Amelia whispered. “Always going on about his idealistic ramblings. Don’t listen to a word he—“

Samael covered her mouth with his hand, hushing her. Caleb snorted.

“Oh, please, darling, I’m giving a speech, and you know how excited I get about those.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, now…”

There was a sort of swell in his chest as he listened to his parents bicker. How long had it been, since they last sat together? Saw each other?

He wrapped his arms around them, and squeezed. His parents stopped.

“Oh, Caleb…” they put their arms around him like they had when he was young, when their arms were loose and big and he barely reached their torso. 

He hoped they’d never let go.

Eventually, they drew back, his father patting his head.

“We have to go out again, but we’ll be back soon, son.”

Caleb recoiled as if he had been slapped. “What? When? Now? Why?”

“It’s okay, honey. We’ll be back.” His mother kissed the top of his head. “We just need to grab some things.“

No! He wanted to scream the word, but only watched as his parents gathered their things, and stepped out the door. It all felt too fast. Too much like a show, a sequence he’d see on tv, where all the actors were clay dolls moved around with strings. He felt like he was being tugged in opposite directions, and eventually, a tug would be too strong, too much, and he’d split at the seams and burst, a mess of clay and wire, and he’d sit there, dead, until he was swept away and replaced.

The grey room growled.

It was a low, rumbling sound, like bits of glass and steel were ground in its throat. Caleb’s eyes snapped to where it hid, turned away from the sun, curtained by shadow. It seemed to smile at him, all teeth; rid itself of its lock with a snap, and creaked open.

He stood frozen for only a moment, before his legs moved all on their own, lunging forward, grabbing the cold steel of the doorknob before it could slam shut again.

He stumbled inside.

It looked just how he imagined. It was a cavern, dark and damp and desolate, and horribly, terribly grey. He had stepped in to the jaws of the beast, and now, he stood on its tongue, in its mouth, only a moment away from being swallowed down.

The red wheelbarrow caught his eye.

It was a splash of color in the room’s monotony, a delightful pop and fizz he could practically taste and see, sparking with red and orange embers. The sheet remained drawn over it, the tongue of a clam swaddling its pearl.

Caleb touched the sheet. His fingers were numb, but his heart sang. What wonderful surprise might lie behind? What genius innovation? He was thrilled, yes, but more than anything, simply glad to be rid of the suspense, the curiosity that haunted him at every turn, so it was with a magician’s flourish that he drew back the veil from his eyes, ripped open the mouth of the beast, and saw! Saw! Oh, how his flesh burned, how his mind raced! And yes, it was then, then, with a magnificent smile, that he saw Leslie’s corpse, limp and pale and dead!

The buzz slowly faded. His smile died. The walls twisted around him, laughing, mocking.

He screamed.

It was then his parents rushed in, in their slick white coats and blotchy, waxy faces, and their murderous hands flailing in the air. It was all a lie. It had always been. That meant — his past siblings — were they dead, too? Dead, like Leslie? Dead, because his parents had decided it would be delightful to murder them?

He thrashed in their arms as they tried to restrain him. “Let me go! LET ME GO!”

“Caleb, Caleb!” His parents cried. His hands flailed, legs kicking, shoving, pushing away their traitorous hands and evil red faces. “Please, just—“

There was a bang. She fell to the ground, dead. Another shot. His father, dead. Blood pooled from their heads; they really were red, now, and it was getting all over his shoes and legs and hands and face, and suddenly he didn’t feel so clean, either, was he a murderer too, now? He wondered if it could’ve been him, who killed his parents, perhaps with an ill-timed blow to the head, or had he been holding a gun and not known it? Had he pulled the trigger, hoping to get rid of their red faces and hands and stop their wild flailing? Well, they were dead now, dead and limp, like dolls, with the smoothest waxen faces, white, like the moon.

Two hands grabbed him. He screamed. A man shoved his arm around Caleb’s neck, making him gasp and choke and scream as tears ran down his cheeks as he kicked at the air; the man forced a pungent rag against his face, pressing it against his mouth and nose, until his eyes rolled back in his head and he wondered, briefly, if he were dead now, too.

“Caleb, dear, please stop thrashing…” 

He awoke to a woman’s voice. He thought, perhaps, it was his mother! His mother, joining him, in his fate in the afterlife — but no. When he opened his eyes, and his vision returned to him, it was not his mother’s eyes who stared back.

