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odileeclipse · 2 months ago

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hii could you do a Pure Vanilla Cookie x anemic!gn!reader and reader never really experienced how it felt like when someone is caring for them so they just feel very weird inside whenever Pure Vanilla shows kindness to them and reader thinks they don’t deserve this and hates the feeling of being cared for and thinks pure vanilla just pities the them so reader just distances themselves from pv and doesn’t talk to him much anymore unless if it’s something important and whenever reader sees pv coming in their way they immediately just walk to another direction. Pv notices the sudden change of behavior and just lwk confronts them one day and reader of course tries to run away again but pv stops them

you can decide on what happens after

ty!!

A Kindness you can't grasp PVxReader oneshot

The Vanilla Kingdom was as peaceful as ever, bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun. Stained-glass windows cast soft, pastel hues across the grand halls, and the scent of blooming flora from the royal gardens drifted through the air. It was beautiful—serene, even. But you found no comfort in it. Not when you felt so weak. You hadn’t thought much of Pure Vanilla Cookie’s kindness at first. He was benevolent to all, after all. A warm smile here, a gentle word there—it was simply who he was. But as time passed, his actions grew… personal. He would notice when you looked pale and usher you to sit, placing a hand on your forehead as if checking for a fever. He would remind you—urge you—to eat, sometimes even setting small plates of fruit or nourishing sweets near you with a quiet, expectant look. When dizziness struck, his hand was always there to steady you, his staff’s soft glow chasing away the worst of it.

It was unbearable.

The more he did, the more the feeling grew. That awful, gnawing sensation in your chest, whispering cruel things into your mind. Mockery. That’s what it was. Why else would someone like him—so revered, so gentle—go out of his way to treat you with such care? It had to be some kind of joke. He must��ve pitied you. Or worse—he wanted to prove something. How laughable you were. Weak. Frail. Someone to be looked after like a helpless child. You hated it. So you stopped talking to him unless it was absolutely necessary. You avoided his gaze, kept your distance. And when you saw him in the halls, you turned and walked the other way.

Pure Vanilla Cookie had noticed the change immediately. At first, he thought perhaps you were simply in need of space, so he respected it. But as days passed, concern bloomed within him like ivy, twisting tight around his heart. Every time he saw you, you were further away emotionally and physically. The worst part was the way you looked at him now like his kindness was something to be feared. He wouldn’t let this go on any longer. So when he caught sight of you today, he acted. You had just rounded the corner near the castle’s garden entrance when his voice reached you.

“(y/n) cookie.” You stiffened, your body moving before you could think—turning on your heel to leave. But he was faster. A hand—gentle yet firm—closed around your wrist, halting your escape. "Please," he said, his voice as soft as a prayer, "talk to me." Your heart pounded. “Let me go.” “Not until you tell me why you’ve been avoiding me,” he said, his expression unreadable. “Have I done something to hurt you?” You grit your teeth, refusing to meet his gaze. “No.” “Then why?” His grip loosened slightly, though he didn’t let go completely. “You’ve been isolating yourself, and I-” He sighed. “I worry for you, (Y/N). Your anemia is not something to be ignored. You’ve been looking even paler than before. And I know… I know you’re not caring after yourself properly, you look so pale today.” That made something snap inside you. “Why do you care?” The words came out sharp, venom-laced, and dripping with frustration. You yanked your wrist away. “Why do you keep acting like this? Like I’m some fragile thing you need to fix?” His expression faltered just for a moment. “I don’t think of you that way,” he said softly. “I only want to help.” “No,” you spat. “You pity me. Don’t you?” His eyes widened.

“That’s all this is, isn’t it?” Your voice wavered. “You see someone weak, and you have to extend your kindness because you’re Pure Vanilla Cookie, the merciful saint of the Vanilla Kingdom. It’s all just” you exhaled shakily, clenching your fists. “It’s just mockery.” Pure Vanilla Cookie remained silent for a long moment, watching you with something unreadable in his gaze. Then, finally, he spoke. “…I would never mock you.” His voice was quiet, but there was a weight to it a depth of sincerity that made your breath hitch. “I don’t care for you out of pity, (y/n). And I don’t see you as weak.” He stepped closer, slow and cautious, as if approaching something delicate. “I care for you because… I care. Because you are someone who matters to me.” The way he said it the unwavering truth in his tone made your throat tighten. “You shouldn’t,” you whispered, barely audible. “But I do,” he said simply. You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to refute him, to push him away again, but… you couldn’t. Not when he was looking at you like this with warmth, with understanding, with something you couldn’t quite name. A breeze drifted in from the open garden, carrying the scent of lilies and sun-warmed earth. The golden light of the afternoon softened everything—the edges of your trembling hands, the weariness in Pure Vanilla’s eyes. “…I don’t know how to accept this,” you admitted finally, your voice raw. “That’s okay,” he murmured. “You don’t have to. Not all at once.” A pause. Then, hesitantly, he reached for your hand slowly, as if giving you the chance to pull away. When you didn’t, he took it, his touch warm and grounding. “Let me care for you,” he said gently. “Not out of obligation. Not out of pity. But because you deserve it.”

The weight of Pure Vanilla Cookie’s words lingered in the air, settling deep within you like a whisper you weren’t sure you could trust. But you didn’t pull away. You should have—should have torn yourself from his grasp, should have shut yourself away again before his warmth could creep into the hollow spaces inside you. But you didn’t. And he noticed. Pure Vanilla Cookie’s fingers curled ever so slightly around your hand, not to trap you, but as if anchoring himself. A silent promise that he would not let you slip away again—not this time. His golden gaze, soft as the light filtering through the castle’s stained-glass windows, swept over you with quiet concern. “…You’re exhausted,” he murmured. You tensed instinctively. “I’m fine.” “You’re not.” He sighed, shifting slightly, and before you could react, he pressed the back of his hand gently against your cheek, then your forehead, a soft pulse of magic tingling against your skin. His brows furrowed. “You’re cold,” he said, barely above a whisper. Your breath caught in your throat. It was true. The ever-present chill that clung to your fingers, your arms, your very dough you had gotten used to it, accepted it as a part of you. But Pure Vanilla noticed. Of course he did. And you hated that he noticed. He exhaled softly, his hand falling away. “Come with me.” You blinked, startled. “What?” “I won’t force you,” he added, his voice as gentle as ever, “but… I worry, (Y/N). I worry about how you’ve been taking care of yourself about how much you’ve been pushing yourself. Let me at least try to help.” Something inside you twisted painfully. The way he spoke, the raw genuineness in it, made it so much harder to believe this was some elaborate act of pity.

And yet, your own insecurities clawed at your throat, fighting to make you refuse, to pull away, to disappear before this warmth could settle in your heart. But your body betrayed you. The dizziness suddenly hit like a crashing wave, and you stumbled before you could stop yourself. Pure Vanilla moved without hesitation, catching you with both hands before you could fall. “(Y/N)!” You grit your teeth, cursing your own weakness. “It’s just” “I’m taking you somewhere to rest.” His voice left no room for argument this time.

The castle’s infirmary was peaceful, tucked away in a quiet wing of the Vanilla Kingdom. Sunlight filtered through sheer curtains, and the scent of dried herbs hung in the air. The bed beneath you was too soft, too comfortable a stark contrast to how you were used to feeling. You stared at the ceiling, unsure of how you had let this happen. Pure Vanilla Cookie bustled nearby, preparing something at a small alchemy table. He had barely left your side since bringing you here, only stepping away long enough to gather whatever remedies he was concocting. The silence stretched, not uncomfortable, but heavy. “…You should take better care of yourself.” You glanced at him, startled by the sudden words. He wasn’t looking at you, instead focused on stirring a steaming cup of something fragrant. “I know it’s not easy,” he continued, “but if you won’t do it for yourself… will you let me help?” You swallowed thickly. “I don’t need-”

“You do.” His gaze finally met yours, warm and unwavering. “And that’s okay. You don’t have to do everything alone.” You turned your face away, unsure how to respond. You had spent so long convincing yourself that needing care, needing someone was a weakness. That you had to be fine on your own. But Pure Vanilla Cookie was unraveling that belief with every gentle touch, every kind word, every genuine moment of concern. A quiet sound caught your attention. You turned back just in time for him to settle onto the bed beside you, pressing the warm cup into your hands. “It’s an herbal remedy,” he said. “It will help with the dizziness.”

You hesitated, staring at the tea, then at him. “Why are you doing this?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Why do you care so much?” He tilted his head slightly, as if the question confused him. “Because you matter,” he said simply. “Because I care about you, (Y/N).” Your hands trembled slightly around the cup. “…I don’t know how to accept that.” Pure Vanilla Cookie smiled softly, not in pity, but in understanding. “Then let’s start small,” he said. “For now, just drink.” And somehow, despite the uncertainty twisting inside you, you did.

#cr kingdom #cookie run #crk #cookie run kingdom #pure vanilla crk #cookierun kingdom #pure vanilla cookie #pure vanilla x reader #crk fanfic

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quitealotofsodapop · 3 months ago

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Lmk au idea.

Wukong isn't MK's teacher. At least, not in the same way he is in the show.

In this idea I had randomly pop into my head I'm thinking that Wukong had gone above and beyond simply vanishing for 500 years and hiding out on FFM. He straight up changed his identity and went into hiding as a mortal. He says fuck off to being a demon god, fuck off to all the gods and celestials and all his titles. He retires, fully and completely, passing his crown off to his Stalwarts and just becomes a wanderer traveling around, doing odd jobs and never staying in one place too long.

At some point over the centuries he ends up back in the village that he left his staff in, or rather, whay it became. A sprawling metropolis of a city that a person trying to disappear can easily do so. He set up shop, having had many hats over the years he's able to easily pick up a humble job nobody would blink twice at. Mechanics are always sorely needed in large cities after all.

