#I'm already daydreaming with the soup because it's so good

[lesbianneopolitan]

And tomorrow...day to cook at my friend's and have a day of DnD- we are weak to the ramen we made last time, so we will do that again, it's just so GOOD

the recipe we follow is this one, in fact we make a lot of recipes from this woman- the site's in Spanish but oh WELL

[purplesoulcollection]

Unnatural Love

Part 9 (2) Synopsis : Name has being transmigrated into the world of I'm Not That Kind Of Talent without ever reading the novel. She's not being reincarnated as a human but as a devil as well. Hi There! I want to let you know that this fanfiction story isn't solely my creation. I borrowed the concept from @quqiwo2. I haven't actually read the novel either, just some spoiler to the end.

I hope you'll excuse my spelling and grammar mistake, because English not my first language.

"Adele, just a heads up that I need to participate in the hunting competition next week." He surprised me with the news when I least expected it.

“Hunting? Sounds like fun! What's that for?”

Deon's reaction to my question wasn't a happy one; he seemed really stressed and overwhelmed by the news.

"The emperor hold a hunting competition to inform the world that the empire is not afraid to hold a contest in the middle of war." He spoke in the monotone way, looks like someone drop him to the grave and sucks his positivity.

"Oh, that sounds complicated. Are you okay with that?" I genuinely worried about him, ever since he brought this topic, he don't look too good for me.

He pressed his finger against his temple, looking quite pitiful with stress written all over his face. All I can do is offer him some comfort with a gentle stroke.

"It was tiring. The Emperor sent me a gift of clothes that I couldn't refuse to wearing!" He finally yelled, that’s likely the root of his stress.

"Is that too revealing for you?"

He shook his head and covered his face with his hand. "No, just the color..."

"Bad? "

"Too striking..."

Is that bold color on Deon really working for him? If it’s not a great match, maybe he should reconsider wearing it.

"Let me see, you give it a try later. If it's suitable for you, it might be the best for you!"

"Adele, don't you too... Remember already nagging at me too..."

"Who’s Remember?"

"My butler. The old man I talked to this morning, that's his name."

Remember is the head butler's name earlier?

Fix, I'm in a story made by earthlings. The English word doesn't really seem to fit as a character's name.

This definitely confirms that Deon is the main character of this world. No female character appeared at him makes this original story the mc is the male, not the female one.

"Adele, you tend to drift off into daydreams quite a bit, don’t you??"

"Oh, not quite! By the way, I’m feeling so famished, a nap makes me miss the food."

"As I thought, so I asked for lunch to be prepared."

And I was faced with luxurious food typical of nobles. A bowl of corn soup, some chicken in gravy, a dessert, and a piece of bread. It's just the right amount for one person.

"It's already cold, should i ask servant to reheat it?"

"You don't have to worry about that. I can still enjoy it even if it's not warm anymore." I quickly reject his idea, this is looks fine for me.

When I see the cutlery on the table, it really makes me wonder. I have no idea about the proper table etiquette, and it all seems so complicated. I glanced at Deon, giving him a look that said I was completely lost.

He who understood about my trouble after seeing me glanced at the cutlery said, "Just eat your way. I won't judge you."

So I used a spoon that was the right size for my needs and ate with gusto. Deon just looked at me eating hungrily.

"Have you eaten?" I asked Deon, with a mouth stuffed with food.

'If he hasn't eaten yet, perhaps I could share a little with him.'

"I’ve already had my meal, you were the one who overslept!."

'Has he now started to mock me, even though he always appears so weary himself in the devil world?'

"It can't be helped, I'm tired. Having no sleep at all really do the wonders."

"But you sleep too much, can you sleep tonight?"

I pressed my finger to my lips, contemplating whether I would get any sleep tonight or not, "No... I guess."

I can already imagine what I should do at night, maybe take a walk in the garden. because I won't have a fever like humans. The little perks in many disadvantage to became a devil.

"Want to go for a walk?" asked Deon, interrupting my thoughts.

“You want to go for a walk? I think you're tired already.” My voice soared with happiness. if Deon wants to join me, why not?

"If you can't sleep, it will affect my sleep cause I'm light sleeper."

"Okay. Let's go for a walk." I'm really excited to have my tour guide in this new world! I'm eager to learn about the human world during the kingdom era—what were the people like back then?

This could very well be my final moment of tranquility. I need to savor it to the fullest. Nothing can hold me back from my adventures.

"Done, madam. Please see the results, madam." The servants mentioned that they had finished making me look absolutely perfect.

I felt a mix of excitement and reluctance as I approached the mirror.

Ever since I became a servant of the devil, I hadn’t really looked at my reflection. My gray skin made me shy away from seeing myself, no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise..

But I'm human now. Let's look at our human version.

I couldn't help but admire myself the moment I caught a glimpse in the mirror. I turned out to be a very beautiful human being...

My hair was still a purplish silver color but I finally saw the face of a human whose beauty I could appreciate as a human being.

I was eager to snap a quick photo before switching back to my devil mode. However, there’s no camera available here, so I buried my futile hopes

Finally, the waiter's choice of dress was a pastel purplish pink dress. But I also realized that this dress suits me. Makes me look pretty and slay.

"Thanks for dressing me."

"No need to thank Madam, this is our duty."

I then turned to look back, noticing the way the skirt of the dress danced around me. The swaying of my skirt only added charm to my natural beauty and make me more confident than before.

"Madam, Master has been waiting outside."

“He's outside? I'll be right out.”

I quickly put on the small earrings that the maid had provided. I chose round pearl earrings. Feeling that my appearance was perfect, I hurried to go out. Want to quickly show off my new appearance.

"Deon!"

I shouted as I walked quickly towards Deon. He, who was initially arranging his gloves, turned to me.

Wow, he looks amazing, even though he's all covered up and the only thing you can see are his striking red eyes. But the his mysteriousness and coolness really being topped up.

He fell silent while opening his eyes wide. Not even saying a word for me.

Was he surprised because I was strange, even though I was already become human?

“How's my look? Is it strange for you?”

He simply averted his gaze, avoiding a proper look at me.

I moved towards him with such intensity that he couldn't bring himself to meet my eyes fully. I did my utmost to present myself as beautifully as possible.

"You are... good." He says that with shy and tried to hide his face even if he already use the a cloth mask.

But I still don't understand the implied compliment that he can't expressed.

"What type of compliment is that, Deon? Tell me whether am I beautiful or ugly in your eyes...?"

I'm so eager to see him compliment me, you know? Women looks the best when her lover praise her!

But he didn't meet my expectation, "Let's go! "

He ran away from me before he could give me a compliment, and I have no idea where we're headed.

"Wait for me, Deon!" I try to catch his super fast walking, but it's not so easy with this dress.

"DEON!"

To Be Continued

[forget-me-maybe]

Interview with the writer

thank you for tagging me @savriea !!! <3

i'm not sure who's done this already but i'd love to hear from: @adoenamedjane @heartfluttered @toads-treasures @lizziemajestic @underthedark0 (if you want to, and if you've already done it please let me know i want to read your interviews!!)

When did you start writing?

i did write some really cringy short stories when i was around 9-12 but then i just stopped. i had a bit of creative death connected to puberty and, well, being depressed for like 10 years. i started writing again in january this year. so i'm just a baby.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

i slurp psychological horror up like soup but could not write it.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

no, and i've never thought about it either.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

it's AWFUL. i moved to a new flat this spring and i still haven't got a table. i just sit in my sofa with my laptop and it's killing my back. my writing is definitely suffering from it.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

daydreaming. a lot of what i write is just scenarios i make up in my head and then i plot around them. i also love me some slice of life so i can find inspiration in the most mundane things, doing my make up and thinking "what if........ OH".

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

when i started writing i hated torturing the characters, i've come to realise that's because happiness is a sort of new concept to me and i wanted the sad boi hours to be over forever. i still want my little guys to be happy but i'm not above putting them through the trauma tumbler before that happens these days.

What is your reason for writing?

sav put it so well: To [redacted] [redacted] [redacted] that wonderful pixel man. (but in my case, also the awful pixel men)

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

i love all comments. when people do the take lines from the chapter and comment on them one by one thingy i get on my knees for them. i had some say they enjoy my writing style which had me sobbing on the floor (because i honestly hadn't thought about having one before that). BUT i'm so weak for the chaotic comments, the screaming ones, the ones written in the heat of the moment.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

anything other than "oh no not them again" is fine by me.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

i LOVE writing dialogue so i'm gonna say that. the banter and bickering. lovely, lovely stuff.

How do you feel about your own writing?

before posting: this is kinda good wow forget you really did this.

after posting: i need to be shot.

[sillycyan]

「 Daydreamtober 2024 」

I'm using the prompts to write, explain, draw, or just daydream more about the first events or facts that come to me when I see the word. Some things will be longer or higher quality than others, so please bear with me a lil bit. I gotta post lore somehow..

⟻ Day 27 — Yearning ⟼ Word Count : 814

「 Reign 」 “Hello my love, you picked up..”

「 Arline 」 "I did! Calling me again, huh? Couldn’t even wait til you properly wake up for the morning?"

「 Reign 」 "Yeah, well... I miss you. Haven’t had to fall asleep alone in so long. Feels weird."

「 Arline 」 “Oh, you missss me?”

「 Reign 」 "Don’t make fun of me...”

「 Arline 」 ”Babes, you’ve called me like, what, three times tonight? Texted me too. You have to be up in a few hours— You must reaaaallyyy miss me.”

「 Reign 」 “It's just— YAWN.. I can’t sleep. I miss your touch."

「 Arline 」 "Oh. Wow, someone's being pretty forward tonight... this morning..?— Didn’t know you had it in ya babe."

「 Reign 」 "I guess I haven’t had to be. Uhm.. What’d you do today?”

「 Arline 」 “Just came back from this dinner with everyone. We found this cute little restaurant by the hotel. They had that one soup you were talking about..? I don’t know, but it was sooo goood!”