“…Grandma Josephine?” He rubbed his face. “What…what are you doing here? What’s going…” the words died on his tongue as he looked around. He was in a white room, laying on a cotton mattress. In the hallway, he could see people in long white coats shuffling about, holding clipboards and mumbling nonsense like his parents once did.

“You’re in Ever’s research facility, dear. They were kind enough to lend us a spare room.” Grandma Josephine looked as she had before, but also not. It was as if someone had cast a veil over her, the same veil he had torn off when he looked in the wheelbarrow. He squinted at her, wondering if she, too, had murderous hands and a red face.

He laid back down. His head hurt.

“Where’s mom?” He blurted. “Dad? Leslie?”

Grandma Josephine didn’t quite look at him, like how his mother hadn’t quite smiled. He was starting to hate these little “not quite’s.” 

“They’re not here,” she said at last. “Your parents…were doing a very bad, dangerous thing. And they died because of it.”

“What thing? And what about Leslie? You didn’t let her body sit there, did you? How are you here, anyway?”

“Maybe it’ll be best for me to show you.” She took Caleb’s hand, though he shook her off; as far as he knew, her hands were sticky and red, too. “Ah, older now, are you?” She chuckled. He didn’t find it so funny. “Follow close behind, then.”

She led him through the winding halls of Ever’s facility, past floating organs bobbing around in jars, past large machines that clicked and chittered, past zero gravity rooms where all the people were bobbing around like the organs in the jars. Past all the people in white coats, and past even the man that had forced a rag on his face!

Caleb pointed and nearly screamed, but Josephine put a hand over his mouth and hushed him. “That’s Pablo,” she said. “Very nice man, you’ll see, don’t worry too much, dear, it’ll all be alright.”

He quieted, but did not stop shaking. They seemed to have been walking for hours before she stopped in front of a room, produced a keycard from her pocket, and swiped. The door clicked open.

Inside was Leslie.

Caleb thought it was a trick of the light at first, just his mind playing tricks on him, like his ears had when he imagined his mother instead of Josephine. But no! Leslie was there, in the flesh, and though her body was gaunt, her face was flushed and touched by life. She was alive! Alive!

Now it was that Caleb began to take in the more minute details of his surroundings. Leslie was, certainly, alive, but she wasn’t moving — she laid on a little white bed, not unlike his, eyes shut. Silver clasps bound her to the bed. Next to her, a number of weapons sat on a cart. He eyed a gun warily.

Two people were in the room, and they both wore those long white coats.

“How’s her vitals, James?” One of them asked.

“Stable.” The one they called James was looking at a clipboard. His hair was tousled, but not frazzled, and he had very calm, serene eyes. They were blue, like his mother. “The Wanderer core works as usual.”

Caleb tugged on Josephine’s sleeve. “What are they talking about?”

“Ah, you must be Caleb!” James knelt down to his level. “You seem like a nice lad. Well, here at Ever, we do top notch work, by the best people, for the best people.” He patted Caleb’s head with his clipboard. “Your friend Leslie is helping us out with some of our work.“

“What are you doing to her?” He frowned.

“Doing to her? Many things. Many amazing things.” James smiled brilliantly. “Leslie here has a Wanderer Core in her heart. It was placed in her at a young age, ever since she was taken out of the orphanage and adopted by,” he gestured around, “us! Her family, at Ever. Now, the core brings her back anytime she dies. It’s a wonder of science, really, a marvel. You might even call me Leslie’s father, in some ways.”

“So she’s not dead?” Caleb moved his suspicious gaze from James to Leslie, who appeared to be in a very peaceful sleep. “But I saw her. Before. And she definitely was dead.”

“Again, that’s the core at work,” James laughed. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

“Sure. But why was she dead to begin with?”

James’s smile faded.

“…Josephine, you have a very curious child.” James stood, and patted Josephine’s shoulder, this time. “He’s got a sharp mind for such a young lad.”

“Thank you, James. I hope what Amelia and Samael did can be forgiven…”

“For you? Anything!” He laughed heartily. Caleb was getting antsy.

“What did my parents do?” Caleb demanded. “And why was Leslie dead? Why won’t you answer my questions?”

James was silent for a long moment, tapping his clipboard against Leslie’s bed. He slowly turned. “Your parents,” he began, softly, “were smart people. But smart people, can do bad things.” He touched Caleb’s shoulder. “They turned their backs on their family. They turned their backs on Ever. They put you in danger.“

He started to shake. “But why?