One day at his shop a hauntingly familiar fave appears at his doorstep. Pigsy's truck had broken down while he was out with baby MK on a supply run and Wukong's shop had been the closest mechanic they could find. Wukong could sense something was special about MK, but not what or why and after he fixed up the truck he spent the next hour or so reminding himself that he is not Sun Wukong anymore, he is not part of that life anymore. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Wukong's mechanic work was something Pigsy liked, a lot. The truck was running smoother than if ever did before and the price was a steal! Wukong quickly became the favorite mechanic shop for Pigsy's Noodles and MK began to show up more often at the mechanic shop (he crashed a lot of stuff ok). Wukong ends up becoming the cool mechanic dude who helped teach MK how to mod his hoverboard and would often drop cryptic but helpful advice to the kid, Wukong having settled with the idea that he can look after the kid at least since it doesn't look like Zu Baijie's decendant or the kid were going to go away anytime soon. This led to meeting Tang and Mei, which were... experiences. And Wukong just ends up being a family friend to the Noodle Gang who likes cold vegetarian noodles.

Then a Hero is Born happens. Wukong hadn't been there for that experience. He was "on a supply run" when DBK was freed, he was in a different town entirely. So he wasnt physically present when MK became the Monkie Kid. It doesn't mean he wasn't completely uninvolved, though. Wukong isn't stupid, he knows DBK would eventually be freed, and he also knew it was possible someone else would pick up his staff. Afterall the staff had chosen him, not the other way around. It isn't unfeasable to imagine it'd pick another now that it's owner has put it down. Plus it isn't entirely impossible to imagine whoever it is would seek him out, he was the last known person to wield the Ruyi Jingu Bang after all.

He left a series of visions and astral projected recordings in his cave. The first being triggered should anyone breach his cave, the vision MK first sees when he enters Water Curtain Cave, only it doesn't stop at Wukong just running off. The projection speaks.

Wukong's recording. Looking as laid back and amused as can be: If you're seeing this, congrats! You got past my unstoppable barrier! Unfortunately I'm afraid that you won't be able to find me, as I would have been long gone from this place and am retired! So if your here for an autograph I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave.

MK: WHAT!?

Wukong's recording, becoming serious and almost sad: If you are a friend, however. I want to say I'm sorry, but please don't go seeking me out. I am hanging up my crown and title as the Great Sage and the Monkey King, and I don't not wish to be disturbed. Over the centuries I've come to realize my whole life I've done nothing but hurt the people I care about, so... for everyone's sake... I'm disappearing so that I can't hurt anyone again. Ever. And if you find my staff, I'm sorry I can't be there to help you. But I'll give you a piece of advice I learned, believe in yourself. Even just a smidge can make all the difference.

MK is gobsmacked at the thought that Sun Wukong had just up and left like that, that he's been gone for a long time and won't be able to help. He decides if Wukong wasn't there to be a hero anymore, he'd do it for him. Just a smidge makes a difference, right?

And so the Monkie Kid becomes the Monkie Kid. Over the next season or so he struggles a lot with his powers, not having a proper mentor. See, unlike the rest of the Noodle Gang, since Wukong wasn't physically present when MK became the town hero he isn't ever explicitly told it's MK. MK literally just forgets to mention it to him, but he does his best to help where he can. Giving advice where he can.

Most everything else was done without his input, altho MK did find it weird that the Calabash seemed to think his mechanic friend was the Monkey King. It's the first hint he ever has that Wukong was not as he seemed, but he write it off as him simply thinking of Wukong as a mentor figure since he's always been supportive and gave helpful advice and the Calabash substituting the Monkey King for Wukong.

Even the Macaque episode was done mostly without his input, altho a certain black furred monkey was not happy that his attempt to lure Wukong out didn't work at all. Wukong had been busy with renovations to expand the shop at the time, thus where the "step into the strike" advice came from since MK had been helping Wukong with tearing down the wall.

The big reveal about Wukong being the Monkey King only happens during Revenge of the Spider Queen, when Wukong has no choice but to step in as the Monkey King. And believe me, he is absolutely not happy about the matter. He doesn't run away once everything is done and over, but it's very clear that he is upset by the way he avoids everyone and jsut sits curled up on the rooftop. When asked why he never told them, especially knowing MK was using his staff, he first points out MK had never explicitly told him about the whole Monkie Kid business so he had no reason to "know" anything about it. Then he jsut points to the destroyed city.

Wukong: This is what happens everytime the Monkey King appears. Destruction, death, and chaos. I didn't want to be that anymore.

This spun off from a convo on how Wukong likely felt abandoned by his mentor(s), beginning with Subodhi, the allies he made in Heaven before the war, Guanyin, and even Tripitaka when the monk passed.

Wukong, going by just "Wu", drifting along the centuries living a mortal life. Packs up and leaves whenever conflict or war breaks out, or when people start to get suspicious.

His number one rule? Never get attached. Never again...

He becomes a mechanic (a real "grease monkey" if you will). Although he loves medicine and herbalism, it simply has too many paper trails. Also cars are fun to tinker with and don't talk back most of the time. Less likely to make a connection.

He eventually returns to the village where he lay his Staff down for good. Just seemed right coming up to the 500 year anniversary of one of his biggest regrets. The village has since become a sprawling mega-city, open to humans and demons alike. There he plants his roots.

The biggest shock of his life comes when he sees his brothers faces and souls all over again. Three in new bodies, and one in the same. A certain fish demon had pretended he didnt recognise him, and Wu returned the courtesy - seems he wasn't the only one from the old days to retire.

He wonders if it was the right decision to settle in Megapolis...

Until the day Pigsy knocks on Wu's shop, breathless and carrying a wiggly baby human (?). His food truck had given up the ghost and the cook desperately needed repairs asap! Wu simply couldn't turn him away.

Through the conversation and the repair process, the wiggly baby maybe-human had stared at the monkey demon with absolute wonder. Wu isn't sure why until he overhears the cub blabble something into his father's ear.

MK: "Mon-ken." Pigsy, fond sigh: "No MK, that's not the Monkey King. He just looks like the drawing in your Baba's book." Wu, nearly drops the truck on himself: "Eh?" Pigsy, little embarassed: "Oh! Sorry. The piglet is convinced that you're the Monkey King. My partner researches mythology and stuff, and he fills the kid's head with all sorts of ideas." Wu, rolls out from under the truck with a cheeky smile: "It's no problem. You'd be surprised how often I get mistaken for him! Think its the fur." (*Wu shares a glance at MK, the baby human is still staring at him unconvinced. Wukong makes a unsubtle shush motion and winks - causing the little human to wiggle once more with joy. Pigsy sighs fondly once more, knowing that the boy will most definitely hold this moment dear throughout his childhood*)

With that one chance meeting, Wukong breaks his number one rule; Never get attached.

It's not his fault he fixed the truck so good that Pigsy became a loyal customer! And the pig demon began tipping him with free cold vegetarian noodles. And that the scholar at the shop and him started info-dumping together! And that the little human began seeing him as a beloved uncle...

Oh yeah. Wu is in too deep. Hopefully nothing too chaotic happens within the next few years or so >:3

You can say a certain monkey demon nearly had a heart attack when he learned that someone had finally taken up his Staff - and that it was his little buddy!! Also Sandy is back in the gang, so they can't pretend that they dont know each other for long.

Wu would *like* to step up and reveal himself as the Monkey King to MK - but he feels that would just make things so much worse. The kid's trust in him would shatter immediately. So it's better to leave his projections on FFM to do the physical training, and for Uncle Wu to provide him with much-needed emotional guidance.

Sharing this dm you sent in particular based on the "Macaque" episode cus it's a tasty piece of dialogue:

MK: "Is it really better to focus your power into every attack?" Wu: "Hm, that's a lonely way of thinking. And dangerous. Look at this hammer I use for example, it's strong but if I'm not careful an just bang away at metal, it'd hit hard but it'd cause more damage to myself and the people around me. But if I were to... step into the swing so to speak and not depend on the hammer but rather my own strength, it's easier to control and has less risk of hurting myself."

He had been doing renovations on the wall to expand his business at the time, thus why he was banging at the wall with a hammer.

Eventually the episode ends with Macaque calling desperately out to the battlefield - almost begging for his king to reappear. The shadow monkey is so occupied in his despair and anger that MK manages to slip free and reclaim his power.

MK promptly bullies Macaque into actually mentoring him. Macaque chuckles at the nerve of this kid, and agrees - but only as a truce until Wukong returns. After that, Macaque expects a rematch.

Unironically loving this AU

#lmk grease monkey au #sun wukong #lmk mk #qi xiaotian #lmk pigsy #lmk aus #lmk #lego monkie kid

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hairmetal666 · 2 years ago

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Eddie's supposed to be writing. The guys, they all agreed they'd each come to practice armed with two whole new songs they could pick from to add to their set list at the Hideout. And he's got his pen, and he's got his most recent trusty Composition Book, and all his lyrics are fucking bullshit about golden tanned skin and honeyed eyes and tracing constellations in freckles and moles, pathetic lines about being twisted in bed sheets, and the hopeless love he found himself in.

For the fifth time in an hour, he rips out the offending page, crunches it into a tight ball, and throws it across the room.

He can't write about Steve Harrington for the rest of his life; spend his nights aching for the boy who established himself as a fixture in Eddie's life and then just disappeared.

The worst of it--the very worst--is that Eddie knew better. Steve was never his, not in any real way, no matter how many times they fucked. He's Steve Harrington. Straightest guy in Hawkins. Popular. Rich. Whole fucking life laid out for him on a silver platter. And Eddie fell for him. It's the Munson curse, he supposes; always wanting what you can't have.

It started the way these things usually do, "got any weed?" and "come back to my place, Harrington" and "I got this stupid job at the mall, meet me there?" and lying "hey, guys, can't make band practice, gotta help Uncle Wayne" and "Munson, I really want--can I kiss you?"

In every other fantasy Eddie's ever had, it ends there. Steve gets his kiss and they never see each other again. But Steve Harrington--he's full of surprises. It catches Eddie off guard, makes him want, makes him trust. Because it's not just kisses. It's hands and mouths and "anything you want, Eddie. Let me make you feel good."