「 Reign 」 “Hmmm sounds nice.”

「 Arline 」 “It was so fun too– Oh! I swear we almost got kicked out because we were laughing too much.”

「 Reign 」 “Yeah? I can only imagine. It’s.. so quiet here without you….”

「 Arline 」 “I know, I miss you tooooo. We also walked around a bit after. They wanted to check out the night market, but my feet were killing me from being in heels all day, so I ended up heading back to the hotel alone, and here I am now..”

「 Reign 」 “Heels, huh? That means you were wearing a dress. And I’ve gotten no pictures? I bet you looked so good.”

「 Arline 」 “I didn’t think to take any! I just wanted to get off my feeeet.”

「 Reign 」 “I wish I could been there to see you… It’s not the same here without you. Just thinking about you in that dress, all alone in that hotel room…”

「 Arline 」 “Don’t you dare start.. I really have been on your mind huh?”

「 Reign 」 “I guess.”

「 Arline 」 “So let me get this straight— You’re lying there, all alone, thinking about me all day? Oh you poor thing."

「 Reign 」 "Don’t make it sound like that. I... I did the math, okay?"

「 Arline 」 "The math?"

「 Reign 」 “The math, yeah..”

「 Arline 」 "Please explain."

「 Reign 」 "I call at the same time every morning and night... I know when you wake up. I... thought if I called you about an hour after you usually do, you’d have time to get ready or— and then, at night, I timed it with when I wake up for work, since it’s already late for you."

「 Arline 」 "Oh my God, that’s... that’s actually so cute, Reign. You did all that for me?"

「 Reign 」 "Whatever."

「 Arline 」 "No, no, it’s adorable. You’re adorable."

「 Reign 」 "Don’t tease too much….. You’ll be back in a few days anyway."

「 Arline 」 “Uh huh..”

「 Reign 」 "And when you are, I’ve got plans for you. I need your touch...and to kiss you all over until you can’t even think."

「 Arline 」 "Woah there.. someone's been really REALLY thinking about me….”

「 Reign 」 "Every waking and…… sleeping hour..."

「 Arline 」 "That doesn’t fully make sense— So you’ve been waiting all this time just to get your hands on me?!"

「 Reign 」 "I mean... maybe. But mostly I just miss you. The way you steal all the blankets, how you laugh at me when I complain about work, the way your eyes light up when you see something cute, and how you always make that little humming sound when you’re focused on something. I even miss your goofy faces when you’re trying to be serious.”

「 Arline 」 “Hm..”

「 Reign 」 “You warm body against mine and then your freezing cold hands. I have no one to hold and heart the heartbeat of”

「 Arline 」 "So that's what you’ve been thinking about?"

「 Reign 」 "Yeah... the cute stuff, okay? Don't make it weird."

「 Arline 」 "Me? Making it weird? Alright, alright, you’re off the hook this time… How's my pup? Did you remember to feed her? I know how distracted you get.”

「 Reign 」 "Yeah, all good and fed. Shes even curled up on my side of the bed while I am on the phone with you."

「 Arline 」 "Sounds like shes taking my spot! Okay, I’ll let you get some more rest.. Make sure to get enough lunch in, alrightttt?”

「 Reign 」 "Yeah, I will. Just… keep me updated? I love youuu"

「 Arline 」 "I‘ll try. I love you toooooo—"

[measureyourlifeincake]

OK what about if *you* could sit down and eat and chat with any of your artistic inspirations or artists you admire, who would you choose and what would you feed them and what would you ask?

honestly, my first thought was Jonny Sims and I'd give him some more spicy curry to feed Lovecraft

but my SECOND thought was Brennan Lee Mulligan, partly because I am currently in the middle of watching a Dimension 20 episode, partly because ever since I watched this video that youtube recommended me, I've been lowkey daydreaming about cooking a meal for that man just because I know he'd be so appreciative.

For what we'd eat, it'd have to be something I've already made before (I mean, I'm pretty good at following a recipe, but I'd want this to be a known quantity, y'know), so maybe a risotto? I make a really good mushroom risotto. There's also a pumpkin risotto I made once that was really good, I can make that. Also, my brother and I once made a loaded potato soup that fucked severely, I think he'd like that. (added bonus of giving me a reason to use the immersion blender my mom bought recently for reasons beyond my understanding) I dunno, it has to fit both my criteria of being something I know how to make and can be proud of, and Brennan's criteria (as outlined in the above video) of being "heavy."

As for what I'd ask him (after "what do you think of the food"), I'd probably mostly talk to him about larping. In a manner of speaking, he is responsible for me getting started with larping to begin with (as well as nearly every larp i've ever done), so we'd have a lot to talk about there. I'd definitely want to ask him about the possibility of there being a larp show on dropout and how that would work because that's something I've thought a lot about recently and I'd absolutely want to bring up the idea with him. Also, and this is an extremely specific thing that few people will get but i'd ask him if he knows the origin of tophat/gettysburg and why it's like that.

[bellysoupset]

*warning: LONG fangoirl word vomit ahead*

UHM????? oh. my. fucking. god. this was fucking AMAZING????????? 😩😩😩 i literally had to take a sec after reading it before writing this bc the fic was so good it got me speechless. EVERYTHING WAS PERFECT SOUP OMGGGGG 😭 i had kind of daydreamed about how i thought you were gonna go about this request lol and i was already soooo excited about it BUT GOSH somehow THIS WAS EVEN BETTER than what i imagined???????

it had everything i wanted AHHHHand i loved every single part of it 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽 wen being wen (aka adorably looking at trinkets) at the beginning, the nausea in the car + how embarrassed she was at first thinking it was bad gas station food + how chill and comforting vin was being in the car <3333 and then getting home and ma noticing immediately and helping her to the couch and making her tea 🥹 and liv and soph there and then vin noticing the fever and my girl BEING SO OUT OF IT RAHHHHH‼️‼️‼️ emphasis on THIS!!!! wen being so uncontrollably nauseous and dizzy and sick was def one of my fav things especially bc of how put together and in control she usually is (and how she was trying SO HARD to fight it and stay in control like miss girllllllll stop being so real) 😩🫶🏽 and then puking on vin’s lap and then him carrying her and gently telling her not to fight him😭 and then teasing her a lil bit in the bathroom AND THE WHOLE SHOWER SCENE OH MY FREAKING GOOOOOOOODDDDDD dude are you trying to KILL me‼️‼️‼️ 😩😩 FROM THE NAUSEA TO GETTING SICK TO FEELING FAINT TO THE CONSTANT SHIVERING TO HOPING VIN WOULD COME IN TO HIM BEING SCARED AS SHIT TO MA BEING SO WORRIED SHE WAS ALMOST MAD TO VIN GETTING IN THE SHOWER W HER TO WEN FEELING BAD ABOUT IT ALL GODDAMNNNNNN THIS WAS SO TOP TIER SOUP

and THE END was so adorable too 😭😭😭 LIV BEING ADORABLE AS PER USUAL and wen being sooooo embarrassed (again, too real) the whole time and vin just constantly reassuring her and telling her she’s not a burden🥺🥺🥺 and the TEASING AT THE END 😩😩😩😩 everything was just so perfect and exactly what i’ve been CRAVING to read‼️ the angst the fear the worry the uncontrollable sickness the fever the throwing up in the shower the dizziness the fainting the reassurance the hurt the comfort JUST WOW🥹🥹🥹🥹 FOR REAL THIS IS MY FAV FIC EVER AND I WILL BE REREADING IT CONSTANTLY THANK YOU SO SO SO SO MUCH FOR WRITING THIS SOUP YOU ARE THE BEST OF THE BESTTTTT

(i know this is long af but i hope you enjoy my rambling/fangoirling!!! if you don’t pls let me know and i’ll keep it to myself or make it shorter next time LOL i know it’s a lot of text heheh)

ANYWAYS THANK YOU YOU’RE AWESOME KEEP SLAYINGGGGG <3333

🦦

DUDE, ARE YOU CRAZY?? HOW WOULDN'T I LOVE THIS, I'M GENUINELY CONSIDERING JUST PRINTING YOUR COMMENTS AND PUTTING THEM IN A SCRAPBOOK FOR WHEN I'M SAD!!!

Don't you dare stop, they make my entire week.

I am so happy you liked this one this much, because it was tailored for you, like just know it lol. I had your ask open in one tab and then the Sicily Part 6 that you said you wanted it to be similar to in the other tab and then another Wendy sickfic in another tab because I wanted to make sure she was In Character 🙈🙈

I had soooo much fun typing this and I was worried about the length, but if you liked it, then I consider it a win!

I hope 2024 is treating you good so far and that you have a great new year 🦦!!

[chamaleonsoul]

9, 13, 25? 🧡

hi, my precious galleto<3

9. What’s a smell that reminds you of home?

HARD question for me because i don't have the best sense of smell jshsj (since never), sooo. idk. There's this plant one of my neighbours has that smells only at night (it's very sweet, almost like banana leaves but more intense, and it makes my head hurt when i leave the windows and curtains open💀). But also, my mom's tomato noodle soup

13. What’s your ideal summer aesthetic?

Ok, so. picture Call Me By Your Name? you got it

25. What’s a song that gives off good vibes anytime you listen to it?

TALK FAST BUT YOU ALREADY KNOW THIS so i'm gonna say another one just to keep things inchresting Daydreaming by Harry

send me a soft ask!