James pulled his hand away, and suddenly, he was smiling again. “For Leslie,” he said. “They took her from our facility, and, apparently,” he checked some papers, “were planning to go out of state!” He shook his head. “Hilarious. I should’ve known, really. Brilliant minds, your parents, but always so fussy. I suppose Leslie was the straw that broke the camel’s back. And now, those camels,” he chuckled at his own joke, “are dead.”

Caleb felt something well up in him, red hot. “You think that’s funny?”

“Well — not their deaths, that was unfortunate, but that had to happen.”

Caleb stared at this man, long and hard — looked into his eyes, which had been the nicest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen — and had a revelation.

“You killed her. You’ve been killing her.” His face contorted. “You’re a murderer. My parents weren’t the ones who were evil. You are. ALL OF YOU!”

James’s expression didn’t change. “We’re scientists.” He looked at Josephine. “I think you should guide him out.”

Caleb didn’t budge, even as Josephine took his hand and tried to tug him away. “You’re horrible!” He screamed. He could see it: the grey room, Leslie’s limp body, his parents’s lolling heads and crossed-eye expressions. He could see the way the shadows twisted to mock him, how these people, these maniacs, delighted in his suffering, and the thing he did next he did not regret.

He looked at that gun on the table, and in the next second, the cold steel was pressing into his burning skin, and he had pulled the trigger.

It was amazing, to delight in a moment so much that you take in every moment, every detail. Caleb could practically see James’s expression change, frame by frame, into something akin to horror, just before the bullet tore through his face and left him dead. Blood splattered onto the floor, the walls, and Caleb. James’s red face slowly turned white as blood pooled onto the floor. One of his eyes had been ripped out, and rolled to him. Caleb crushed it under his heel.

He never knew killing could be this much fun.

He was numb for the minutes after, body still abuzz. He hardly noticed when soldiers stormed into the room, and he hardly noticed when they strapped him to a device and aimed something at his head.

Had the delight faded a moment sooner, he might’ve panicked. Might’ve kicked, or screamed. But he only laid there, smiling, as they fired, and light swallowed his vision.

——

Caleb loved his family. Each and every one of them, from his Grandma Josephine, to a little girl named Leslie. He had lived with them all his life, and his life was good.

He’s never known his parents. They left him when he was young, but Grandma Josephine had taken him and Leslie from the orphanage and adopted them, because they were the best of friends, and Josephine had always wanted kids around.

They lived in a nice house, just big enough for the three of them. His room was filled with model planes, stars and planets. He would run around in the yard with Leslie and play frisbee.

Sometimes, odd people in long, white coats would visit to “check up” on him and Leslie. He didn’t know what that meant, exactly, but they were nice, and Grandma Josephine seemed to like them, so he liked them, too.

He had no responsibilities. No worries.

His life was good.

———————————

I know this probably won’t be that popular but oh well haha, hopefully those who read enjoyed 😞

[darlingkaveh]

“writing on the wall” - a love letter to kaveh, inspired by the fansong

synopsis: after being transported from Earth to Teyvat, you’ve been selfishly using kaveh’s skill in art to remind you of home. contains: gn!reader (mentioned). written from kaveh’s pov (3rd person) tw: angst. one use of profanity. unhealthy relationship (can be interpreted however which way; romantic, platonic, etc, and it’s still unhealthy lol). the beautiful art is by ani on x :)

honestly? not my best work, but…i tried. still definitely worth reading imo, though. i’m entering into a minor writing contest due at midnight (it’s 11:32 pm rn). obviously, i don’t have much time to edit it, so out into the world raw it goes.

His head was bent—bowed—as his quill swung, hand poised, crafting a structure from ink and page. His golden hair shone under the first light of dawn, its typically intricate style undone. He was ill, in truth. Ill, with a frenzy that made his hands tremble and his vision shake. His coffee was untouched from the night before, replaced by empty bottles of beer. His lips knew nothing but its bitter sting, and the rest of him was beginning to follow.

Designs laid strewn across his desk, spilling onto the floor. They weren’t his. No, his were grand, opulent—sound. His works were more than mere designs, they were blueprints; they were perfected. They covered these cold, ivory walls, every which way he turned. Yours were mere sketches, fragments of a world long lost, yet you demanded its revival despite it. It was maddening.

He could recall, vividly, when you first approached him. The sky was the bluest he had seen in years. He had been complaining about the heat as he slogged through the market square, juggling a stack of blueprints—since he had fallen asleep in the library working on them the night prior. You had been kind enough to lend him a hand. At the time, he had thanked you with an easy smile. He knew you weren’t from around there—the lilt in your voice was telling—but who was he to judge a weary traveller?