Maybe it wouldn't have hit so hard--maybe Eddie could've stopped from falling--if Steve hadn't been so good. Bitchy, sure, but genuine and kind. Had this whole gaggle of junior high kids he babysat, like what the fuck. Would hang out with Wayne and shoot the shit about whatever sports nonsense was on tv. Harrington never was as mean, as spoiled, as superficial as Eddie suspected.

Then Starcourt. That's when it all changes. Steve stops coming around then, in the aftermath. It hurts, but Eddie tells himself it's for the best. Now, he knows it would have been.

Two weeks with no contact, and Steve shows up at his door in the middle of the night. Eddie winces at the healing bruises and cuts on his face, can't imagine how much worse they were to start. He steps aside, lets Steve in, plans to say that he can't be whatever they are anymore.

Steve kisses him. It's a hot, needy thing, wild with teeth and tongue, nothing like before. Eddie is helpless to it, helpless to the way Steve grinds against him, already hard. He should slow it down, check-in that Steve is in the right headspace for this, but Steve is moaning low in his throat and Eddie can't think.

They're in Eddie's bed and Steve says, "fuck me, Eddie?" and Eddie says "are you sure" because he can't stop himself. Steve rolls his eyes (beautifuly bitchy), says, "I need to feel you inside me, baby."

How can Eddie say no?

Eddie's never done this before, but it doesn't matter. It's everything--Steve is everything--he could ask for.

The next morning, he expects Steve to be gone. Thinks they'll never see each other again. But he finds Steve in the kitchen, in his boxers and Eddie's Iron Maiden shirt, making eggs and talking to Wayne like it's the most normal thing in the world.

The next month and a half are the best of Eddie's life. He and Steve spend more time together than they do apart. Nights at Eddie's trailer, in Eddie's bed. Days lounging at the Harrington pool and driving around the nothing that surrounds Hawkins. Sometimes they'll stop in the middle of nowhere, climb on top of the van, and just--be. Steve takes his shirt off, and Eddie traces their names in the sun-soaked freckles, thinking maybe he really gets to have this, have Steve.

It ends as quickly as it started. One morning in September, Steve is cupping Eddie's neck, pulling him in for a goodbye kiss, saying, "sorry, baby, gotta get home for my parents. I'll see you later tonight, yeah?"

Except Eddie doesn't. Eddie doesn't see Steve that night, or the night after, or the night after that. He stops coming around and all Eddie is left with is a broken heart and these piss poor excuses for songs.

He rips out the latest page, waxing lyrical about the wonders of August, and time slipping away, and the boy he'll never forget. Crumples it into a ball and bats it into a pile of junk accumulated in the corner of his room.

Eddie needs a break.

He flies into the living room, snatches up his keys from the floor by the coffee table, and flees his house and all those memories of Steve. It's not like he has anywhere specific to go, so he drives around town, with his windows down and his music up.

His tires screech as he rounds the corner to the video store and arcade. He's not planning on stopping, but honestly, maybe a few rounds of Space Invaders is exactly what he needs.

The van hasn't even come to a stop in the parking spot when his eyes fall on Steve Harrington. He's standing in the middle of the parking lot surrounded by a gang of kids (including some of Eddie's new little sheepies) and Robin Buckley. Steve wears a sunny yellow sweatshirt, tight jeans, and his hair is perfectly coifed, falling in an elegant wave. His hands are on his hips, mouth and brows pinched stern. He's gorgeous, perfect.

It's an assault, an attack, Eddie's entire body shakes as the months they spent together crash over him. He has the van in reverse before he consciously thinks to do so, flooring it out of the space hard enough to burn rubber.

The noise, the speed, it draws the entire group's attention to him.

His eyes meet Steve's.

Time stops and so does he, idling in the middle of the parking lot. For a second, one moment in time, Steve's face falls. His mouth loses that grumpy pinch, his eyebrows drop, his beauty transformed by grief, by fucking longing.

Steve takes a step forward, and Eddie hits the gas, van screaming out of the parking lot. He watches the group shrink in his rearview mirror, sure that he imagined the sorrow in Steve's face, anyway.

They're nothing to each other.

Never were.

By popular request: Part Two

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #oneshot #ficlet #angst #no happy ending #august #summer romance #heartbreak #mutual pining #based on a taylor swift song #i probably went overboard with the references to the lyrics #i'm not sorry #it's about the longing #august slipped away into a moment in time #whatever you do don't think about how the next time they see each other is Eddie pinning Steve to the wall in the boat house

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inside-lees-mind · 1 year ago

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I've been so obsessed with Rock Lee for the last few months after getting into Naruto and I'm so glad someone's taking requests for my favourite ninja! If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to see you write Rock Lee helping reader stretch before a work out but since reader isn't really flexible or is just not all that active, they make a lot of, ahem, suggestive noises while stretching. Love your work, can't wait to see more!!

Rock Lee Helping Reader Stretch

Warnings: Suggestive, borderline NSFW. It’s implied.

Basically: You make noises while stretching that Rock Lee’s horny brain can’t ignore.

Recently, your joints and muscles have been killing you. Maybe your half ass stretching routine wasn’t doing the trick, you figured. Even though you knew change had to happen, you just didn’t know how to stretch your muscles out properly for the extensive training you do with Lee.

Usually he shows up earlier than you, so you don’t see him stretching, but you know he’s keen on making sure he stretches properly so he’s probably stretching for a while beforehand. So you decide to show up 40 minutes before you usually would, seeing him just now setting up to stretch and warmup.

He’d clearly been out jogging prior to this. And in your mind, you know he’s done a runners stretch so isn’t that enough? Why does he need to stretch again? (Him and Gai would both scream at you for this way of thinking)

“Hi Lee.” You greet him with a small smile, already exhausted from the training you haven’t even started just by looking at his energetic, muscular self. Somewhere in your mind, you’ve managed to convince yourself that you’re winded from the walk to the training grounds, and that Lee is not the reason your breath catches in your throat.

You’ve seen him like this for so long, I mean, you’re on the same team as him now. The only 4 person squad, 5 if you count Gai sensei. You’re so close to all of them, and that’s been normal. Perfectly normal. But recently, your eyes linger on Lee just a little too long.

“Oh hey y/n! I didn’t see you there!” He smiles, the white of his teeth flashing at you in the sun line. Sometimes you wonder how he’s so positive, but then again, you don’t mind it so much anymore. He literally glows though, you swear on it.

“Can I ask you a favor?” You ask, suddenly a little nervous. Your palms are sweating. You try to ignore that.

“Of course! What is it that you want to ask?” He asks, enthusiastically. His smile is almost infectious.

“My joints and muscles ‘n shit are killing me. Can you help me stretch? I don’t know what I’m doing wrong…” You move your neck like you’re trying to get out a knot or something.

Lee agrees, and decides to start simple. He has you put your arms behind your back, your hands joined together, and tells you to stretch them back as far as you can. Then do the same with the front.

After that, he has you do a similar thing with your hands joined over your head before moving down to the ground to stretch out your upper body best. Then your shoulders, elbows, and neck all separately. Then he has you get on the ground to stretch out your back.

And maybe he didn’t think too much about the position, but have you stretch your back up and lower yourself down also meant your ass was up in the air as you arched your back. You realize how embarassing the position is, and what you don’t notice is the way his cheeks flush and he pries his eyes away from your body.

“U-uh great! Let’s do legs!” He says rather quickly, helping you to get into as low of a splits position that you can, before having you lean forward. To get the best stretch, he pushes down on your body a tiny bit. And before you can stop yourself, you let out a moan.

His hands still against your back, and your eyes go wide as you freeze too. Soon you feel him move away, telling you to switch sides. And he repeats the same thing on this side. Much to your disdain, an even louder moan accidentally slips from your mouth. Curse yourself for not being able to be quiet at a time like this.

When you finally sit back up, he’s staring at you. You can’t help but gulp down any salvia you had in your mouth. Then you notice the way his hands are covering the front of his pants. When he notices where your eyes shifted, his blush intensifies and he starts stammering.

“I-I am so sorry! I didn’t mean— you were just—“ you cut his rambling off with a kiss, crawling over closer to him. You situate yourself on his lap, his hands darting out for your hips. The kiss doesn’t break until you’re both desperate for more air than you can get with your mouths connected. Before your mutual panting even halts, he smashes his lips back onto your desperately. And at this point, he’s boldly getting handsy.

You can feel the desperation and lust through his finger tips and they find their way around your body. Any curve, dip, anything, he feels for it. And soon he’s laying back on the grass, panting as a string of saliva connects the both of you even as you part.

The look in his eyes told you that what was about to happen at these training grounds should not happen at the training grounds. Your eyes told him you didn’t care the least about that, however.

#rock lee x reader #rock lee smut #Lee x reader #Naruto x reader #naruto shippuden x reader #naruto shippuden #rock lee naruto #naruto rock lee #naruto lee #naruto Shippuden Lee #rock lee shippuden #rock lee x you #rock lee #Naruto smut

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folkwhoreberry · 2 months ago

Note

hello can I request for a luke fic where he tries to convince reader to join him to help kronos?

Stars Unaligned

luke castellan x reader

or... the one where love was left behind

word count : 1.2k

warning : angst, gods shading, I don’t want to spoil it!!, english is not my first language!!!

on the radio : you’re losing me by taylor swift

🗡️🪽

the sun was setting on camp half-blood and below the horizon, painting the sky with soft hues of orange and pink. it was one of those nights, where the air was warm, and everything was perfect. you were on the beach, your hands intertwined with luke's, as the waves gently lapped at the shore. times like these were rare with the chaos that went on around camp, but you cherished every last one of them.

luke had always been your pillar of strength - dependable, rocklike, and a person you believed in more than anyone else. you've been dating for almost a year now, and still, he possessed this knack for making you feel secure. but things weren't the same lately. you sensed the stiffness in his shoulders, the distance that had developed between you, and the fact that he seemed to be in another world.

he squeezed his fingers around your hand a bit tighter, pulling you back to reality.

"you've not said much today," you muttered, gazing at him. "something wrong?"

luke didn't turn to look at you at first. instead, he stared out towards the horizon, his jaw clenched. "yeah, there's something I need to talk to you about."

the way he said it made your stomach fall. you knew this was happening. you had felt it for days now, the pressure growing between you two.