[hungerpunch]

as the resident VB connoisseur I would love to know your opinion on his dynamic with Guanyu. I see a lot of hero worship, soft dom/sub potential there. In general its nice to see someone so openly in awe of valtteri

anon plsss i read this and put it in my mental soup pot to stew for several hours, considering it. i really like guanyu and, you're right, he's been so openly complimentary of valtteri. from the outside looking in, it looks like vb is doing a good job of balancing the fact that they are innately competitors with being a mentor. it seems to me that while socializing on the grid is not necessarily a priority for valtteri, it is important to him to actively help cultivate a positive environment for guanyu. i respect that bc i feel similarly in my daily life: my circle is small, but it's small so that i can put all my energy into tending it very well. i can't imagine how nervous/scared guanyu was entering the f1 arena for the first time, i can only imagine how scared i would be, and separately and apart from my love & appreciation of vb, i'm extremely grateful that his new team and teammate have been welcoming. i hope that despite all the DNFs and inconsistency w/ alfa romeo's cars, he'll be able to look back and say that his rookie year was a good experience.

sorry i'm getting away from the point.

i think their dynamic deserves much inspection bc it is so multi-layered. on the surface, they seem to fit well bc they are both relatively calm, even-tempered, respectful, and focused on their jobs. but underneath that we know that they are really goofy, as evidenced by their respective social media, and i think they probably understand each other's sense of humor. we know they each have interests besides racing that they are passionate about and though those interests are different, differences tend to serve as complements in a healthy relationship.

one moment that has stuck with me since seeing it was during the pitstop podcast when guanyu admitted he's already thought about where he would take valtteri to eat if they visited shanghai. like he's already daydreamed about showing vb around his city ;_; bc he likes vb and wants to spend time n share experiences with him. that's so cute bro.

taking their dynamic into a dom/sub space is a new consideration for me! i'll put it under a cut

i think when i start considering relationships from a bdsm perspective, i generally find that i take a kernel of something to serve as the core. if i were gonna do that with these two, it would be this:

the fact that guanyu posted this on both twitter & weibo, and captioned it differently on weibo in his first language... don't even talk to me. he's not ready to be vulnerable where vb could see and understand it but he's gotta speak his truth somehow!!! haven't we all been there with a crush? extremely relatable, babe.

and maybe that's the heart of it! guanyu didn't know what to expect, meeting valtteri, besides perhaps professional courtesy. he didn't expect to be seen, considered, and treated so equally! he didn't expect valtteri to notice how nervous he was before his first f1 race and to take time out to calm him down. and we all know that the recipe for imprinting on someone is to: a) be removed of your usual comforts and support b) experience a high intensity of pressure c) that someone shows you an unexpected kindness when you really need it. i feel like we've all been there, about to break down in tears because a random stranger was nice to us on a bad day. you really feel that shit hit, right? like idk you but i'm more grateful for you than anyone else in this world right now.

and that was just their beginning. now, valtteri's been a lighthouse in the storm for many many months. a calming touch point after frantic races, poor results. always there with a word of comfort, to pump him back up after he's been deflated, always a big hand on his shoulder or patting his back. the first time guanyu curls in and turns the gesture into a hug instead, he's sort of shocked at himself, but even more shocked at how valtteri reciprocates the hug without hesitation.

guanyu feels like he'll remember that first hug for the rest of his life. wants it all the time, the feeling of valtteri's chest against his, wrapped in his arms. on bad days, dreams about it ending with a forehead kiss. on worse days, hamstrung by homesickness and the pressure of his first year, dreams about it ending with a mouth kiss. it's not an instant physical attraction, but a gradual one, where one day guanyu realizes he's staring at the patch of grey whiskers in valtteri's beard while he talks and identifies that the itch he feels is the urge to touch it. he feels guilty and embarrassed by that, tries not to think about it too much, but it's undeniably baked into his brain. how he thinks of valtteri as a guiding hand, a steady presence, a calming voice of reason. qualities that he wants to consume, that he wants to embody, that he wants to be submerged in.

and i think of valtteri as such a competent, focused soft dom. he sees guanyu responding to his advice, engaging with his questions, turning shy at valtteri's praise. he knows, he's familiar with the type of person who has all the makings of greatness but is still too young to realize their own power, too young to feel much besides lost. and feeling lost is never nice. valtteri knows. he wants to make him feel better.

idk where i'm ultimately going with this but i think the image i'm conjuring in my mind is of a late night, after a race that yielded mediocre results, they've met up for a drink. in a dark bar. guanyu has expressed frustration, insecurity. the bar is emptying out. it's late. the bartender abandons his post to fetch more stock from the backroom and so, free of watchful eyes, valtteri dares to reach out, card his fingers through guanyu's silky-soft hair. "you're doing good," he says, lowly. guanyu sort of froze at the touch, and now his eyes drop from valtteri's. "i'm serious," valtteri continues. "you're doing a great job. everyone can see it."

and guanyu swallows hard, tries to fight his blush. because valtteri has said so little, but it means so much, and the truth is that he would follow that reassuring voice anywhere. especially to a bedroom.

[ohheyitsokay]

Omg I'm SO sorry!!! I'm the soulmates pain AU anon, I was completely aware you were the one with the milestone!! I saw the post through Molly's rb and I was almost completely sure I had opened your blog to send you the ask but alas, the Tumblr app can never give you any certainties. That long-ass message was completely dedicated to you, I still can't quite grasp how I managed to send it to scribbledghost 🙄🙄🙄 Sorry!!! Congrats again, I love you!!!!

for reference a Din Djarin x reader soulmate request where your soulmate feels your injuries and pain

hello, dear heart!

I wanted to say, before anything else, thank you. I've reread your words multiple times since you sent this, confirming they were to me, and they really mean the world to me. thank you so, so much! anyway, your idea is fantastic, I had a lot of fun with this one! I hope you like seeing what I did with your already wonderful thoughts 💕

ps it's well documented that I'm a big fan of sprawling thoughts, so please never apologize for sharing them!

warnings: mentions canon-typical injuries, a bunch of fluff. at least enough for a couple of throw pillows

>>

soulmate requests / follower celebration

<<

There's a short burn on his forearm when he wakes.

Din stares at it, wondering at the dull ache, trying to place the injury from yesterday's adventure when it hits him. Hot and golden warmth, flooding through his chest, thawing his flesh against the cold filtered air.

It's one of yours.

A burn, on his forearm.

And selfishly, indulgently, he pauses for a moment, mind slipping away from duty and expectations to dwell in the daydream of his soulmate.

First, his mind creates an image of a blurry mandalorian caretaker, gently moving around a kitchen in the covert. You stir a pot, tapping the spoon on the side before setting it down. Hearing distant calls, you turn too quickly and oh - a sliver of burn along your arm.

Din wants to help, wants to pull you away from the domestic .... danger, and he rushes forward. Your helmet turns to him and he almost sees it - before his mind can no longer produce the answers he aches for late at night.

The second image is of you, in armor as gleaming as his own, in a thick, unrecognizable forest. The hairs on his neck are at full attention, already subconsciously wanting to shout - but you don't need his help. You're breathtaking in all versions of his daydream - but watching you fight with practiced ease punches the air from his lungs. For a moment he feels self-conscious of his awkward maneuvers and slapdash fighting but then his mind pulls him back. You're protecting someone, or else you wouldn't have messed up - you never do, injuries from you are too rare - but you shove them behind you, shooting an enemy over your shoulder before your helmet snaps back. There are so many - you're surrounded - and a hot, sharp blaster bolt grazes your forearm before your fury is truly unleashed.

He runs his fingers over the burn, almost giddy at the possibilities.

Mandalorians are few and far between, but he's grateful he has a soulmate, and even more thankful you've kept yourself out of harm's way almost entirely, since you'd been connected.

As he dons his layers, the shine of his armor reflects bruises and scrapes littered across the expanse of his skin. His own, from his journey, and one beautiful little burn from his soulmate.

And then they're covered, and the armor is tied securely in place, and he leaves his daydreams in the room as the ship door slides unceremoniously shut.

-

You hiss at the burn, clutching your arm.

Great. Just what you needed - another injury to add to your impressive collection.

At least my soulmate gets a gift from me this time. You roll your eyes.

The vendor next to your stall is a sweet lady, already apologizing for her steaming pots and pans and offering you compensation.

The credits would be nice, but you could hardly justify taking anything, especially since it was your soulmate's fault your body was riddled with aches and pains in the first place.

Waving your hand, you accept her counter offer - a bowl of her perfect broth and noodles - before retreating. You sell cloth, from beautiful dyed lengths tucked away to sturdy, unstainable blacks, and it was days like today that you thanked your stars for that choice.

There's a thick pile in the middle that you perch on, sinking into the folds as your body cries at you, and you sigh over your soup in relief. The burden of waking to webbing bruises and sprawling scrapes and the more-than-occasional broken bone is eased by your stall - sitting and haggling until the sun goes down. That is, unless there's drama in the market, as it seems there is today.

In the distance you hear shouts, more than those of vendors selling meat on sticks to passing warriors and merchants - the taunts of drunkards.

Someone is coming, and you almost laugh when you see his form in the distance, because he's trying and failing to be inconspicuous. It's impossible, with his gleaming armor, but still he ducks into shadowy spots, forgetting - or maybe ignoring - their inhabitants.

"A Mandalorian has graced our market," your neighbor remarks dryly. They were respected, but it was well known that chaos followed them. You share a look, both wishing you were wealthy enough to conpletely pack up shop. If anything, a logical person would put away most of the stock and hunker down for a few hours. Weighing the odds was difficult: if you were lucky, the chaos wouldn't bother your business, and shoppers might be drawn out, hoping for entertainment and spending as they waited. If you weren't, a wayward burst of plasma or blaster fire would destroy your whole month's stock.

You looked at him again, the Mandalorian kneeling down the street. His form was... almost handsome, formidable but careful. He was light on his feet, seemingly with gentleness on his mind, and it drew you in like a moth to flame. You decided to stay, and hope for the best, your curiosity pulsing like your bruises.

And you were lucky, that day, because he ducked away not a moment later, taking the exciment with him.

Until, he came back the next day, this time on the prowl, stalking up and down the edge of Dicer's Row, one hand on his blaster and the other atop a bulky, wriggling bag. This time, you ventured to stand, folding and refolding your displays as you watched him through your lashes.

And then he made his move, and you sighed, feigning a yawn to cover your disappointment from your neighbor's knowing smile. She shouldn't be wiggling her eyebrows over the box wall between you - honestly his type were more annoying than anything. A crash from the alley confirmed it: there was no way a guy like that cared about his soulmate. The gentleness from before was surely a trick of the light.