It didn’t take much from you to get him to start talking; the harshness of the afternoon sun was forgotten. It was then this…arrangement—if you could even call it that—began. You were interested in his work, and offered good Mora. To be frank, he jumped at the opportunity. Until then, he had been living off the skin of his teeth.

The first few jobs were innocent enough: converting your sketches into blueprints; something real. Your drawings pictured structures made of materials he had never even seen before. Things like ‘brick’ and ‘concrete’. Not only were the designs puzzling, but they were miserably dull. He had taken it upon himself to liven your work. At the time, he had felt pity for you. Pity, and…gratitude.

Somehow, he knew it was too good to be true.

The sunlight tilted, hitting his eyes, making him wince. The artificial light streamed in from an unknown source, likely some hidden mechanism, and only dimmed at night. Here, he was nothing more than an animal, merely entertained. This space—the ivory walls that caged him—was livened only by his craft, those blueprints every which way he turned. They held the confidence of his hand, yet also the imperfection. That imperfection was what he sought to destroy.

Was it worth it? To toil away, night and day, fulfilling another’s dream?

Hah. He was an artist. A nobody. Perhaps this would make him somebody.

His breath caught. Nearly there. Oh, he was so close. It was almost good enough. Almost perfect. He erased an unnecessary flourish; filled an empty space. At last. He pulled back, taut as his eyes traced those smooth lines and sketched figures.

It was complete.

He rose from the floor, heels aching as he stepped closer to the wall, pinning it up and letting it join the many others.

He hated it.

But he hung it anyway.

He drew back, gazing at what you called masterpieces. They meant nothing to him. Their structure, their flair, their design—all the things which were meant to speak to his soul—were lacking. Because they weren’t of his soul. Not truly. His were the hands that refined the blade, yet yours were the ones that made it.

Something pricked at his eyes.

“Is this what you wanted?” He yelled. “To ruin my life?”

He stood there, in that silence, fists balled and body tense—but the only response he got was from his echo.

His face twisted. He let out a weak laugh as he crumpled to the floor, arms wrapped around himself as he rocked back and forth, his breaths sharpening, quickening. Tears blurred his vision.

You wouldn’t reply. You couldn’t, you weren’t here. And he knew that, so why did he…?

He made a strangled noise, feeling bile claw at the back of his throat, unrelenting, burning, aching—and he screamed before he shot up, tore his work off the wall, and ripped it into shreds.

As the pieces fluttered to the ground, he felt a part of him shrivel up, and…die. Something cold clutched his chest, and he started fumbling, trying to wipe away his tears.

“I…I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Is that what you wanted to hear? God, I…” he choked back a sob, sinking back down, “I’m sorry.”

His eyes, red and raw, shifted to look at his desk, and the endless pile of work perched upon it. Slowly, he inhaled, shuddering as a chill tore up his insides. But when it settled, he picked up his quill, and brushed through the papers until he found one that seemed, at most, manageable.

With the touch of his quill to a page, the cycle continues.

Under the glow of dawn, a broken smile touches his lips, and he reaches for another bottle of beer.

[darlingkaveh]

“writing on the wall” - a love letter to kaveh, inspired by the fansong

synopsis: after being transported from Earth to Teyvat, you’ve been selfishly using kaveh’s skill in art to remind you of home. contains: gn!reader (mentioned). written from kaveh’s pov (3rd person) tw: angst. one use of profanity. unhealthy relationship (can be interpreted however which way; romantic, platonic, etc, and it’s still unhealthy lol). the beautiful art is by ani on x :)

honestly? not my best work, but…i tried. still definitely worth reading imo, though. i’m entering into a minor writing contest due at midnight (it’s 11:32 pm rn). obviously, i don’t have much time to edit it, so out into the world raw it goes.

His head was bent—bowed—as his quill swung, hand poised, crafting a structure from ink and page. His golden hair shone under the first light of dawn, its typically intricate style undone. He was ill, in truth. Ill, with a frenzy that made his hands tremble and his vision shake. His coffee was untouched from the night before, replaced by empty bottles of beer. His lips knew nothing but its bitter sting, and the rest of him was beginning to follow.

Designs laid strewn across his desk, spilling onto the floor. They weren’t his. No, his were grand, opulent—sound. His works were more than mere designs, they were blueprints; they were perfected. They covered these cold, ivory walls, every which way he turned. Yours were mere sketches, fragments of a world long lost, yet you demanded its revival despite it. It was maddening.