"okay," you replied, your voice uncertain. "what's going on?"

luke freed your hand, scrubbing his dirty blonde hair. "I’ve been thinking." he said, "about everything. about the gods, about camp, about all this." he paused, finally looking up to face you. there was a storm brewing in his blue eyes, something dark and ravenous.

"you're scaring me, luke," you panted.

he sighed, his face in anguish. "I can't pretend anymore. the gods, they don't care. they use us, like we're nothing. pawns in their games."

you had heard this from him before - his anger against the gods, the resentment he carried. but this time, there was something else. something darker.

"luke…" you began to say, but he stopped you.

“no, listen to me." his voice was unyielding, almost desperate. "I've found a way to make things change. to right things. kronos - he's the answer. he's powerful, more powerful than the other gods, and he promised to change everything. we can be free. we don't have to be their tools anymore."

your heart racing, cold fear gripping your chest. "what are you talking about?

“join me." his hand extended for yours again, but you pulled back this time. "we can do it together. you and me. we don't have to live by their rules anymore. we can be something different. we can be free."

you jumped up quickly, your voice shaking. "are you being serious right now? you want me to join kronos? he's evil, luke. you know that. he'll ruin everything."

luke stood also, rage in his eyes. "you don't understand! you don't realize how messed up this world is! the gods don't care about us, about any of us demigods! they leave us to battle their wars and die for them, and for what? they'll never change!"

"I do understand," you barked, your voice increasing in volume. "I know the gods aren't flawless, but this - what you're doing - it's not the way. kronos isn't going to fix it. he's going to ruin it."

"how do you mean?" luke thundered, stepping closer to you, his face just inches from yours. "after all we've been through, after everything I’ve endured, you're still going to side with them? with the gods who've done nothing for us?"

tears had burned in your eyes, but you would not let them fall. "this isn't you, luke. this isn't the boy I fell in love with. you're angry, and I get it, but this… this is wrong."

he laughed cruelly, his head shaking. "maybe you never really knew me then."

the words hit you in the gut, and for a moment, you couldn't breathe. "how can you say that? how can you leave it all behind for him? for kronos?"

luke's eyes flashed soft for a moment, a glimpse of the boy you knew so well. but then, quicker than that, the hardness returned. "I'm doing this for us. for everyone. can't you see that?"

“no," you said to him, your voice shaking. "you're doing this for yourself. because you hurt and angry and you think that this is the only way out. but it isn't, luke. you're making a huge mistake."

he glared at you, his jaw clenched, his fists on his hips. "so, what? you just going to let me go?

you swallowed hard, your heart shattering with every sentence. "if you do this, if you join with kronos, then yeah. I won't go with you down this path, luke. I can’t."

his face twisted in anger, his voice rising again. "you're actually going to choose them over me?"

"this isn't taking sides!" you yelled, finally letting the tears fall. "this is you. you're not thinking! you're letting your anger spoil all that is good in your life. we are good, luke. but you are losing us."

"maybe it was never that good anyway," he bit out, the tone cold and biting.

those words slice like knives, sharper than anything else. you breathed a nervous breath and tried to steady yourself, but it didn't help. "you don't mean that."

"maybe I do," he answered, cracking just enough so you could hear the pain beneath.

the silence between you was deafening, the heavy weight of it all that was weighing you down both. you looked at him, the boy you loved, the boy to whom you had sacrificed every last thing, and you knew this was it. he had already come to his decision.

"I won't be with you if you do that," you spoke just above a whisper.

luke's eyes filled with something you couldn't quite put your finger on - regret, maybe, or sadness - but it was too late already. "I have to do this."

you shook your head, a sob shuddering through your lips. "no, you don't. you don't have to do this, luke. you can come back. we can fix this."

but he was already turning away, already stepping back. "I'm sorry."

"don't," you begged, crying the tears down your face. "please, don't do this."

you didn't get a response, though, just a shaking of his head and turning away from you. "goodbye."

and then he was gone, leaving you standing on the beach, broken and by yourself.

you collapsed to your knees, sobs rocking through your body as waves crashed against the shore. it wasn't supposed to be like this. you were supposed to have more time, supposed to spend a future. but now that was gone.

you stayed there, crying until the sun had dipped below the horizon, until the sky had darkened and stars had begun to twinkle. but nothing was relevant. nothing was important anymore.

you had lost him.

and worse yet, you weren't even sure if you would ever have him again.

and as much as it hurt, it’s the truth, unfortunately.

————————————————————————————

a/n : fourth day of my period is the perfect day to write angst especially when I’ve fought with all my friends (internally that don’t know I’m mad at them lol) today haha 💔💔

#folkwhoreberry #pjo #pjo x reader #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #x reader

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deareststars · 2 months ago

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but you want what I can't give to you (james wilson x reader)

title taken from bite the hand by boygenius, continued under the cut. (involves cheating, general house meanness, etc.)

i'll eventually combine all of these one-shots into a large work, but this is the (angst) continuation of the other one-shot i had posted a few days ago!

The weight of realization doesn’t hit you like the shoe that House said that it would. It doesn’t leave you in a gasp of shock, or even in the form of tears rolling down your face. It leaves your mouth as nothing more than a quiet, “Oh.”

You’re glad you’re the only one in the locker room. It gives you the grace to sit down on the bench, your legs weak underneath you. You stare up at the still-open locker door. You feel like you’re having an out-of-body experience—and you don’t know why you’re so surprised.

After all, it’s something that you should have seen coming.

You stare down at the simple, black, ballpoint pen in your hands. All of it is generic, save for the scuffing of the metal clip and the golden center band. This is Wilson’s pen, the one that he uses for everything. You can see it in the stationery cup on his desk, or peeking out from his white coat.

He told you that he had misplaced it. He probably did. It just wasn’t somewhere you could have foreseen.

You set the pen down on the bench next to you and lean forward, gazing emptily at the ground between your feet. It was a harmless request from a girl at the nurse’s station; she had forgotten her jacket and had asked you to grab it from her locker, since she needed to finish charting.

You should have never said yes. You likely would have found out eventually. The signs have been there for weeks, ever since the first night that Wilson said guiltily that he wouldn’t have time to see you at his apartment after the two of you got off work that day. And then it was every other day, and soon you only saw him when he deigned to have lunch with you. But you were so blinded by your determination to make things last.

And maybe, the longer you had gone without knowing, the more it would have hurt. But the realization could have come years after everyone’s warnings stopped, after House’s blunt criticisms and Cameron’s gentle reminders faded into nothingness. You could have been happy, and later let surprise backhand you across the face to save you from the embarrassment now doing so instead.

You grasp the pen tightly. What you would do now, to have the anger and vitriol to bend it in half. Instead, you think back to House’s words. “People never change,” you echo under your breath with a bitter smile.

You contemplate pretending that you had never known. All you had to do was go home to Wilson and say that you had found his pen on the ground. Or, better yet, have your own petty revenge and hide it somewhere so he would never see it again. If only losing a pen hurt as much as you do now, rather than being a minor inconvenience. But you could keep playing this charade, and if Wilson had yet to say anything, you’re certain he would have no qualms doing the same.

But, again, you’ve known this whole time that something was wrong. And with what you know now, how could you keep going through the motions when you don’t have blind affection as an excuse anymore?

That’s how you find yourself standing there in Wilson’s apartment, long after the sun has set. He looks up from a book, and the corners of his lips curl into that charming smile. He gets up from the sofa, opening his mouth to say something.

Without a word, you hold the pen out to him. “Missing something?”

His gaze drops to the pen. His mouth opens and closes. “I—”

“It’s been gone for a few weeks now,” you continue. “But, funnily enough, I found it.”

He clears his throat. “Where?”

You stay quiet until he finally meets your gaze. And you can tell: he knows that you know. He shoves his hands into his pockets, and the air grows unbearably tense.

You wait for him to say something. Anything that would tell you: yes, it really is worth it to ache on someone else’s behalf. That your nonsense, spouting about the natural human condition, had true anecdotal evidence. Your own blood in your hands didn’t have to be moronic or self-defeating; if he said it just the right way, you could forgive him. You could point and laugh in House’s face, proud that you had bet on the winning dog this time.

But instead, he squeezes his eyes shut. He draws a hand out from his pocket to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“It’s not—” He cuts himself off.

It’s not what you think.

You both know that's bullshit.

“I’m sorry,” he says instead.

It’s genuine. But not the way you want it. Not one from love, or from anger at himself. Not even one to cover his ass, which you would’ve preferred. At least then you could address him with the anger that he deserved.

It’s an apology of guilt. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t change for you.”

Your heart climbs to your throat. All you can choke out is a quiet, “House was right.”

He doesn’t move from his spot. You breeze through his apartment, thankful that you had never left more than a change of clothes and some travel-sized toiletries here. Within the span of a few moments, you’re back at the door, turned away from him.

You grab your keys and fumble with the key ring. Locating Wilson’s spare, the one he had given you, you throw it at him. He catches it in one hand; the moment it makes contact, it’s as if reality catches up to him.

“W-Wait, you can’t just leave,” he sputters. “It’s…late.”

“I would rather walk home in the dark and get hit by a car than be here with you right now,” you snap back, and he flinches.

You wrench open the door. Sentences and phrases flood your mind, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of saying anything more. Instead, the door slams shut behind you, and you don’t look back.

You're unsure where to go. Your own home has memories, and you don't know if you can be alone with your thoughts right now. The hospital is quite a drive. You can't stomach another person's pity right now.

But there is one person who likely won't give you that.

You question the integrity of your decision even as you walk to your car. Regardless, on autopilot, you find yourself knocking at a familiar door.

"I'm naked right now! Don't wanna see, you should definitely go away!"

"It beats walking back home right now," you reply loudly.

There's a moment of silence (you wonder if you've managed to surprise him) before a shuffling gait approaches the door. It swings open, revealing a disheveled and thankfully fully-clothed House.

“Wow, you look pitiful.”

You shake your head. “House, please.”