Your whole side lit up with pain, the impact of something hard against your whole side and you groaned, settling into your mound again. Any curiosity or attraction was snuffed under your annoyance and pain, and your mood soured like fruit left unpicked on the tree.

Selfish, you thought, glaring as a chicken ran squawking from the commotion. What a jerk.

-

The next day, you tried to maintain the sentiment, huffing as he wandered the stalls.

Why does he keep coming back?

You'd have thought his time here was over when he'd dragged that lowlife out of town yesterday. But here he was, buying a crock of soup at the stall next to you, and ignoring her comments about how he couldn't eat it with his helmet on.

She had warmed to him, since he'd put money in her pocket, chattering in a way that kept him stuck for long moments.

It struck you as strange - he almost seemed too awkward to leave, like her returned generosity actually meant something to him. A man like him... surely could've just walked away.

But he stayed for awhile, nodding and looking at the spoons she carved in her free time, and you almost thought he was looking at you, too. Then he ducked his head and planted himself in front of you, and certainly he was.

For all the years you'd spent weaving words to sell your fabrics and goods, you'd never been so speechless. The Mandalorian was large, sharp, shining edges and bulky canvas packs tied to his shoulders - he seemed out of place, filling your whole stall, shuffling as he loomed over you.

He asked for soft brown things - children's clothes.

"Of course, I - I mean, yes, just over here -" you tripped over your words, caught completely off guard by the shape of him, the feel of him just an arms width away, and his request. You stumbled from your seat, nearly toppling in your hurry and his gloved hand wrapped around your arm, catching you.

"You're injured," he stated not really asking. It was... overwhelmingly intimate, him knowing, and acknowledging it, like he cared.

"Yeah, my..." you swallowed, trying not to get lost in the dark glass inches from your face. "My self-centered soulmate keeps getting himself nearly killed."

Even with your heart thumping in your chest, you couldn't keep the bite from your words, bitterness having collected over years of nursing injuries that were consequences of someone else's actions. He didn't let go of you for a moment, his helmet pulling back and tilting, like he was startled.

Then he was cautious, unbearably so, releasing his grip like a child freeing a captured creature when it was time. The topic was dropped, and he made his purchase quickly, but before he left, he paused. The Mandalorian's gloved hand ghosted over your cheek, slowly moving a hair back into it's place, and if you hadn't known better, it was almost an apology.

And then, thick cape swirling in the dust, tiny clothes in tow, he swept away, leaving you along with your whole body alight with a foreign longing.

-

Din felt as though he'd been stabbed.

Hot, hot feelings poured through his chest, spreading fast as fire as he desperately tried to sort through them.

You - you were incredible, fragile and bruised, with the most stunning, determined eyes he had ever seen. Not a Mandalorian, and you had a ... a soulmate, a fucker who left your skin littered with marks, burdening you with ...

He felt panicked, shocked, and guilty, just as he had when you'd told him. It had never occred to him that his soulmate might be there... out there, constantly burdened by his recklessness. His body screamed for attention, something he so often ignored, but this time, he was almost deafened by it.

His feet, legs, arms, chest, heart - all of them wanted him to return to you, in your little fabric stall. To... what? Truly, he hadn't the slightest idea, so his mind won out, shaking a little to try to reign in the muscles that he'd taught to obey him.

He couldn't go to you.

But, he couldn't stay away.

-

He was back in the market, and this time, he wasn't being subtle about staring at you.

Tall and ... slow, he waded through the crowds, making his was towards you like he was following a careful path.

"Can I help you?" You stood, moving almost involuntarily towards him. "Was there something wrong with my -" he was already shaking his head, hands reaching to make you shush.

Waiting, an irrational part of your mind wished he would touch you again, would place his big hands on your skin and sooth the aches that haunted your life. It was unfair, but you didn't stop it, couldn't if you tried.

Carefully, he slid a single finger to your arm, pushing up your sleeve to reveal the little burn you'd gotten.

He was being gentle. It made you want to stomp your feet, jealously welling up in your heart like bile, bitter and hot. How could it be, that someone so powerful had learned so quickly, wanted to, and he wasn't - he wasn't even your -

Then he moved again, pushing up his own sleeve and your thoughts tumbled over each other. It was intimate, even more than before, desperately trusting, as his skin near glowed in the morning light. And there was a burn on his skin, hairs singled like they'd met the edge of a pot of boiling broth.

You wanted to punch him. This man has spent years tossing his body around like he had one one spare, making your own as brittle as bread crust and - you wanted to kiss him. This man had learned after a single day, the impact of his actions, and had been nothing but kind.

The forehead of his helmet pressed into yours, and the two sides of your mind compromised.

Later, words would come - they had to.

But now, your eyes closed, and you sighed. He had the rest of your life to make it up to you - and he would, you were sure.

<<

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[thera-daydreams]

KABILANG BUHAY

× A TRESE ONESHOT ×

[Crispin x Ghost!Reader]

📝 Summary: Your demigod husband remembers you—everything about you—and how much he absolutely loved you. He remembers everything, including the memory that hurt the most.

📌 Warning: Contains fluff, angst, character death, and mentions of violence (because an angry Crispin being the son of a wargod is bound to shed some blood somewhere). Masakit po talaga 'tong songfic na 'to, trust me. If you don't want to get hurt, scroll awaaaay. Pero if you want maximum 1000% ultra heavy pain, then listen to the song below on repeat while reading, too.

Song: Kabilang Buhay by Bandang Lapis

(word count: 5,642)

"Masasayang mga araw na kasama kita."

Warm. Crispin always remembered you to be so warm—every single part of you. The heat of your skin against his whenever he held you, that whimsical sparkle in your eyes whenever you saw the little joys in life, that sprightly curve of your lips whenever you two teased each other, and the radiance he saw from you whenever you were around the people you loved.

In his eyes, there was always a halo around your head or a beam of light following you around. Perhaps he was biased; perhaps he saw you through rose-tinted glasses, but it didn't matter to him. To the demigod, you were everything he ever wanted.

You were the one.

You were also one of the sweetest people he'd ever met. Every morning without a fail, there would always be a hot cup of kape and a plate of pandesal on the table—not only for him, but for everyone else in your little family, too. Alexandra, Hank, and of course, his younger brother Basilio. Even before you became his girlfriend, you'd treated them as your own loved ones.

That was the day he knew you were truly the one for him. The one who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. The one he wanted to build a home with. The woman he wanted to marry and have children with, if you were okay with it (when that conversation came, you said you would be happy and honored to be his wife).

Crispin said it was the other way around. It was he who was fortunate and honored to be your husband. You'd laughed in response, kissing his cheek. There were no fancy rings or a formal, elaborate proposal involved, but that day—he remembered clearly that you had that conversation on a chilly December 1st, 9:24PM, right before you two went to bed—was an unspoken promise.

You two would be inseparable and together 'til death do you part.

Going back to that coffee and bread, he always wondered how you managed to keep it so fresh (you said it was a secret, but later on you spilled the beans to him after him pestering you). Even if he woke up at noon because of missions with his bossing and his brother, palaging mainit ang kape at pandesal. You must have had some sort of superpower you weren't telling him (you rolled your eyes, telling him that superpower came in the form of a microwave).

"Paglalambing at kulit mo na hindi nakakasawa."

He was by no means clingy or touch-starved, but whenever he was around you, he had the need to at least hold you in any way. Sometimes, it was the usual PDA (Basilio and Maliksi teased him about it, but he didn't care if it meant having some sort of contact with you; Alexandra just let it be because she knew how much you two loved each other). In public, you guys toned it down—settling with holding hands or you just linking your arm through his. If he was driving the car, his hand would either be innocently resting on your thigh or your hand which was on your lap. If you were the one driving the car, then it would be your hand on his thigh or his hand. He loved to draw circles on your skin whenever he was daydreaming or starting to doze off, too.

You as a couple often expressed your love for each other in different ways, and not just by saying it out loud. One thing Crispin adored the most about your relationship was the way you voicelessly said "I love you". If it wasn't clear enough that acts of service was one of your love languages, then he could understand that you loved him back through three taps.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

At first, he had no clue what it meant. You just kept doing it whenever you were near him, on whatever body part you could touch. If he was driving? Tap, tap, tap on his thigh. If he was the one cooking? You'd hug him from behind and then one of your fingers would go tap, tap, tap on his waist. If you were eating together? You'd take his palm then just... tap, tap, tap while chewing on whatever food it was you had in your mouth.

He recalled that afternoon you guys were eating at a simple Japanese place. While you slurped up some of the wheat noodles and the savory soup, you were excitedly doing a little happy dance as you ate—the one you did whenever you ate something you found yummy. Frankly, Crispin found it endearing. He, too, was guzzling down some of the ramen when you reached out for his hand then laid it on the table palm up.

With a mischievous smile and your puffed up cheeks looking like a chipmunk from the noodles you'd gobbled up, you gently tapped his palm with your index finger, that same glint in your eye whenever you did that gesture.

"... Anong ginagawa mo, mahal?" Crispin chuckled, a brow raised. He found it cute but he had no idea what it was supposed to stand for.

"Wala lang," you mysteriously answered in a muffled voice, swallowing.

"You know, you shouldn't talk when your mouth is full," he pointed out, amused. You snorted, gulping.

"Not my fault you asked a question, Crispin," you retorted, shoving in another bite of noodley goodness with your chopsticks. You did a mini-wiggle when the umami flavor exploded on your tongue (the ramen was bussin', bestie). Ratatouille would be impressed!

"But seriously, what does the tap stand for?" your boyfriend wondered. You did it again. Tap, tap, tap.

"Isn't it obvious?" you smiled. He then sweat-dropped.

"Wait, keep smiling," Crispin leaned over the table, removing a tiny bit of the dahon sibuyas stuck on one of your front teeth with his nail. He then popped that finger into his mouth, making you blink at the action.