He could recall, vividly, when you first approached him. The sky was the bluest he had seen in years. He had been complaining about the heat as he slogged through the market square, juggling a stack of blueprints—since he had fallen asleep in the library working on them the night prior. You had been kind enough to lend him a hand. At the time, he had thanked you with an easy smile. He knew you weren’t from around there—the lilt in your voice was telling—but who was he to judge a weary traveller?

It didn’t take much from you to get him to start talking; the harshness of the afternoon sun was forgotten. It was then this…arrangement—if you could even call it that—began. You were interested in his work, and offered good Mora. To be frank, he jumped at the opportunity. Until then, he had been living off the skin of his teeth.

The first few jobs were innocent enough: converting your sketches into blueprints; something real. Your drawings pictured structures made of materials he had never even seen before. Things like ‘brick’ and ‘concrete’. Not only were the designs puzzling, but they were miserably dull. He had taken it upon himself to liven your work. At the time, he had felt pity for you. Pity, and…gratitude.

Somehow, he knew it was too good to be true.

The sunlight tilted, hitting his eyes, making him wince. The artificial light streamed in from an unknown source, likely some hidden mechanism, and only dimmed at night. Here, he was nothing more than an animal, merely entertained. This space—the ivory walls that caged him—was livened only by his craft, those blueprints every which way he turned. They held the confidence of his hand, yet also the imperfection. That imperfection was what he sought to destroy.

Was it worth it? To toil away, night and day, fulfilling another’s dream?

Hah. He was an artist. A nobody. Perhaps this would make him somebody.

His breath caught. Nearly there. Oh, he was so close. It was almost good enough. Almost perfect. He erased an unnecessary flourish; filled an empty space. At last. He pulled back, taut as his eyes traced those smooth lines and sketched figures.

It was complete.

He rose from the floor, heels aching as he stepped closer to the wall, pinning it up and letting it join the many others.

He hated it.

But he hung it anyway.

He drew back, gazing at what you called masterpieces. They meant nothing to him. Their structure, their flair, their design—all the things which were meant to speak to his soul—were lacking. Because they weren’t of his soul. Not truly. His were the hands that refined the blade, yet yours were the ones that made it.

Something pricked at his eyes.

“Is this what you wanted?” He yelled. “To ruin my life?”

He stood there, in that silence, fists balled and body tense—but the only response he got was from his echo.

His face twisted. He let out a weak laugh as he crumpled to the floor, arms wrapped around himself as he rocked back and forth, his breaths sharpening, quickening. Tears blurred his vision.

You wouldn’t reply. You couldn’t, you weren’t here. And he knew that, so why did he…?

He made a strangled noise, feeling bile claw at the back of his throat, unrelenting, burning, aching—and he screamed before he shot up, tore his work off the wall, and ripped it into shreds.

As the pieces fluttered to the ground, he felt a part of him shrivel up, and…die. Something cold clutched his chest, and he started fumbling, trying to wipe away his tears.

“I…I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Is that what you wanted to hear? God, I…” he choked back a sob, sinking back down, “I’m sorry.”

His eyes, red and raw, shifted to look at his desk, and the endless pile of work perched upon it. Slowly, he inhaled, shuddering as a chill tore up his insides. But when it settled, he picked up his quill, and brushed through the papers until he found one that seemed, at most, manageable.

With the touch of his quill to a page, the cycle continues.

Under the glow of dawn, a broken smile touches his lips, and he reaches for another bottle of beer.

[darlingkaveh]

HEY!

Have you missed watching cartoons that didn't just feel like it was only for kids? Longing to watch another action-packed story about nervous highschoolers with people pleasing tendencies falling in love, demons and family? What about one with a banger opening, kids setting towns on fire and creative monster designs?

Look no further than JENTRY CHAU VS THE UNDERWORLD!

Alot of cartoons feel like they're going to be inevitably cancelled, which has discouraged alot of viewers from watching them and given executives more reasons to can them. Netflix has done ZERO marketing for this and most of the marketing I have seen has been from the staff of the show, which is absolutely ridiculous. Though we may be bitter (trust me, I understand), it's worth atleast giving it a shot to try and tell them that we want more shows like this.

If you're craving good young-adult supernatural shows, stories with POC and female leading casts that aren't about discrimination or just want more animation aimed for audiences beyond children, PLEASE, PLEASE PLEASE go check this show out and spread the word. It's 13 episodes that are half an hour long, and every one is packed with love!