He barely steps aside, but it’s enough room for you to squeeze past him. “The honeymoon phase finally ended? I feel like ‘I told you so’ is an appropriate statement, but you’re probably not here for me to state the obvious.”

You don't bother asking how he knew why you're there. Instead, you sit down on his couch and dump your bag next to you. “Whiskey.”

“You don’t have it at your place?” he asks with a raised eyebrow. “So you come all the way here to steal some of mine?”

“Yours is better. Plus, I don’t drink.”

He snorts. “We all say that until we do.” He meanders over to his whiskey collection, picks one that’s half-full, and pours it into a rocks glass. You accept it and hold it up to him in mock gratitude, then knock back half of it. The burning fills your throat and sears all the way down, but it takes your mind off the psychological pain.

You lean your head back into the sofa. “Should I tell you that you were right now? Or do you want me to wait?”

“Delayed or immediate gratification?” he muses. He takes a seat next to you, having poured his own glass. “Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to immediate gratification.”

“You were right.” You take another sip, set the glass down, and press the heels of your palms into your eyes. You would never in a million years cry in front of House, but you do feel yourself getting close to it now that the adrenaline of finding out about Wilson's infidelity is starting to wear off. "I found his stupid black pen in a nurse's locker. I thought he might've tried to deny it, but he didn't. He just...apologized."

"And that made it all better?"

You drop your hands into your lap, but keep staring up at the ceiling. "Of course not. He wasn't apologizing because he was sorry for cheating."

He hums thoughtfully. "That's my boy. I give him one point for not saying things he doesn't mean. And from you, my friend, I take away one point because you go date him, then come crying to me because he couldn’t keep it in his pants, just like I told you he would. You’re a bad psychologist, but at least you’re not a bad researcher. Always have to test and observe evidence for yourself.”

You huff out a derisive laugh. “Yeah. There’s the silver lining of the situation I was looking for.”

“Thankfully, I won’t have to follow through on our shovel talk. It was a good one, I’ll give myself that, but it would’ve been such a waste of time.”

There’s something in his voice. You look over at him. He’s impassive as always (if you didn’t know him so well, the boredom would almost be insulting). One hand rests on top of his bad leg, but the other digs its fingers into the couch cushions.

Despite everything, you can’t help but smile faintly. You grab your glass again and swirl the liquid around. “True. You have so many better things to do than follow me around to the ends of the Earth.”

“Plus, it would’ve been a waste of a perfectly good cane.” He grabs said cane from the side of the couch and inspects the shaft. “I mean, I wouldn’t have to break it to break your shins. But maybe, in our hypothetical, you would have started wearing shin guards. Those would definitely scuff the wood.”

It’s surreal, discussing the logistics of such a bizarre thought problem, but it’s ironically grounding at the same time. You grow more relaxed, sinking into the couch; and eventually, as you take over the conversation, you don’t miss that House listens to everything you have to say.

#reader insert #x reader #gregory house #house md #james wilson #one shot #tw cheating

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seobnity · 12 days ago

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⚉ characters: intak x reader

⚉ wc: 1,1k

⚉ genre: angst, slight romance(?), drama, hurt/no comfort, tragedy

⚉ theme: boyfriend!intak, partner!reader

⚉ warnings: grief, character injury, coma, death briefly mentioned, implied death, heavy topics, hospital setting

Masterlist ┋ sleeping sun <-

⚉ a/n: welcome or welcome back! This is a second part for the story sleeping sun (I think it would be better if you read the previous part first to understand more of the story) that @inaahhhpr3ttyb0i asked for—sadly, I couldn’t tag you properly, I am sorry! I really hope you like this as much as the first part ♡ For this story, once again, I used some of the lyrics from a Nightwish song called While Your Lips Are Still Red (yes, I even named the story after it, again <3). If you can find the lyrics, you are amazing! Also thank you so much for reading, leaving a heart or even reblogging - it means a lot to me! If you see any mistakes, please feel free to kindly correct me ♡

Another day, another visit (more just like a returning back) to the hospital that seemed to get darker with each visit. But that was only in your head because of the many trips you had made to the hospital in the past few months.

Intak was without any change, which was a good thing on one side because he didn’t get worse, and that was great! But, on the other hand, he also didn’t get better. His condition was still the same—just a body lying on a hospital bed, looking even more lifeless as time passed by.

It was now even harder to see him like this, but it never stopped you from coming to pay him a visit. You were basically living in the hospital at this point, going home for just two to three hours at most to take a shower and grab some food your mom made. Apparently, you couldn’t live off premade sandwiches sold in the hospital's buffet—your mom's words. The fear that something might happen while you weren’t with him was very strong, and even leaving his side for those few hours was truly hard.

Of course, your parents didn’t like this. They hated to see their child looking so broken and without the lively spark in their eyes. Still, your father was more understanding than your mother. After the first few months passed, she started having not-so-sneaky talks with you about how a young heart is meant for love, not heartache, and that you should move on. Let him go, grieve a little, but leave this, leave Intak, behind in the past.

Deep down you know that she is just trying to protect you from the pain and doesn’t mean any harm but you couldn’t do such a thing; you weren’t a monster. You argued back every time, saying that you would never leave Intak's side—not until he woke up, and not even then—because you knew he would need all the help, love, and support that only his family, and especially you, could give him. Just the thought of what he would think if he woke up and you weren’t there for him anymore made you sick to your stomach.

"Mom is persuading me to finally send my university application so I could... live my life again." You started to talk to Intak, just like you always did. You usually tried to keep the topic lighthearted, but sometimes there were moments you had to pour your heart out. "But I can't. I just... can't."

If everything was normal and Intak was conscious, he would listen to your words and your problems while holding your hand and patiently waiting for you to vent it all out of your body. When you'd be done, he would first wipe your tears, if there happened to be any, and then kissed your cheek. Then the other, your forehead, the tip of your nose, and lastly, your lips.

After that, he would whisper sweet little words made for silence, meant only for your ears to hear. Not giving you any space to talk back on his words; that's not what they were meant for. But nothing is normal, and Intak is still silently resting on this damned hospital bed, hooked to too many different beeping machines that are still keeping him alive.

You looked up at him to see his face. It had started to change a little—his skin was pale from not being in the sun for so long, and the chubbiness in his cheeks was now gone too because he obviously couldn’t eat proper food. The necessary nutrients given to him by infusion were only enough for the important functions his body needed. But his lips had not lost their color—a small sign that there still might be a hope.

"I can't leave you," you said, your voice slightly above a whisper because of the lump that formed in your throat due to the sadness that consumed you and didn’t seem like it would leave soon. Not until Intak was awake. "I won't leave you." You bit your lip to suppress a sob.

With a small sigh that escaped your lips, you looked up and blinked a few times to try to make the tears go away. While you were doing that, you still held Intak's hand between yours to somehow feel connected to him; it was at least something, even if it wasn’t much.

Oh, how you missed his love. Missed all the moments and memories full of love while the night was still young and hid the withering dawn, his touch sweet and gentle. You missed it all. You missed him.

"I wish I could kiss your lips one more time while they're still red." A few tears escaped your eyes and rolled down your face, so you closed your eyes in a false hope that it would stop them. "Just once more, please." You squeezed his hand in yours in a desperate manner.

You were sitting by his bed, still holding on to his hand like it was your lifeline, for a few more minutes to compose yourself. You didn’t want to end up emotional on every visit; though, you were one step away from another failure.

Once you opened your eyes again, your gaze fell to your hands holding his. You stroked his hand gently with your thumb to show him you were still there with him, and after that, you carefully placed it back on the bed so you wouldn’t disturb him anymore and just let him rest.

As you were about to move your left hand from his, you suddenly felt some kind of pressure. A very light pressure that you almost missed. At first, you thought you had just brushed your hand against something attached to Intak's hand, but when you felt it for the second time, you brushed that thought away because this time, you hadn’t moved your hand—it couldn’t be that.

You waited to see if you could feel it again, but nothing happened anymore, and you finally moved your hand away from his. It was probably all just in your head. But still, there was this one thought that planted a seed in the back of your mind. A thought telling you that maybe, just maybe, it had been Intak.

Even if you wanted to believe it was true, you didn’t let that thought cloud your mind because you knew it would hurt much more if it turned out to be just your imagination. You knew his mother would believe you, but at the same time, you didn’t want to spread this—possibly false—hope. It was enough that you carried it in your own mind, the ghost touch of your lover.

"Was it you, Intak?" you suddenly asked him, moving your gaze from his hand to his face. "I want to think it was, but... it wasn’t, hm?" Fresh tears welled up in your eyes, and you decided you won't talk anymore, even if the only listener was the silence of the hospital room with the machines still beeping.

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sprout-fics · 3 months ago

Text

Charles rested Arthur atop a mountain, facing towards the western sun, and tried to forgive himself for not being there sooner. In the months that followed, he traveled aimlessly, once more trying to find the place where he belonged in the absence of his dearest friend.

In the dim lantern light of a wayward caravan of settlers, Charles finds himself in the company of an old woman with glassy eyes and wrinkled hands. She lays her palm upon his weary shoulder and tells him of her God- of how the soul stays on earth for 100 days before finally coming to rest amongst the stars.

Staring up at the night sky, Charles tries to count the days backwards, his chest hollow and heart filled with grief. When he closes his eyes at last he dreams of endless plains, of waving prairie grass and the resplendent setting sun.

and somehow, it's there that he finds Arthur.

He's younger than Charles remembers him- his cheeks full of color and eyes bright. The picture of health at the prime of his life, strong and steadfast and so vibrant it almost hurts Charles' eyes to look at him. Arthur greets him with a smile so warm it melts the frigid grief in Charles' soul. They sit together, watching the setting sun and talking as old friends do- with laughter and grins and jokes and joy.

It's not real, Charles knows. and he can tell from Arthur's eyes he knows the same. Just a moment in time, a single breath in the grand expanse of both their lives spent in peace.

"I came back for you." Charles whispers, toying with a long stalk of grass between calloused fingers. "I was too late. I buried you where you wanted." He doesn't speak of how he gathered Arthur's decaying, rotting flesh to him and wept, doesn't speak of how he held his bones and whispered apologies until his voice was hoarse.