"Ay, may naiwan pala. Hehehehehe." With how long you two have been dating, you were no longer embarrassed if you did get anything stuck in your teeth and he had to get it out (it's happened in more occasions than you could count). You did the same to him (and trust me, you were way past the stage of getting grossed out from the gross habits couples did). At least you two were a hundred percent comfortable and open to one another, right? Sanaol.

Crispin nodded, going back to eating his noodles, "Okay, back to the topic. What does this—" He tapped your palm the same way you did. "—even mean?"

Your grin just grew wider then you whispered into his ear, "I love you."

"... I love you, too," he answered automatically, still not understanding. "But what do the taps mean? You keep doing it and—"

You did it again on his hand.

"I." Tap.

"Love." Tap.

"You." Tap.

At long last, that look of realization came upon his features, "... Aaaaaaaaah."

You chuckled, all brightness and merriness from your revelation to the man you loved. "Gets mo na, mahal?"

He scratched the back of his head sheepishly, "Oo, mahal. Hehe."

"... Can we order another bowl of ramen? Please?" With those puppy-dog eyes? Crispin could never resist. He'd rip the world apart for you and build it back up from scratch if you wanted him to.

That was how deep his love was for you. Kapag nagmamahal ang isang diyos, walang imposible... 'di ba?

He was already raising a hand to call for a waiter, "Sure. Basta maubos mo."

"... And if half lang maubos ko?"

He sighed, "... Edi ako kakain sa anong maiiwan." What was the saying whenever you found your soulmate? Oh, yes.

True love is getting fat together.

Maybe it was true for both of you.

When you two exited the ramen place, you patted your bloated tummy. "Haaaay, busog na busog si food baby," you sighed in happiness, adjusting the the top of your high-waisted skirt to loosen it up for more space. You elbowed him slightly, wiggling your eyebrows at him and mimicking Kylie Jenner, "Soooo, I'm thirty-four weeks today."

"'Luh, ang drama mo," Crispin snickered, poking your rounded side playfully and making you pout. "Nagdadalang tao ka pala, ha. Ako ang tatay pero hindi mo sinabi sa akin na buntis ka." He wouldn't lie, but thoughts of you being pregnant with a child warmed his entire being. Mini-yous and mini-hims running around.

What a dream.

"Nagdadalang tae lang po, manong," you stuck your tongue out at him, then stopped. He stopped walking, too, looking at you questioningly.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Mahal?" you paused. Gulugulugulugulu. Oh no. Mayday, mayday!

"Did you forget something at the restaurant?" he asked. You shook your head in response, telling him there was an emergency.

"... Mahal, natatae ako."

"Like, now?" You nodded at him with wide, doe-like irises. His eyes crinkled, finding the situation hilarious. "Really? Oh shit. Literally. Is this because we were talking about poop?"

Crispin could only cackle as you rummaged through your bag for some wet wipes (and the situation led to you two running around the mall like psychos looking for the nearest restroom—grabe ang cold sweat mo, sis; it was that type of pooping session).

As he waited outside the women's comfort room, he found himself smiling like a weirdo from your date today. Nagdadalang tae o nagdadalang tao, he wouldn't love you any other way.

"Punong-puno ng ligaya ang ating pagsasama."

He found himself unconsciously doing the tapping to you, as well. Tap. Tap. Tap. He only now realized how many times you've been saying "I love you" everyday. Usually, you'd only verbally say it out loud three times: in the morning waking up, whenever he left for a mission, or the times you went to sleep together (because of the nature of his work, it was uncommon, but if he was at home during the night, he'd make sure to say it to you). But now that he knew what the taps meant, he counted them for one week from Monday to Sunday.

You were sitting on the couch, on your stomach and sprawled vertically over his lap. He was watching a basketball game on television while you were on your phone, scrolling through Facebook. It was all quiet until he tapped his finger thrice on your calf. You beamed, rolling over to face him then gently tapping his cheek three times—not with your fingers, but with your hands, smooshing his cheeks then pecking his lips.

"Fwifee-hweif," he said. You tilted your head at him, letting go of his cheeks.

"What was that?" you curiously inquired.

"Fifty-eight," Crispin gave you his signature flirty grin. "You tapped me one hundred seventy-four times today. And one hundred seventy-four divided by three—because I love you has three syllables—is equal to fifty-eight." His affectionate gaze to you softened. "Mahal, you've told me I love you fifty-eight times today."

You just hugged him and hid your face in his neck, "I love you, too, manooooong."

"... Wanna watch a K-drama tonight?" he said, his voice rumbling through his chest as you laid your head on it.

"Mmhmm."

You guys ended up binging Scarlet Heart Ryeo and bawling your eyes out (Crispin cried louder than you, actually, and the box of tissues was passed back n' forth between you two).

"Punyeta, walang Season Two?" Crispin cursed, blowing his nose.

You hiccupped, shaking your head and scrolling through the categories, "W-Wala e-eh, m-mahal."

"Seryoso ka ba?" he gaped, wiping his tears after wiping yours. "That's how it ends?"

You nodded, sniffling, "Uh-huh."

The next morning, when all of you gathered in the kitchen for breakfast, Alexandra and the others could only stare, nagtataka kung bakit namamaga ang mga mata niyo (yeah, they were swollen as hell).

"... Anyare sa inyo?" Alexandra quizzed. Hank, while pouring everyone some juice, had a worried look on his face, too.

"Nag-away ba kayong dalawa, Kuya?" Basilio questioned. You both shook your head simultaneously.

"Hindi," Crispin shortly answered, exhausted from crying with you all night.

"Nanood lang kami ng K-drama," you supplied, as worn out as your boyfriend was.

"Aaaaaaah."

"Na parang wala nang sisira ng lahat."

The date always held some significance to him, not only because it meant only a few days before Christmas but also because it was the day you promised to one another that you'd be endgame.

December 1st.

It would repeat in his head over and over again until the day he died.

The two of you were lying in bed, the cold night air entering through the open windows. You were leaning on his chest in-between his lap, reading The Count of Monte Cristo. He noticed that your expression often shifted between being giddy to being angry or smug at what was happening to the main character.

"... Mahal?"

"Yeah?" you responded, not taking your eyes off the novel. You flipped another page.

"What kind of ring do you want? Para alam ko kung magkano ang iiponin ko?" he quietly asked, his thumb caressing your temple. Normally, men wanted this to be a surprise or didn't talk about this but he only wanted you to have something you'd cherish for the rest of your life. You tilted your head back to look up at him. "Do you want those with the big gems or the smaller and simpler ones?"

You gazed back at your novel, then sat up and closed it, turning to look at him. "Crispin." You took his hands in your own (he tapped it thrice, making a teeny smile creep up your lips). "Hindi ko kailangan ng singsing."

His eyes grew wide, "... Are you sure? You don't want to be formally married?"

You frantically shook your head, "Nooooooo, noooo! That's not what I meant, dummy. I just wanted to tell you that I don't need an expensive ring to be yours." You kissed him. "And to be your wife."

"Pero—"

"Mahal, if we ever do have kids, mahal ang gatas, diaper, at tuition," you childishly told him. "Kung magpapakasal tayo, I don't need a huge proposal or a big wedding. Let's put the funds away for a house and for the future, 'mkay?"

"... But you won't have a ring," he sulked.

Getting an idea, you hopped off the bed and open your cabinet, finding a piece of durable string on one of your shirts. With a strong tug, it came off. You walked back towards your boyfriend, flopping back down then looping it on your left ring finger. You held your hand up to him, "There. I have a ring now, see?"

Crispin had never ever loved anyone as much as he did right now. There was a nagging feeling at the back of his head, though. "... I feel like I've seen this in a movie before, mahal."

"Duuuuh. I got the idea from the Count of Monte Cristo. Mercedes promises herself to Dantes with a string ring! Sorry nalang if copyright infringement ang ginawa ko, hihi." You showed him the book you were reading, the smile not disappearing from your face. Feeling ecstatic, he kissed you passionately right on the spot.

"Ipapangako mo sa akin na magsasama tayo nang walang hanggan?" Crispin whispered against your lips. "Magpakailanman?"

You kissed him, rolling your eyes, "Oo na, Crispin. Corny mo talaga, manong. Such a hopeless romantic, like me!" Another kiss. "I'll stay with you forever and ever and eveeeeeer and grow old with you. We'll get that rest house in the mountains, travel the world together, win the lotto, and do anything we want!" you declared determinedly.

"Promise? Talaga?"

You grinned, wriggling your little finger, "Pinky promise."

He linked his pinky with yours, "Okay. Pinky promise, wifey."

"Okaaaaay, hubby," you quipped, settling down and snuggling into him.

9:24PM, he saw the digital clock display before he pulled the covers over you both, keeping you warm and safe in his arms.

"Bakit pa dumating ang oras na ito?"

"Mahaaaaal, pauwi na ako. Huwag kang mag-alala," you quietly told Crispin over the phone. He was on another investigation, but while their bossing was speaking to Captain Guerrero and Lieutenant Tapia about the case, he used the spare time he had to check up on you.

You had been buying groceries, but knowing you, Crispin had a feeling you had gone to do some other errands.

"Pauwi ka na? Meaning, you're driving home?" He sighed, "And why are you whispering?"

"... Ehehehe," you nervously giggled.

"Anong ehehehehe?" the demigod asked you, suspicious. "Mahal, saan ka na ba talaga?"

"Nasa banko pa ako. Oopsies," you admitted shamelessly. "But I just finished paying the bills. I'm actually walking away from the counter now and—"

You suddenly stopped talking. For a second, the son of the wargod thought that the signal had gone bad.

"Mahal?"

Your voice had gone distant, but it seemed like it was talking to someone else. He strained to hear what you were saying.

"Hey, hey... shhhh, little one, huwag kang umiyak," he heard you say. Your voice seemed so far away. You seemed like you were trying to shush a person. A kid.

"I want my mom!" a child wailed.