[darlingkaveh]

can i make a request?

aventurine with insistent reader who straight up doesn't understand his attempts to push them away. who just straight up doesn't care. ride or die type of thing.

of course! my first request ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ ty anon ! and for u others out there, feel free to ask, too. check out my request info on my pinned

anyway, since you didn’t specify what gender the reader is, anon, i’ll just do gn and give ‘em an interesting personality, ‘cause i think aventurine deserves that kinda love. hope u don’t mind!

synopsis: aventurine has been avoiding you, as of late - and you’re set on trying to find out why. (ig this is angst? hurt/comfort, maybe…it’s not flat out depressing or anything, it’s just kind of sad when you think about it lol). pairing: aventurine x gn!reader tw: alcohol consumption, intoxication (nothing happens)

𝘾𝘼𝙇𝘾𝙐𝙇𝘼𝙏𝙀𝘿 𝙍𝙄𝙎𝙆𝙎

Aventurine was an interesting man. Truthfully, he puzzled you. You had met him through Ratio, who some might call an enigma - but to you, the doctor was light years easier to understand. He was calculated. The numbers behind his every move spoke to you.

The gambler, on the other hand, was a cacophony. A jumble of pitches that melted together into a song few could comprehend. And to you, that was a delight. A challenge. One much needed, to soothe your restless mind.

Perhaps that was why he seemed to dislike you.

Aventurine was not fond of that look in your eyes - the one that said you understood him. Or, at the very least, were beginning to. He was meant to be the one reading others, not the other way around. Simply put, it was unnerving how you took note of his every move, and seemed to use it against him.

It wasn’t as though he hated you. No, that was…that was far too strong a word. He was disinterested in being your friend. Yes, that was better. You were a nice enough person. You were sharp, kind, charming…all things that made you dangerous.

You had been friends, at first. But he had underestimated you - and had let you close. Too close.

“Haha! A straight flush.”

His opponent - a wiry man, with a weaselly face - crossed his arms in triumph after spreading out his hand. “Let’s see you beat that.”

Aventurine’s lips quirked.

“Yes, let’s.” He set down his own hand, revealing a royal flush. He smiled as he took his pile of chips, to the dismay of the man. His eyes tracked the weaselly man as he was dragged away by his peers, kicking and shouting. “Well, that was fun,” he chuckled, crossing his legs. He draped an arm over the edge of his seat, his head lolling back. “Anyone else care to challenge me?”

“I would.”

Something cold shot up his spine as your voice touched his ears, a tad too close for comfort, and he sat up, suddenly on edge. His lips rose in their usual fashion, though his smile was tight as he watched you take a seat across from him.

“…Ah,” he mused, “Ratio’s acquaintance. A pleasure to see you.”

“Isn’t it?” You kept your eyes on his hands as he began to shuffle the cards. “Its been a while, Aventurine, yet I see you haven’t changed in the slightest.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, my friend.” He watched as you slid forward a large stack of chips - your starting bet. Anyone else who dared to place that much money into the pot, in front of his face, he would’ve called foolish.

He waved over an acquaintance, to act as the dealer. “Let us begin, then.”

“Let us.”

The cards were passed out. He glanced at his hand. It was good. Not that he had expected anything less, but it suddenly felt like a lifeline.

“Call.” He slid forward a stack of chips that matched yours. It was fine. He could afford to lose this much.

“Raise.” Your expression was unchanging as you offered more chips. He could feel his jaw twitch.

“Fold,” he gritted out.

“Not going overboard tonight?” You arched a brow. “How frugal.”

He forced himself to laugh. “Lady Luck might smile upon me, but I would rather not exhaust her goodwill.”

“A smart choice.”

He played through a few turns with you, narrowly winning. His hands trembled slightly as he reached out, taking his share.

“Well,” he mumbled, “good game.”

“Quite.” Your eyes glinted under the warm lighting of the bar. “Again?”

“Ah…” he chuckled nervously, “I think not. I’m a bit tired, you see.”

“Of course.” A hint of a smile touched your lips. “A drink, then?”

He couldn’t exactly refuse.

“Why not?”

He nodded at the bartender as he was given a glass of whiskey. The golden liquid slid down his throat easily, burning as it went down. It untangled his nerves, and loosened his tongue.

“So.” You leaned forward. “How’ve you been, Aventurine?”