Arthur nods, as if he knew this already. His eyes are distant, softer now.

"It wouldn't have changed anything." He speaks quietly. A forgiveness, something Charles doesn't deserve.

"You wouldn't have been alone." Charles murmurs, the shredded blades of grass blown from his hand into the orange sky.

Arthur says nothing to that, eyes resting on the sunset. Charles looks at him, at the way his eyes catch the light, at the color on his cheeks and the shadow the brim of his hat casts across his features.

"I wish I had-" Charles starts suddenly, and stops. Words burn at the back of his throat, futile and desperate and unable to be fulfilled.

I wish I said I loved you. I wish you would have come with me. I wish I didn't waste so much time thinking about something I could never have when it was in front of me all along.

Arthur rests a hand on Charles' knee, and it's not until that moment that Charles realizes his cheeks are slick with tears. So much wasted time, so many things he could have done differently, and in the end Charles felt as much grief for himself as he did for the man that left too soon.

"I wouldn't have done anything differently." Arthur murmurs. "Maybe if I'd known how'd it end, but..." He trails off, and the wind sweeps through Charles' hair, a whisper of grace across his skin.

"Only thing I'd have changed is telling you how I felt."

Charles blinks, and Arthur isn't beside him anymore, standing instead a ways away from him, backlit by the sunset. Charles stands, tries to follow him, but his feet don't carry him any further.

"I loved you, Charles." Arthur tells him. "Still do. Always will."

Don't go. Stay, just a little longer, even if it's not real.

"Please." Charles whispers, a weak noise clinging to the back of his throat.

"We can't change what's done." Arthur speaks. "Best thing we can do is move on."

How? Charles wants to ask as the image of Arthur wavers before him. I never belonged anywhere except with you.

In this dream between dreams Charles feels a hands against his face, tracing a path across his cheek. The sky burns sienna, sparrows fly towards the setting sun and the grass ripples against his knees.

"Go." His dearest friend tells him. "Go live your life Charles, and stop livin' mine."

Look for me in the glades, in the forests. You'll find me in the trees and sky.

Charles reaches for Arthur, and catches his arms around him for just a moment before he's gone. He can feel the shape of him- sturdy, unyielding- can feel the sigh he breaths against his skin. The wind deafens in his ears, and Charles wakes with Arthur's name upon his lips.

----

Inspired by @whoslinger's amazing Arthur piece

#charles x arthur #arthur x charles #charthur #charles smith #arthur morgan #rdr2

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starryeyedjanai · 11 months ago

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counting the days till i'm coming home

steddie | explicit | read on ao3 chapter 1 | chapter 2

Eddie gets up properly after laying there for a little while, thoughts still firmly placed on Steve.

He doesn't know what it is about him—he’s only met him once, and briefly. But he can't get him off his mind.

He thinks about going back to the lake, but feels like that’d be weird and a little desperate—jerking off thinking about him is one thing, but showing up day after day hoping to get a glimpse of him feels pathetic.

He did say he’d be at the lake a lot this summer, but Eddie still doesn't end up going back to the lake for another two weeks.

He and his band practice in the meantime, with little else to do in Hawkins over the summer. There’s supposed to be a new mall being built, but it’s not opening until next year, so they’re all stuck doing the same shit they always do during the summer—going to band practice, going to Skull Rock to smoke if they don't want to cram into Eddie’s living room, hanging out at Gareth’s house to watch movies.

It’s all the same shit and Eddie can feel himself sinking and drowning in the mundanity of it. Nothing ever changes around here.

Maybe that’s why he goes back to the lake.

Maybe it’s because he’s dreamed of Steve every night since meeting him, that same cryptic I’ll find you repeating over and over and over until Eddie can't take it anymore.

So he finds himself at the edge of the lake again, in his swim trunks and a loose shirt, hoping to see Steve again.

It’s right after dusk, the sun just having set, so he doesn't know what he expects, if he expects Steve to still be here if he came here at all today.

But being out in the open during the day felt scarier than this, he thinks, as he lifts his shirt over his head and places it on the ground beside him.

There’s no one here—he can't hear the sound of anyone in the water, and he can barely see anything at all, the moon hidden by the clouds right now.

But Steve said he’d find him.

And somehow Eddie believes it.

Something deep inside him believes that if he dives into the water, Steve will hear it and come looking for him.

So he does.

The water is cold as he dives headfirst into the water. When he comes up, the sound of the water sloshing is loud in his ears, almost as loud as the blood rushing past his ears as he remembers the whispers about a lake monster.

Some part of him always believed it, even though he’s never seen it, even though it’s impossible. So his heart beating this fast betrays his nerves about it somehow being true.

But Steve was here, and Eddie’s assuming he didn't get gobbled up by a monster.

Now that he’s in the lake though, he doesn't know what to do.

He treads water for a minute before swimming further out. He’s never been the most confident swimmer, though he did start taking swimming lessons at his old middle school because they were mandatory, but he moved out here to live with his uncle in the middle of the school year, so his lessons were incomplete.

And here in Hawkins, there aren't really many places to swim with a supposedly monster filled lake being one of the only bodies of water around.

But he can tread water and keep himself above the surface so that’s all that matters, he supposes.

He stops in the center of the lake and wonders what the hell he’s doing.

Did he really think Steve would hear a splash in the water from whichever one of these houses is his parent’s lake house and come join him? Did he really think he’d lose his virginity tonight, out here in the water with no protection like an idiot?

He really didn't think this through.

And with the temperature dropping and no sun shining on him to keep him warm, goosebumps prickle across his skin as he treads water in the center of the lake.

This was such a stupid idea.

He starts back for the docks and gets about halfway before something wraps around his ankle and calf and yanks him under the surface of the water.

His scream is muffled by the water, but whatever’s grabbing him lets go and he surfaces, breathing heavy and whipping around to find the culprit.

Steve's head pops up in front of him and Eddie blows out a harsh breath before wading closer and smacking him on the shoulder.

“You asshole!” he says, his voice more shaky than he’d like to admit. He must have had both hands around his leg because it felt like something was snaking up his leg. His thoughts of the lake monster must have really spooked him.

“Sorry,” Steve says, but his smile says otherwise. “You were leaving and I didn't want you to go.”

“So you thought you’d pull me under the water like a maniac? Where did you even come from?” he asks, trying to get his heart hate under control.

Steve shrugs and says, “I told you I’m always here.”

Something niggles in the back of his mind, the same way it did when Steve said he’d find Eddie if he ever came into the water. The goosebumps return to his skin as the words wash over him.

“When you say you’re always here,” Eddie says in a slow voice, but he can't get any more words out because he realizes how stupid he sounds.

There’s no way.

Steve is so close now, and Eddie can see the way the moonlight reflects off his skin. There’s something eerie about it, the way it glitters almost.

Eddie wades backward, putting more space between them, trying to aim for casual as he kicks his feet, knowing Steve could out-swim him no contest.

“You told me about a monster in the lake,” Steve says and Eddie nods, captivated by the lull of Steve's voice.

“And you said nothing had ever happened when you were in the water,” Eddie says, his heart in his throat.

There’s no fucking way.

The smile on Steve's face feels wicked almost. Eddie's hands clench into fists under the water.

“I told you nothing happened to me,” Steve clarifies, wading closer again, until only a foot of distance is between them.

Eddie's eyes close as he lets out a shaky breath.

When he opens them, Steve hasn't moved any closer.

Eddie realizes he’s shaking.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Steve says, and the sound Eddie lets out is close to a sob.

“I don't know if I believe you,” Eddie says, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that somehow, inexplicably, the boy before him is a monster. Does he shapeshift into something else? Is he some kind of a humanoid that drags people under the lake and eats them? Every thought running through his head leads to him dying cold and alone save for the monster before him.

But the expression on Steve's face turns sad, his mouth turning down as he looks at Eddie.

Steve wades further back again, faster than humanly possible, putting distance between them. “I didn't mean to scare you,” he says and Eddie can barely hear it over the ripples of the water. “You can go if you want. I like you and I don't want you to be scared of me.”

Eddie doesn't know if this is part of his game—if he wants to chase Eddie before he kills him.

But he keeps his eyes on Steve as he wades backwards, closer to Rick’s dock where he jumped into the lake.

He doesn't come any closer, watching him with sad eyes as he pulls himself up awkwardly onto the dock, backwards so he doesn't have to look away.

He’s shivering as he pulls on his shirt, as he watches Steve watch him.

He only takes his eyes off him when he’s stumbling back onto the grass behind Rick’s house. He beelines it for his van and speeds the entire way home, putting more and more distance between him and Steve.

He feels every mile stretching between them.

His heart rate only goes down when he’s in his bed, after he’s showered and washed off all remnants of the lake off him.

His hair is wet against his pillow as he lays there and thinks about what just happened.

He doesn't know if Steve was just fucking with him, is the thing.

He could just be some guy who’s here for the summer and decided to have some fun at Eddie's expense.

Or—

He could be the lake monster everyone talks about.

He never told Steve that the monster supposedly pulls people under the water—they barely spoke at all when they first met.

But that’s exactly what Steve did—wrapped his hands around Eddie's leg and pulled him under the water.

He could have asked someone, he supposes.

But nothing about that felt fake.

And was it his hands? It didn’t feel like it in the moment.

The way the moonlight hit his skin felt wrong, the way he moved through the water felt wrong, whatever wrapped around his leg felt wrong.

The skin of his ankle and calf feels tender and hot now, as he lays there still shivering a little from the encounter.

When he falls asleep, much too late into the night, he dreams about Steve again.

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #janai.doc

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fernandoswarcrimes · 2 years ago

Text

You’re Losing Me x Carlos Sainz

“Stop.. you’re losing me..”