"... Langga, come here. At huwag kang masyadong maingay." If it weren't for his heritage as a god, he would have barely been able to hear what you said.

Were you comforting a kid? Awww. He was about to just end the call then text you instead when another much louder and crueler voice could be heard over the phone. No, there wasn't only one voice. There were more.

"Mamatay kayong lahat! Balang araw, hindi na mga tao ang mamumuno sa mundong ito!"

Then there was a sound that was unmistakably a gunshot.

"Nabalitaan ko na wala ka na."

Bang!

His blood went cold. Almost every day he handled firearms in his line of work, so of course he knew what it sounded like. The shrieks and terrified shouts came after the gunshots.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The last thing he heard were more gunshots, then the call ending.

He had never sprinted to Alexandra so fast before, frantically begging her to let him use the Dragon's Gate to teleport to wherever you were, even if it made him physically sick and nauseous.

Crispin didn't give a damn what happened to him, as long as nothing happened to you.

"Hindi ba't sabi mo hindi mo ko iiwan?"

It all happened so fast. One moment he was silently praying to Bathala for your safety while looking for you in the chaos. The next? He was scouring through the overwhelmed emergency room of the nearest hospital, where it was flooded with victims from the mall shooting.

It was a mess, with bleeding patients on the floor as nurses tried to assist. Others were seated on monobloc chairs that had been quickly put on the corridors. There was an overwhelming number of patients taken to the hospital either through ambulances or police cars themselves. It already began to stink of death, and Crispin hated it. His bloodlust as a wargod was creeping up his veins from the stench and his inner fury, but he held it in. He needed to find you first.

Behind him, Alexandra and Basilio were searching for you, too. When he told them what happened, they didn't hesitate to help and be transported to the mall as quick as possible. Captain Guerrero had already dispatched units after hearing what occurred (there was also an alarm that had blared in the station—a bank employee must have pressed an emergency button or something).

Surprisingly, in the midst of the havoc happening inside the hospital, he found himself walking towards the Trauma Bay of the hospital like a magnet. He had no idea where he was going, but he just kept going, and he stopped by a less crowded hallway. If he just went straight forward, he would be entering an operating room.

"Excuse me, coming through! Make some way!" It was a doctor who yelled from behind him. He turned around.

"Hindi papabayaan na ako'y mag-isa."

And as if time went by slower, he found you on a stretcher, being wheeled through the corridor as a nurse was on the bed with you, performing CPR. He saw the amount of blood gushing out of the bullet wounds on your body; one on your back, another on your stomach, and a third on your thigh.

Crispin couldn't help but run after them, asking one of the health professionals what was happening to you, "Nurse! Nurse, is she going to be okay!?"

"Are you her family?" they quickly interrogated. Alexandra and Basilio rounded the corner right as the nurse asked him that. Both held their breaths when they saw the tormenting state you were in, unconscious and on the brink of death.

The eldest demigod frenziedly nodded, "Yes, yes! I'm family!" He glanced at your bleeding form, and his heart clenched seeing the string ring on your finger, a bit of blood splattered over it. "I'm... I'm her husband! Asawa ko siya!"

You weren't formally or legally married yet, but to his eyes (and many of the others who knew you both), you were practically husband and wife.

"Good," the nurse said as they rushed you into the O.R., stopping Crispin from entering any further. "Sir, we need you to tell us your wife's name and her health details, please. She has to be operated on as soon as possible. We need her age, blood type, her comorbidities or allergies, if any..."

Crispin knew them all. He'd memorized them. And he told the nurses everything they needed for the operation. As long as it saved you, he'd say anything. Do anything.

"Hindi ba't sabi mo sabay tayong tatanda?"

It was a grueling operation, he could tell. Crispin had been pacing continuously in the waiting room, not even daring to sit from how anxious he was about you. Hank had come instantly to the hospital after hearing, and now there were three seated and extremely worried people watching him panic outside the operating room.

"God, please let her be okay," he continued to mumble to himself, fiddling with his fingers. "Please, please, please..."

"Kuya, umupo ka muna," Basilio tried to convince his brother.

"Oo nga," Hank frowned.

"You've been standing for five hours," Alexandra gave him a saddened look. "You should rest."

The older demigod shook his head, "I can't, bossing. Hindi pwede. Not until I know that she's okay."

As if on cue, the head surgeon came out of the operating room. Crispin nearly jolted and would have grabbed the man's collar had it not been for Alex and his brother holding him back, calming him down. No one could tell what he was about to say until he removed his surgical mask.

The four occupants waited for his response, antsy. The tension in the room was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

"Doc? Is she okay? Is she gonna be alright?" Crispin asked, troubled out of his mind. Alex's grip on his arm tightened, and so did Basilio's hold on his shoulder. "Doc, please say somethi—"

"... I'm sorry," the surgeon shook his head, a somber look on his face.

It was like the universe stopped for the demigod. The two people holding him were the only ones to support him when his knees buckled.

"We did everything we could. She lost too much blood, and the bullets hit too many vital organs," the doctor explained forlornly. "We performed CPR and a cardiac massage on her for thirty minutes, but she did not make it through the rest of the operation."

The words just echoed emptily through Crispin's ears.

"Bakit bigla ka na lang nandiyan sa kabilang buhay?"

When he entered the morgue alone, he didn't know why but he was expecting you to be sitting up and smiling, almost hearing your teasing voice telling him it was all a cruel prank. At first, that was what he saw. He saw the love of his life, soft skin flushed and curled up lips filled with so much love directed at him. He saw you radiant—glowing; that familiar twinkle in your magnificent eyes. He reached out to hold your left hand, awaiting its warmth.

Awaiting the three taps.

The taps that would tell him "I love you" and "I'm okay".

Crispin even waited a minute. Maybe you were still there, hanging on. Maybe... just maybe... you were fighting.

"Mahal?" he croaked out, squeezing your hand.

"Paano na ang lahat? Paano na ako, tayo?"

Those three taps never came. One minute. Five minutes. Ten minutes.

Only then did he really see you. The illusion all came crashing down.

Now your skin was so cold. So lifeless. So... opposite from what you were when you were alive. You were pale. Your lips were tinted blue. You were so still. So deathly still. Not one movement.

It freaked him out.

He couldn't believe it was you on that metal table—it didn't look like you. Where was the halo he always saw around your head? Where was that beam of light following you around?

His rose-tinted glasses suddenly became grey and dull. Taking your left hand, Crispin felt his heart shatter even more when his hand brushed the string ring on your finger. They had cleaned you up and made sure there was no blood left on your body, but nothing could remove those tiny, miniscule splatters that stained the string.

Remnants of what happened today.

You never did remove it. Even when showering or swimming or washing the dishes, you'd joked to him.

"See? 'Di ko nga kailangan ng singsing. Mas maganda pa nga 'to, eh. I can wear it all the time! Matibay pa!"

Crispin could nearly hear you, but it was all just a memory in his mind. God, he didn't want to forget your voice. Your laughter. Your cries. You whispering to him how much you loved him. He couldn't. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he did.

Both of you didn't even get to say "I love you" one last time. But reality was harsh, and this wasn't a movie where the leading characters could have a lengthy monologue confessing to each other as the dramatic scene was drawn out from seconds into minutes.

There were no camera angles, no music, no time left, and no happy endings. Everything was raw. Real.

"Hindi ba't sinabi mo sa akin na sabay tayong mangangarap?"

"Mahal," his voice trembled as he held your icy hand to his lips, kissing it. "Huwag mo akong iwan. What about us? Our dreams? Andami pa nating pangarap, 'di ba? Mga gustong gawin?"

No response.

"Tatatanda pa tayo, 'di ba? Bibili pa tayo ng bahay na nasa bundok... then we'll travel the world together, right? We've... We've saved up half of the funds! You... You can't leave now..."

Silence.

Crispin felt tears dripping down his face. He hadn't noticed he was crying. Only with you could he be a sniveling mess—around the others, he always had to be the kuya. The responsible one. The oldest one. The loyal bodyguard.

With you? He could be anything and you would never judge him.

Even when you were dead, he was still a sniveling mess in your arms.

"Sabi mo gusto mong manalo sa lotto," he choked out, cupping your cheeks. It was so strange to him; how colorless they were compared to how... spirited you were in life. "I'll do that... I'll make that happen. Just please... please come back to me. Gagawin ko ang lahat... bumalik ka sa akin, mahal. Mahal..."

Crispin told himself nothing was impossible when a god loved someone, yet now all this god could do was be paralyzed by his despair.

"Bakit bigla kang lumisan nang hindi man lang nagpaalam?"

They say there are five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. People don't talk enough about how they weren't actually stages. They were just five emotions and there was no particular order they came in. They would come and go, and that was how dealing with loss really was.

Today, as he was cradling his departed soulmate and the only woman he knew he'd ever love this much—reduced to tears while nursing his broken heart—he was feeling denial, bargaining, and depression all at once.

Only then did he allow himself to feel anger—just pure, unadulterated fury—when Alexandra let him and his brother unleash their bloodlust to the guilty aswang clan that had been the culprits of the mall shooting. The bank robbery.

He had his vengeance.

The son of the wargod nearly became a god of war that night, coming home soaked in the same crimson that dripped off his guns. He swore to himself he'd rip the world apart for you and build it back from scratch. Thus, Crispin was merciless to those who murdered you and all those other innocent humans.

He took his time watching the life dissipate out of their eyes, especially since he didn't see yours before you died. They were already closed when he got to the hospital too late.

Denial, anger, bargaining, and depression. He'd felt all that as time passed, on and off.

Acceptance? That last stage? That last emotion? Crispin never did really get to that point. Perhaps he would. Perhaps he wouldn't. Only more time would tell.

"Isang malamig na hangin ang yumakap sa akin."

The demigod sat under the tree that shaded your gravestone, a bouquet of white and red roses beside him while he relaxed on the grass. It was a classic symbol of true and everlasting love. That was the vow you'd made to one another, right?

December 1st.