His eyes met yours. “As well as I can be, I suppose.”

“Busy?”

“No.” He downed another glass.

“Then why’ve you been avoiding me?”

He paused.

“Avoiding you?” He glanced off to the side, feigning ignorance. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Don’t you?”

His tongue ran over his lips. “I suppose I do.”

“So?”

“Mm…” his leg started to bounce. “You make me nervous.”

Your expression contorted, before you laughed. “Me? Why?”

“You’re too smart.” The bartender offered him another glass, but this time, he refused. His vision was already blurring. “I don’t like it.”

“Ratio’s smart, too. You don’t avoid him.”

“You’re…” his lips pursed. “Different.”

“Hah.” You tilted your head at him. “And there’s nothing I can do to help you relax?”

Aventurine huffed. “No. Nothing.”

A thoughtful expression took over your face. “We’ll see.” Still, you rose. “Alright, then, I suppose we should go, no? You seem like you’d want to.”

“Yep.” He stood up, stumbling a little - not expecting his body to feel like lead. You grabbed his arm, helping him up. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

He leaned on you as you walked him home, head spinning. When was the last time he had gotten so intoxicated? The amount of glasses he had drank had blurred together, honestly.

He couldn’t believe he was in this situation now. Relying on you, of all people. The one he trusted the least. This was dangerous. This was bad. In this state, he was powerless to stop you from whatever you wanted to do. You could -

“Hey, relax, you’re okay.” Your hand brushed past his head in a gentle manner, startling him. “You’re in your room.”

He blinked dazedly, eyes adjusting to the darkness in the room. Oh. He was home. In his bed. He was…okay.

God, was he tired.

You rubbed his shoulder, humming a soft melody.

Before he knew it, he was lulled to sleep.

fin. not my best work, but i was eager to get this out there. aventurine’s an interesting fella, though i ain’t the best at writing him :’) if there’s anything i misinterpreted, anon, feel free to let me know! lmk what y’all thought.

requests are open.

[darlingkaveh]

. . . requests !

I’ll keep this brief:

I. I reserve the right to deny and or delay your request indefinitely, first and foremost.

II. I only write male character(s) x reader. I do gn or female reader. Male is iffy, but I might.

III. I won’t write: polyamory, character x character, straight smut (vv suggestive is fine), and the typical DNI stuff - dark topics, fetishes, etc. Hoyo characters aren’t really suited for exploring dark topics - though if you truly believe in your idea, I’ll hear you out.

IV. I’ll write these characters: Kaveh, Alhaitham, Diluc, Kaeya, Dr. Ratio, Aventurine, genderbent Kafka and Himeko (the latter two are explained in my about). If you want me to write another character, ask and I’ll consider. Again, you may (politely) argue your case, and if you make a good point, I’ll probably go with it!

I think that’s all. If I come up with anything else, I’ll add it on. Have fun!

[darlingkaveh]

. . . about !

hello! my name is shiro :) i go by he/him pronouns, am a med student, and love writing. here’s a synopsis of my being.

interests: pokémon, botw/totk, genshin, honkai, romance anything, forensics, psychology, biomed, philosophy, creative writing, academia, dark topics.

my favorite characters (from genshin and honkai, anyway) are kaveh, alhaitham, dr. ratio, aventurine, kafka and himeko - the latter when she’s genderbent, anyway. i have my own headcanons for gb himeko 😭 oh, and i’ll be writing gn reader x male character(s) !

[darlingkaveh]

𝙂𝙐𝙀𝙎𝙎 𝙒𝙃𝙊? ( genshin men edition )

never played before? simple! read a short text, guess the guy. have fun :)

( mode: easy. serial: 001 )

HE had a penchant for trouble. His head was bent—bowed—as his quill swung, hand poised, crafting a structure from ink and page. His hair shone softly under the first light of dawn, his typically intricate style undone. He was ill, in truth. Ill, with a frenzy that made his hands tremble and his vision shake. His coffee was untouched from the night before, replaced by empty bottles of beer. His lips knew nothing but its bitter sting, and the rest of him was beginning to follow.

Designs laid strewn across his desk, spilling onto the floor. They had been scratched out, crumpled, and forgotten. They were nothing compared to his current project; his latest masterpiece. His people deserved no less.

→ fin. ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

well? thoughts, guesses? :) i expect most people to get this, haha. i’ll be taking requests for these, also. (psst - this is an excerpt from an upcoming fic of mine that’ll be posted in 1-2 weeks).

p.s. apologies for the extensive tags. i’m not quite sure how much or little i should be tagging this, because i don’t want to give it away 🤔 i’ll see how well this does

[darlingkaveh]

. . . in every building made with pride, the architect is trapped inside.