Taglist: @morgan108 @diary-of-jj @shea-theodore @pitchandgrid @wifemase @hal3ynicol3 @alicerubyfloyd @nicanicksnica @formulafootballfan

Word count: 3.3k

To be added to the rest of the series click here -> 🌌

You say, "I don't understand" and I say, "I know you don't"

We thought a cure would come through in time, now, I fear it won't

Remember lookin' at this room, we loved it 'cause of the light

Now, I just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time

“I don’t understand what the problem is.” Carlos sighed, rubbing at his face in frustration. You’d been at each other’s throats for forty five minutes now, and over something so trivial. What had begun as him (forgetting to do the dishes? Change the laundry?) had spiraled into an outright argument over him not helping around the house, to him being out so late all the time now. “I know you don’t.” You had muttered, shaking your head with a sigh of your own.

“I can’t do this right now, I told Lando I’d meet him for dinner.” Carlos spoke, his curt reply signaling he was done with the argument, with the entire conversation. He grabbed his keys and walked out of the kitchen without another word as you stood there watching him go.

This is how things always went as of late—at least, that’s what it feels like. It’s always just another small bump in the road, one that you would get over. Always something that wouldn’t stop you from being happy again. Now, though, it seemed like nothing was going to fix things between the two of you. Small bumps are fine until you look back and realize there’s so many, the road is no longer driveable.

As you shut the kitchen light off and walk into the living room, you pause. It was one of yours and Carlos’s favorite rooms in the house because of how the light shone through the windows, illuminating the room in a soft glow when the sun set. Dusk was setting in now as you took a seat on the couch, the room falling into darkness as you sat there by yourself wondering if it was finally time to end it or not.

Do I throw out everything we built or keep it?

I'm getting tired even for a phoenix

Always risin' from the ashes

Mendin' all her gashes

You might just have dealt the final blow

It wasn’t even the big things that made you wonder. No, it was the stupid stuff. The small things you wished so badly you could convince yourself to put up with. You knew what the two of you had was special, could feel it in your very being, but it was beginning to not be love anymore. It was tiring, you were tired. Your mother always told you that you reminded her of a phoenix, always picking yourself up and mending your own wounds, never letting anyone help you because you could do it yourself. Times like these, you wish she was wrong.

You didn’t know why Carlos would rather sneak around and lie than just be honest with you. Maybe it was a pride thing. Charles, bless him, had been the one to accidently fill you in on what Carlos has been doing behind your back. He didn’t even mean to, but when he asked if you were at the club with Carlos last week because he thought he’d seen you with his teammate, it was the final blow. You weren’t at the club. You had been at home. You had been waiting on him because he told you he was stopping by his parents house. He had told you not to wait up for him. It started making you wonder what else he’s been lying about and how long he’s gotten away with it.

Every mornin' I glared at you with storms in my eyes

How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dyin'?

I sent you signals and bit my nails down to the quick

My face was gray, but you wouldn't admit that we were sick

It was five am when Carlos’s alarm went off, making you roll over and glare at him as he slept. Lately, it’s like you aren't even in a relationship anymore. You sighed as you got up, moving to the kitchen and knowing he’d get up in a minute to get ready for his morning run.

As you cooked yourself something to eat you heard him moving around in your room. The footsteps you’d once longed for around the house had become ghostly, the antithesis of what it once was. You dread the sound of them approaching.

It wasn’t like this came out of nowhere, you had sent him signals and tried talking to him to let him know that things between you needed fixing or changing but, he always brushed them off, brushed you off. You were starting to turn into a shell of yourself the longer you stayed in this relationship and dealt with everything alone.

“Love you.” He mumbled, nothing more than a force of habit, grabbing a water bottle and leaving. He knew that things weren’t okay. You knew he knew, and he knew you knew he knew, and on and on and on until the end of time. It didn’t matter what you both knew, though, because he wasn’t ready to admit that out loud that the love you two had was long gone now. The both of you were just going through the motions and with how shitty the season was going he wasn’t ready to lose the one semi good thing he had left going for him.

And the air is thick with loss and indecision

I know my pain is such an imposition

Now, you're running down the hallway

And you know what they all say

"You don't know what you got until it's gone"

The house was heavy sad and you were running out of options. The confusion and grief that came along with the thought of having to leave the man you loved for the last seven years was hard. Harder than hard. Some kind of word that hasn’t been invented yet, hard. You know that your pain and problems weren't easy to deal with, but hell—he isn’t exactly Mr. Emotionally Intelligent, either. It just made you feel guilty that you were feeling this way and maybe that was the reason Carlos was pulling away.

So you did what any normal person would do, you called your mom and asked if you could come stay for the weekend. You needed to get away for a while, clear your head and figure out what you needed to do for yourself and there was no better place to do that than home. You packed a weekend bag and left after Carlos headed to Baku. The time you spent with your mother was eye opening. She had given you advice that you oh so badly needed to hear.

“Why do you keep letting him treat you this way?” she asked you, nudged a cup of tea an inch closer to you. “This is not the way someone who loves you should treat you.”

She was right, it wasn't how you were supposed to be treated. So it was no surprise to hear from Carlos when he got back and noticed you were gone, you’d left him a note on the fridge but apparently that wasn’t good enough. He didn’t realize all the things you usually did for him until you weren’t there to do them. Like help with laundry, cooking dinner and cleaning. Of course his mother raised him right but that didn’t mean he still wasn’t a guy who got comfortable with how things were.

My heart won't start anymore (Stop 'cause you're losing me)

You didn’t go to a lot of races, had your own career and your own life that was more than the title of girlfriend, but Barcelona was one you always attended. Things hadn’t gotten any better, but you still wanted to be there to support him—even if you knew it was going to be the last time. You stood next to Blanca, listened to her gush about her upcoming wedding, about the flowers and the dress and the table runners. You didn’t have the heart to tell her you’d have to miss it.

“Have you two got your outfits together yet? I know my brother can be pretty forgetful sometimes” Blanca asked, looking over at you with a happy smile. You did your best to give her a smile back, Carlos hadn’t mentioned it, but you didn’t want to burst her bubble. “I’ll remind him tonight, I’m sure you’re going to look absolutely beautiful.” You meant that, even if you aren’t going to be there to see her in person.

As Carlos pulled the car back into the garage after the race it was almost routine, he’d get out, take his helmet and stuff off before walking over and giving you a hug. You hang on a beat longer than normal, soak it all up—his hair and his smell and his skin and his arms. “I’m going to go grab my things,” you mumbled, motioning him to his waiting family before moving off to go grab your things. You didn’t plan on standing around for any longer than necessary. Each passing moment is nothing more than another opportunity for your heart to break.

How long could we be a sad song

'Til we were too far gone to bring back to life?

I gave you all my best me's, my endless empathy

And all I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier

Fighting in only your army, frontlines, don't you ignore me

I'm the best thing at this party (You're losing me)

And I wouldn't marry me either

A pathological people pleaser

Who only wanted you to see her

Your relationship, if it can still be called that, seems to long outlive its expiration. You don’t know how much longer it can go on like this, all the uncertainty. It felt like nothing but a sad song stuck on repeat, something that you couldn’t come back from. There had been times where the both of you got this way in the past but you were able to bring the relationship back to life but this time?

This time things were too far gone.

You had given him nothing but endless empathy everytime Ferrari screwed him over, everytime the media pulled quotes from their ass, everytime someone twitter blamed him for someone else’s mistakes. It was always you there for him. You were the only one fighting for him, right front and center when he had a bad race or when strategies didn’t work out, everything.

Yet, it was for nothing.

“Don’t ignore me Carlos, please,” you said softly, but the crack in your voice is clear. You’re at a party—Lando’s, drug here against your will, against your better judgment. You knew he needed to let loose, but all you wanted was to talk to him. You knew you had to instigate, that he’d ignore you all evening if you didn’t.

He was still losing you.

Everybody talks about the seven year curse. You never saw it coming, even if it was staring you square in the face.

1. You stop being curious about each other

First, it was the little things. No more questions, no more answers. You didn’t spend your time telling him about your favorite breakfast foods and he didn’t spend his time asking. Years came and went, and you thought it was endearing that there weren’t questions, that it was proof your relationship was strong. He knew you like the back of his hand, you’d told yourself.

2. You start keeping secrets from each other

The secrets, though, that’s a new development. A few months ago, he never would’ve sat at the table with his phone face down, never would’ve leaned away from you when he typed or managed to spend time with Lando even when Lando wasn’t in town.

3. You’re spending less meaningful time together

It’s hard to spend time with someone who’s never around, who never wants to be around. That’s all there is to say about that.

4. You start taking each other for granted

It was no secret Carlos had taken you for granted. Everyone knew it, they could see it anytime the two were together. You were at his beck and call, his personal chef, his maid and his housekeeper and his butler. His trainer and his assistant and whatever else he might possibly need.

5. You don’t discuss your goals anymore

You stopped wondering if he would ever propose two years ago. Well, you told yourself you stopped wondering. Everytime he asked you to go out or suggested you dress up nice or acted even the slightest bit weird, you were bouncy at the idea of him on one knee.

6. You’re drowning in criticism

What was harder than accepting you were never going to be his wife, maybe, was coming to terms with the fact that everyone else wanted it more than you. Seven years is a long time. It hung over both of your heads like a storm cloud of implication. You wondered if he ever planned on marrying you, or if the last seven years have been nothing but fun to him.

And lastly

7. You have no fight left

If you still had any fight left in you, you wouldn’t be googling the seven year curse while he silently sat at the other end of the sofa. You remember the moment you lost it, that last little bit of fight and fire. You remember it easier than you remember what it felt like to be in love with him.

You had shaken your head as Carmen sent another article of some “close friend” talking about how the media was portraying you as a pathological people pleaser. It hurt. Sure, you knew marriage wouldn’t fix everything but it was the fact you didn’t feel wanted or appreciated anymore that finally broke the walls down like a wrecking ball.

Carlos looked over at you watching you shake your head and pocketed your phone. “What’s that about?” He asked, he could tell something was bothering you and he had an inkling of what it could be, but, he wasn’t going to bring it up. If he did, that would make things real.

“Nothing, just… just Carmen sending me another article. I wouldn’t marry me either, you know? Since I’m such a pathological people pleaser,” you looked at him, waiting to see what he’d say. But when the room fell into heavy silence and he just continued to look at you, all you could do was give a curt nod and purse your lips as you got up off the couch and walked upstairs. You couldn’t stand looking at him anymore if he wasn’t going to fight for the relationship you two had.