It had been one year since your death. Wasn't it funny how the fates worked? Two years ago, on this very day, you two promised each other that you'd be together forever. He said that this day would be memorable to him until the day he died because technically, it was your engagement slash informal wedding anniversary.

Then one year ago, you had been shot trying to protect a child from those armed aswang. You saved the kid, alright. Crispin even made sure that the little boy, one of the lucky survivors of the shooting, wouldn't be targeted by the aswang. He ensured your sacrifice wouldn't be in vain. But what was supposed to be a marriage anniversary turned into your death anniversary.

December 1st.

The day would indeed be eternally ingrained into his mind.

But now, he could only dwell on nostalgia as he crouched and cleaned your gravestone, polishing it after removing all the grass and dirt. Engraved on it were the words beloved friend, sister, and wife.

Wife.

He really should have married you before you were declared dead. It didn't matter now; you would always be his wife, even in death.

On the left side of your gravestone was his mother's tombstone. He did the same, cleaning it and polishing it. When he was done, he tapped your gravestone thrice, "Una na ako, mahal. Paalam din, Ma. Baka hanapin pa ako ni bossing."

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He jerked, swerving around and standing up. He swore someone just touched his shoulder and—

Whoosh!

"Parang isang pahiwatig na magpapaalam ka na."

A gentle breeze came from behind him, where the tree was. Once more, he turned around.

Crispin didn't know what to do.

He thought he was dreaming, but he wasn't. He knew he wasn't. Not with the way your hand rested on his cheek. Not with how warm you felt.

Despite seeming almost transparent, you looked absolutely radiant, more so than when you were in life. If he was biased before about you having a halo and a beam of light following you around, now he wasn't (because you really did have a golden circle on your head and a candescent glow behind you).

You didn't speak, but again, you tapped your index finger thrice on his cheek. He was too stunned to react to the featherlight touch you had. It was almost nothing, but it was there. A ghostly tap, tap, tap.

"... Mahal?" he whispered.

You joyfully beamed at him (God, did you look divine), then planted a fragile kiss on his lips. You settled down on the roots of the tree and patted the patch of grass beside it. He sat down slowly. When he did, he removed his black gloves while you intertwined your hand with his.

On his left ring finger was a string ring made from that old shirt of yours. The same one you improvised your string ring from. It was how Crispin always remembered you and how he brought your memory everywhere with him.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The triple tapping. Perhaps it was your way of wordlessly saying you loved him while simultaneously bidding him goodbye as a ghost. He didn't know. You couldn't speak (or he couldn't hear you), so you did what you could.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Just that gesture every once in a while as you quietly listened to him tell you about his day.

When he had to leave, he saw you there by the tree, sitting and waving at him. The next time he came to visit, you were there. Always there, waiting.

And when you weren't, after a couple of decades, Crispin knew that it was time for him to let you go.

To let himself move on.

But that didn't mean he stopped hurting or stopped loving you. He could never stop loving you. Never.

Kahit kailangan ka niyang bitawan upang makapagpatuloy ka sa kabilang buhay, habangbuhay kang minahal ng isang diyos ng digmaan.

× AUTHOR'S NOTE ×

Nasa mood kasi akong manakit ng tao (because ngayon ko lang pinanood ang mga pelikula ni Rico Yan & Claudine Barretto after his death; ang pait eh, right person but wrong time). Medyo sadista pala ako, haha. Ayun, pati ako umiiyak habang nagsusulat nito. Even when I was showering, I was still crying and blowing my nose out. Sana nagustuhan niyo kasi pati author niyo nasaktan sa ginawa niya. 🥲😅

And that tapping gesture was inspired by a random Reddit post I saw years ago. As someone whose love language ain't saying stuff out loud, that just really called out to me. Acts of service kasi akin, eh.

Anyways, I finished writing this at like, 12AM. I'll just edit the typos and errors tomorrow because I want to get this oneshot off my chest. Goodnight! 😂💤

Comments and constructive criticism are welcome! Likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, too! (Yes, you may also rant at me for this.) 💙

TAGLIST: @belladaises @binibiningbabaylan @4kodzuk3n @sparklingmallow @severuslovebot @holyshxtangel @marinac15 @space-flamingo @pippethealien @kashasenpai @disappointmentpastry @hornehlittleweeblet2 @seijohoe @monimiin @ibelievein2dmensupremacy @tinybonksharkcop @hannalogies @banisuoh @genshin-idiot @lemonnie-kimmie @haliya-mori

[redwinterroses]

hey so here's an idea for a "two best friends but one turned evil and asked the other to kill him before he went too far gone" trope (you know exactly what i'm referring to)

the first character, looking into his friends eyes, stabs him in the heart. then they both fall down and the first character is left on his knees, head down, holding onto the sword embedded into his friend's chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

he doesn't touch the sword again and instead ties a ribbon around it in memory of the one he lost

you're welcome :)

- anon fierri

Not that this has been on my brain all day or anything, but... well. Okay. It has been. And then @/3lsmp posted that stuff about a zombie AU and-- well. This happened.

Yay for my first shulker box fic! (1,728 words, with mirrored/connected first and last lines)

Zombie stories don't have happy endings so... neither does this. Be warned.

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Jimmy’s waiting when Scott gets back home.

He stands in front of the door to the house they’ve been living out of, with none of his gear or weapons on him. He’s leaning against the old oak that grows next to the sidewalk, one foot perched on a root that ripples out of the ground and cracks through the old concrete. The sun is setting behind him, but the twilight shadows don’t quite hide the bloody stain that spreads from his right shoulder.

Scott’s feet come to a stop of their own accord, and he very specifically does not move his hand to the hilt of his sword. He shifts his satchel— filled with goodies he managed to find today; he discovered an entire village that hadn’t been raided yet— on his arm, its weight heavy after an afternoon of walking. He hates the wary tone in his words when he calls out:

“Jimmy?”

Jimmy, looking up to see him, gives a shrug. “Told ya this would happen,” he says, and there’s a quirk to his smile that could break other hearts.

((hard to break what’s already shattering.))

Scott swallows. “Show me.”

Jimmy pulls the collar of his shirt to the side, and Scott winces at the bloody mess that is his mangled shoulder.

“Skizz got me,” Jimmy says. “It was stupid— I should’a been faster, but… I mean, it was Skizz, ya know? He still kinda looked like himself, and I thought… I dunno what I thought. But by the time I realized he was already gone, he’d got my shoulder in his teeth and…”

((the earth is crumbling away beneath him. this is a nightmare. time to wake up now.))

((please wake up now.))

“Hey, don’t worry.” Jimmy covers the wound back up. “It doesn’t hurt or anything.”

“It doesn’t— No, Jimmy that’s not the way to make me feel better.” Scott takes another step forward, his arms aching to reach out and his gut telling him to get away get away get away— He can feel his throat closing, swallowing emotions he refuses to feel.

“Look— ” Jimmy takes a step forward and Scott backpedals, half-unsheathing the blade at his hip. He hates himself for it instantly, but the instinct—

The instinct is what keeps him alive.

Jimmy just puts his hands up placatingly. “Hey, hey— I’m not that far gone yet.”

“You’re fine.” Scott tries to sound scornful, and nearly succeeds. “We’ll get you patched up and you’ll be good as new in a few days. Don’t be such a drama queen.”

With a laugh, Jimmy shakes his head. “Nice daydream,” he says. “That would be cool.”

They stand there, in a silence that shouldn’t have been awkward, for a long moment. Then, at the same time:

“Scott, you know— ”

“So I picked up a— ”

Pause.

“You go first,” Jimmy says.

((Jimmy always puts others first.))

Scott grits his teeth and forces his voice to be light and cheerful. Nothing is wrong. They’re fine. “I found canned soup!” he says. “Five cans— one’s a little rusty, but I’m sure it’s fine.”

“That’s… um. That’s good.”

Scott steps around Jimmy—

((not too close. don't get too close— no. damn you, coward, get as close as you want, there’s nothing wrong— ))

— and moves toward the house. “So…” he says, “I’ll just… start up the fire? Get dinner going? I think we’ve still got some— ”

“Scott.”

Jimmy’s voice stops him, and Scott winces. He drops his head, unable to look Jimmy in the eye.

“Don’t make me do this,” he says. His voice struggles, and his free hand goes to his throat, as if he can pull the plea from his chest. “You… you can’t make me do this. You can’t.”

((i can’t, i can’t, i can’t— ))

“You gotta.”

((too close!!))

Scott’s head snaps up, and one hand flails behind him, catching against the siding of the house. Jimmy is right there—

((danger! danger!))

But other than the tell-tale red gleam in his eye and the bloody stain on the shoulder of his shirt, Jimmy looks the same. Same golden hair, same dimple as he quirks half a sad smile, same gentle hands spread wide. Unarmed, though that won’t matter soon. He stands close enough that Scott could reach out and touch him— punch him, maybe, for being such an idiot… or wrap him in an embrace that will never let go.

“Skizz got me an hour ago,” Jimmy says, and his voice is as low as a secret. “I’ve got… what. Maybe twenty minutes? Another hour if we’re insanely lucky?”

“You’re fine,” Scott says again. But this time it comes out as a plea and not a statement.

“I’m not.” Jimmy shakes his head. His eyes shift to the side. “I… to be honest, I’m already feeling it.”

“Feeling— feeling what?” Why was he asking. What a stupid question.

And yet… yet he had to know.

Jimmy drops his hands to his sides, and they clench and unclench. Scott watches, mesmerized, his heartbeat fluttering in time with Jimmy’s hands curling into white-knuckled fists and uncurling into trembling claws.

“I can’t— I can’t describe it. It’s like I’m on fire. Only I’m drowning at the same time. Or something. And I— ” he takes a deep breath, and meets Scott’s gaze. A low growl comes into his voice, and the hands squeeze tight into hard twists of bone. “I look at you, and all I can see is how easy you’d be to kill right now.”

Scott’s sword is drawn before his denial can catch up.