⠀⠀⠀⟢ welcome to my blog! here, i’ll be posting stories n’ drabbles about whatever latest obsession grabs my attention. currently, that’s honkai and l&ds. caleb <3

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀shiro. 18+. intj. chaotic neutral.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀  ⠀ ⠀about.⠀masterlist.⠀requests.

requests are open. ↺ rewind! >> previously a cs blog.

[darlingkaveh]

I LOVE THIS, can i be added to the taglist??

📮RETURN TO SENDER ᯓᡣ𐭩

014 - his love letter

warning/s: alhaitham's actions being questionable, fluff? (his letter), grammatical errors

As you hit the “tweet now” button, you wait for the floodgates of questions and shocked replies to fill your notification bar. A chuckle escaped your lips as you twirled the letter by holding its ribbon.

You knew they were hungry for your reply. You could technically smell the desperation and eagerness of the people following you both, and you were glad to see that your instincts were right because after a few moments the comments on your last post had filled up with people oogling and frothing at the mouth.

“ALHAITHAM!?”

“THAT’S ALHAITHAM’S SIGNATURE!”

“So it’s true that Alhaitham sent her a letter!? HOW ROMANTIC!”

"I never thought that cold hearted model would like someone like her."

You let out a melodic laugh in response to their shocked reactions. You shake your head, your mind still hazy and your heart still pounding in your chest.

It’s been forty minutes since Alhaitham dropped you off your dorm and Hu Tao was there to greet you. She didn’t pry when she saw how your face was practically a shade darker with how flushed it was or how you were practically bouncing as you walked towards the mail box.

As soon as you arrived, you dove into the pile of letters on your desk. Most of them were from universities around Teyvat, but your eyes were locked on finding one.

Alhaitham’s letter.

“Aha!” You exclaimed as you found the elegantly wrapped letter. It even has a seal on it! He didn’t have to be so extra with it, but it made your heart swell. As a fan of love letters, his thoughtfulness and careful planning made it obvious that he valued this particular letter and your hands were itching to read it.

But you reminded yourself to remain calm. Carefully peeling off the seal and unraveling the ribbon that tied the envelope, you read his letter with a bated breath.

Dear [Name],

I am ashamed to write this letter for a reason which may come as a surprise to you. Before you begin to assume that I wrote this letter because I felt the need to write back to you after the one you gave me, I would gladly say it is not as I have already given you my reply to that particular letter. For this letter… I have written on my own accord to inform you of my intentions.

Truthfully, I do not know how to write a proper love letter. As you can see, my words are rather… stiff and too formal, is it not? I tried following your videos to see if it could help soften my tone when writing to you, but as you can see it hasn’t and you may have to deal with this hahaha.

I have written too much already. So I’ll make this quick.

[Name], admittingly I read your letter and replied to it without giving it a proper thought and I am well aware that I have hurt you unintentionally. Back then, I know you. But now that I have gotten a glimpse of you back at the show last spring, in the spirit of “first love’s” and whatnot, I decided to give you and I a decent shot.

I asked myself, “what am I afraid of trying?” I know that love isn’t my strongest pursuit, but with you, if you allow, I may understand myself a bit further and I may learn to give you that kind of love which you yearn from me.

Though I have to warn you… with the way that I am, whatever relationship we may create may be short lasting. However short lasting it may be though, rest assured that it will be worth your time. So please… I hope you consider this.

May I court you, [Name]? I would like to get to know you better.

Sincerely,

Alhaitham

P.s. Do you like my letter? I re-wrote this three times and asked Kaveh to help me. I hope you don’t mind that he knew of its content first before you. Also… I realized after writing this letter that I do not despise writing love letters. I simply did not have a chance to write one. I find that it’s my favorite way of correspondence. I do not mind receiving more of it, especially if it’s from you.

The edges of the paper have began to fray a little as your clammy hand held it as you read through its contents over and over again. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to sleep after this.

But one thing’s for sure is that Alhaitham has a way with words. Though he may seem too formal and stiff to your liking, there is beauty and eloquence beneath it that draws you in and makes your heart flutter.

You resigned to your doomed fate as you dramatically sigh and laid down on the couch. You were sure that the feelings you’ve long buried for Alhaitham have resurfaced once again.

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