((instinct keeps you alive))

Jimmy looks down at the shining blade, and finally his façade of cheerful nonchalance wavers. There’s a crack in his voice as he says, “There we go. That’s… that’s the way it’s gotta be.”

((i can’t, i can’t, i can’t— ))

And then, as if he can hear Scott’s internal scream: “I don’t— I don’t want to become like one of them. I don’t want… you to see me like that.”

Like one of them. Scott’s memories skip over images of white-eyed creatures, people he used to know, monsters with mindless hunger driving them to rip, to shred, to devour—

Jimmy wakes up crying some nights. He tries to be quiet, Scott knows, but in the single room they’ve barricaded against the darkness, every sound is magnified— and Scott's always been a light sleeper. He knows Jimmy dreams of them, dreams of blood and gore and of being left alone— or worse, of being the one to do the shredding.

He knows because he’s dreamed it too.

“I won’t let that happen,” he says, his voice firm. But there’s a tremble in the sword between them.

“You didn’t let it happen. It just… it just did, dude. That’s life.” Jimmy takes a deep breath, and with a far too gentle hand, takes hold of the sword blade and guides it to rest over his heart. “Anyway, you promised.”

.

.

.

“Right so, if I get bit, you have to take me out before I can hurt anyone.”

“Ew. What a horribly morbid things to say.”

“I’m serious! I couldn’t deal with it if I turned into one of those things and came after you or any of the others— ”

“It’s not gonna happen, so don’t be stupid about it.”

“Come on— just say it. Promise me that if I start to turn, you’ll… ya know. Kill me.”

“Jimmy— ”

“Promise me, Scott.”

“…Fine. But only if you promise the same.”

((it won’t happen. it'll be fine. they’ll be fine.))

“Of course, dude. I promise.”

.

.

.

“You promised.”

Scott’s face is wet with hot tears that he can’t feel himself crying, and he wants to drop the sword— wants to fling it away from both of them and let fate do its worst. Who cares if he dies too?

((jimmy cares. If you let him destroy you, it’ll destroy him first.))

“Damn you,” Scott whispers.

Jimmy smiles.

The sword enters his body too easily.

It slides between the ribs, the only sound the soft catch in Jimmy’s throat as the blade bites into his heart.

For a frozen instant, they both stand there, outside the house they’d claimed— the home they’d defended. Jimmy looks down at the weapon in his chest, one hand reaching toward Scott—

And he falls

((he falls and falls and falls and Scott is falling too and the sword clatters to the ground and he’s clutching at Jimmy’s face and bundling the body to himself and pawing the hair away from his eyes and Jimmy’s hand is on his and— ))

There are no final words. No poignant goodbyes, no tearful proclamations or whispered last regrets.

There is only an ending.

There is only Scott, silent and dry-eyed, kneeling on the ground under the oak with Jimmy’s lifeless hand clasped to his chest.

.

.

.

He doesn’t move, even as night falls around him—

((them))

— and the cicadas start their mournful chorus. Doesn’t stir until something rattles down the street and he dimly realizes that Jimmy would murder him if after all this, Scott went and got himself shredded by a zombie anyway.

Jimmy’s body is heavier than he expected, and yet somehow lighter than it ought to be. As if it’s missing everything that made it Jimmy. He drags it—

((him))

— inside the house and wonders what exactly he’s supposed to do now. Dig a grave, he supposes, but— where? In the yard? It seems so… anticlimactic.

((death is anticlimactic. life is the climax. death is… an afterthought.))

He leaves the sword where it fell. He can’t… he can’t bear to touch it now. Scott doesn’t believe in curses—

((yes you do yes you do you’re cursed this place is cursed and that sword is cursed and the ground where it lays is cursed and— ))

— and yet he can’t bring himself to fetch it. Someone else can find it.

He’ll dig the grave tomorrow.

Tonight… tonight he sits. Keeps watch. Hopes beyond hope that Jimmy will stir— knowing that if he does, it won’t be for any good reason. Knowing that if he does, he won’t be able to kill him a second time.

Tomorrow he’ll leave. Find a new place— far away. Sometime, maybe sooner, maybe later… he’ll find the end of his road too.

He hopes Jimmy will be waiting there, when he finally gets back home.

[vectorfrankenstein]

I'm torn between "can you help me sit down?" "Woah, hey, you okay there?" And "don't sit up yet. Just relax," for Lancelot and anyone, so dealer's choice I guess? And I hope your day turns out alright. Sending love 💌

Thank you 🥺💖🥺💖 and thank you for the prompt! Here’s some Lancelot and Merlin for “Don’t sit up yet. Just relax.”  

Read here on AO3 or under the cut!  <3

“Is there something wrong with Lancelot today?” Leon’s voice broke through Merlin’s thoughts that morning as they watched the sparring match on the training field. Merlin had long since tired of watching these endless training sessions, and was indulging in a daydream about his soft bed in the few precious moments before he would be called to perform his servant duties. Now, though, he paid attention, and he followed Leon’s gaze to where Lancelot and Arthur were sparring.

Watching Lancelot move, Merlin found it impossible not to notice how sluggish Lancelot’s reflexes were, how often he was being hit. Lancelot’s usual silent strength and refined skill had won him the respect of many, and on any other day he and Arthur were almost perfectly matched - which made Lancelot's current state all the more noticeable. Arthur frowned and called out to Lancelot, echoing Leon’s question to Merlin.

Lancelot shook his head and squared his shoulders, his stance determined; even from a distance, though, Merlin could see that his weapon-bearing hand was shaking. Something was wrong, even if his friend wouldn’t admit it. Leon, who was keeping a close watch as well, exchanged a worried look with Merlin.

Though he didn’t press Lancelot further about it, Merlin suspected that Arthur was not coming on so aggressively as he had before. That, or Lancelot was pushing himself just hard enough to parry the oncoming blows from Arthur’s sword in time; his thrusts were weak, however, and he visibly tired with each move. Merlin let out a breath of relief each time Lancelot avoided Arthur’s attacks, but with each attack and parry Lancelot lagged; hardly another minute passed before his shoulders started to slump again, and when Arthur next attacked with a hit that should have been easily blocked, Lancelot took the hit and crumpled to the ground, motionless.

Merlin’s mouth suddenly went dry, and for a second he was unable to do anything more than watch the scene unfold in horror. Then he was running, a thousand possibilities and fears racing in his mind at once, until he reached Lancelot and dropped to his knees where the fallen knight lay on his back, his eyes closed and his breathing shallow. Merlin pressed gentle fingers to Lancelot’s neck, finding a rapid and thready pulse beneath hot skin.

“He’s burning up,” Merlin murmured, pushing a few strands of hair from Lancelot’s forehead that had fallen over his eyes. Arthur, who’d crouched down beside him, had his eyebrows knit together in worry.

“He never said a word about it to me. How long has he been like this?”

Merlin tried to think back to earlier that morning when he’d first seen Lancelot in the castle, but a pang of guilt shot through him. He hadn’t been paying attention. He should have noticed - a fever wasn't something so easy to hide. A moment later, Merlin was forced to dismiss these thoughts, because already Lancelot was beginning to stir.

“Merlin?” Lancelot’s voice sounded distracted and confused, and when his eyes began to flutter open, Merlin let out a relieved sigh. As Lancelot shifted on the ground, Merlin shook his head.

“Don’t sit up yet. Just relax.” He ran his fingers through Lancelot’s hair again. “You should’ve told me you weren’t feeling well, Lance.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Lancelot said, his eyes frustratingly earnest and sincere. The briefest look of pain flashed across his face, and he closed his eyes again. “Arthur, I -”

“Don’t apologize,” Arthur said firmly, “it’s alright, though I expect you to tell someone next time you know you’re ill. We would not think any less of you. Camelot needs its bravest knights in good health.” He smiled a little, then looked up at Merlin. “Come on, help me take him to his chambers.” With one of them supporting Lancelot on each side, they carried him to his chambers and laid him on his bed.

As Merlin began to pull off Lancelot’s boots, Arthur stopped halfway out the door and addressed Merlin. “I’ll send for Gaius, and make sure he receives everything he needs. I trust I leave him in more or less competent hands?” Merlin rolled his eyes and nodded, and Arthur left, a stifling somberness filling the room with his departure.

“Here,” Merlin said, helping Lancelot sit up. He was struggling to keep his head up now that he no longer had to maintain the pretense of being fine. As Merlin removed Lancelot's hauberk and gambeson, Lancelot let out a small cry of pain, his hand flying to his side.

“Cramps?” Merlin asked quietly. Lancelot nodded, breathing hard and slurring another string of apologies as Merlin finished removing all of his clothes and dressing him in a nightshirt. Sweat beaded his forehead, and Merlin finally let him settle down on his back again. “Do you want me to get anything for you?”

Lancelot squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and Merlin could see his muscles tense underneath his thin nightshirt. “Cold - ’m so cold.”

Merlin gathered some more blankets from the wardrobe in the room, and tucked them around his friend’s shivering frame. He passed a light hand over Lancelot’s forehead again - it seemed he was growing hotter by the minute.

He moved the chamber pot inconspicuously in front of Lancelot’s bed in case the need for it should arise, then seated himself on the edge of the bed. His heart tugged in his chest as he watched Lancelot curl up on himself in pain. All the movement from sparring was no doubt making it worse, and Merlin again felt a flicker of frustration that Lancelot hadn’t said anything, and had instead chosen to push himself too far and take Arthur’s hits. But he knew now was not the time to lecture Lancelot about that.

“I should go,” Merlin said gently, “you’ll need to drink plenty of water, and I can fetch some soup and warm cloths for your cramps -”

“Stay,” Lancelot whispered, meeting his eyes through half-closed lids. “Till Gaius comes?”

Merlin smiled a little, and attempted to disguise his worry under a more lighthearted tone. “Alright, but only because you’re too pitiful to leave alone.” He reached over and gave Lancelot’s hand a reassuring squeeze, and in the silence that followed as they waited for Gaius, not another word passed between them.