Sure, you may have been a people pleaser, but that’s just who you were. You liked helping, liked making people happy. But the one thing you wanted most of all? You only wanted Carlos to see you, to see that you’ve been there for him through everything. Not as a complacent stand-in girlfriend, but to mean something to him like you used to back when.

And I'm fading, thinkin'

"Do something, babe, say something" (Say something)

"Lose something, babe, risk something" (You're losing me)

"Choose something, babe, I got nothing" (I got nothing)

"To believe, unless you're choosing me"

Two weeks had gone by and all you could think about was begging him to do something, to say something, anything, to you about how he was feeling. Give up his pride to show he still cared and loved you like you had loved him. It was his choice to make, you couldn’t force him to love you. He had to choose, all he had to do was choose.

But when he didn’t, you took it as a sign. Stop kicking a dead horse, pick yourself up and get on with your life. If he won’t then someone else will. Slowly but surely, every time he left for a race you’d pack up more things and ship them to your parents house. It took a bit longer than you figured it would but when you’ve spent seven years living with someone you realize just how much of your life is grounded in one place.

Once you had gotten all that you had, you stood in front of the dresser mirror looking at the necklace that you had on, remembering the memory of Carlos giving it to you when you both were teenagers. Your fingers play with it and it brings tears to your eyes to reach behind your neck and unclasp it. This would be the first and last time you ever took it off since being gifted it. As you held it in your hand, all crumpled and ready to be tangled, it made you realize that this was real, you were taking the step and finally walking away like you should have when all of this first started. You grabbed your bag off the bed and sat the necklace down on his nightstand knowing he’d find it whenever he got home. Taking one last look around the room you walked out and closed the door behind you, leaving the house key on the kitchen counter as you passed.

A necklace and a house key. The only implication that you were ever here, that you never would be again.

You're losing me

Stop (Stop, stop), you're losing me

I can't find a pulse, my heart won't start anymore

Carlos didn’t realize it until it was too late. He had unlocked the front door and the house was eerily quiet and cold. He frowned, set his bags down and realized you must’ve gone out. He checked his phone to make sure he didn’t miss a text from you letting him know, but there was nothing. No text, no call, nothing. It confused him even more as he shut the door and walked further into the house.

He paused when he entered the living room, everything looked normal until he sat his hands on the back of the couch making him pull his hands back in confusion, the fluffy blanket you always had laid there was gone. That made him look around the room even closer, quickly noticing the books and candles you had on the coffee table were no longer there. The pictures above the fireplace were gone, every single trace of you ever being in the house was no longer there.

He skipped half the steps on the way up the staircase, through the hallway and into your room; empty and cold, like the rest of the place. He moved over to the closet swinging the door open, his breath catching in his throat when he saw your side totally bare and empty. The dresser drawers matched.

But he noticed something out of the corner of his eye, laying on his nightstand. As he walked over the tears started pooling in his eyes as he picked the item up, it was the necklace he had given you when you both were sixteen. He had gotten it for you, wanting to show how much he loved and appreciated you. Holding it now just signified how much he had fucked up. You had never taken it off, no matter how many fights you two had gone through over the years. Never. Not until now.

You had given him so many signs that he blatantly ignored or brushed off thinking you would always continue to be there for him despite him acting the way he was.

And now?

The relationship that was so full of love had died and he couldn’t find any way to bring it back to life.

He finally lost you and it was completely his own undoing.

#imagine #formula 1 #series #midnightsseries #midnights song drabbles #you’re losing me #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #formula one x reader

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myers-meadow · 10 months ago

Text

Happy birthday from your friend GD

Happy birthday @gauntermetaverse!!! No idea when your actual birthday is, but here it is <3

I tried playing with your fascination for Gaunter in the Cyberpunk universe (despite not having played Cyberpunk 2077 myself), and wanted to mix the world of Witcher back into it. I really hope you enjoy, this was rather experimental for me. HAPPY BIRTHDAY <3

Characters: reader, Gaunter, you can make it romantic if you want! <3

Warnings: none

Word count: 1104

Summary: Your mysterious friend GD wishes you a happy birthday, and shows you an interesting world - perhaps you can even make a wish.

Screenshot by me, divider by @saradika-graphics

Driving out of the city on your motorcycle, you drive and drive, keep going after the city is far away in your rearview mirror. The surrounding land is sparse with buildings and vegetation, but your relish in the peace that comes over you as you drive down the empty roads. Once you're far away, the sun is setting, and you stop by a tree. As you dismount, and sit down in the grass, your mind quiets. It's nice being away from the rush of the city, from the lights and the loud billboards, the tech, the holograms, the people. You lean yourself against the trunk of the tree and breath deep. Fresh air... Part of you wonders how the air would smell if it were further from the pollution of the city, but it's a vain hope. You'll be back in your apartment by tomorrow, as you always do.

A notification comes in on your phone, and after a moment of hesitation, you open it. It reads: 'tomorrow is your birthday. How about I take you someplace special?', signed with a simple GD. You've interacted with him before - you call it a him, because that's how he appears as, but as with many things, you can't be sure. He seemed ordinary enough, affable, clever, easy to get along with.

Considering what your day could otherwise have in store for you, meaning, not much special, you text back: 'what do you have in mind?'

From behind the tree, he approaches, flickering slightly. A hologram of him, of your mysterious GD.

"That's what I like to hear. How about we start with a riddle?" He clasps his hands behind his back, moving fully in your view at a leisurely pace. "Scratch that, we need a change of scenery first, don't you think?"

At once, the experience of falling into your body, like awakening from a deep sleep washes over you. It's unpleasant. When you look around, you're somewhere new, surrounded by greenery. Flowers, bushes, berries growing on heavy branches, the air is crisply clear, and smells sweet of nectar. The sun is high in the sky, shining bright, warming your face. The man, Gaunter, still stands in front of you, but he's not flickering anymore. It's dream-like, how you don't want to question what is happening. It feels unreal, but at the same time, good enough that you don't want to know the specifics. he could've hacked into your memory cache, or something of that sort. You'd figure that all out, once you're back.

"As for the riddle, here goes: A crystal mirror shows it's depths, carve through my surface, let me ripple, find me where many a maiden in joy has wept, and don't get cold feet." He smiled gently, steepling his fingers. "And please, do enjoy these beautiful gardens. There are none other like it in this world." With that, he walked off. When you went after him, he was nowhere to be seen.

Meticulously, you consider the riddle. Water. It makes you think of water. Not knowing where to find any, you wander around the gardens. Indeed, they are beautiful. Bright, full of many different kinds of plants, some you've never even seen before. The atmosphere is relaxed, and you delight in how different it is from your usual reality. The people are similarly pleasant, with enough free time to spend just by frolocking around beautiful gardens. If it were up to you, you'd love to stay. This is special, and better than any luxury resort - even if only for the clean air and soft breeze carrying the scents of flowers. The sun lowers itself down the heavens, and as you climb a small hill to get a better view, you spot it. A small lake. Shored are small wooden rowboats.

"That must be it, 'carve through my surface, let me ripple'," you mumble to yourself. You'll find him by the rowboats.

Making your way to the lake shore took a while, and dusk has settled. On your way, you met a bard, who tucked a flower into your hair and called you beautiful. The lake shimmers like none other you've ever seen, the brightest of blue's, reflecting the clouds and the setting sun with such vivid colours, it makes you feel blinded. Like before, you lived in a mucky place, with unsaturated colours, your senses dulled by smog. But not today, you muse, as you remove the rope from one of the rowboats. It's a small thing, but well-maintained. Two oars lay on the bottom of the boat. You throw the rope in, and cautiously, you follow. The boat rocks until you balance yourself. Now that you're there, you don't really know where to go, so you push yourself off, and clumsily row yourself onto the lake. Today had been such fun, you muse, as you go over how weird it's been that your strange friend took you here, only to send you right off with a riddle. Yet it was fun. One of the more... special birthdays, certainly. Unpredictable too, you smile.

"Having fun?" comes his voice, and you look up to see him, not even two metres away, on a boat like yours, cross legged on the bench. The two of you drift closer and you turn around to face him.

"I am. Why did you bring me here?"

"To show you, and to gift you this experience. Let's call it a gift out of gratitude for all the thought you put into me."

You shrug, not entirely understanding. "Why here?"

"This land is called Toussaint. Isn't it beautiful? It's a delight for the senses. Here," he hands you a bottle of wine, it's labelled 'white wolf' - peculiar name for a wine. "Let's toast to your good health, and another year around the sun."

A shiver creeps over you as the sun truly starts to set. The shore of the lake lights up with beautiful lanterns. As you hesitate, Gaunter takes over, plops off the cork, and reaches down in his boat for two glasses. He hands you a full one, the scent of wine is strong, a full bodied grape, with hints of blackcurrant.

"Thanks," you say, smelling it. "Everything is so vibrant here."

"Indeed it is. Happy Birthday. Cheers." He clinks his glass against yours, and without breaking eye contact, you drink. "With this toast, comes a proposal. Or should we enjoy the ambience a little longer? Look, they're setting off the wishing lanterns."

You look up to see people gathering on the shore, letting lanterns float upwards in the sky. A perfect night to make a wish.

#gaunter o'dimm #gaunter o'dimm fanfic #the witcher fanfic #witcher fanfic #hearts of stone #blood and wine #toussaint #gaunter o'dimm x reader #meadow's writing #the witcher 3

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melverie · 4 months ago

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I DESIRE INFORMATION ABOUT MAZE IF THEY HAVEN'T BEEN ANSWERED YET *makes grabby hands*

⸺ GENERAL INFO ⸺

07: What is their favorite place, and what do they love so much about it? 08: Do they have a kill count? How high is it?

optionally: 09: Do they attend RAD? What is their role there? Their best subject/the one they teach? Club activties? If they don't attend RAD, what do they do?

You request more information about Marchosias, you shall receive more information about her!!

-> to the ask game -> more about Marchosias

⸺ GENERAL INFO 07 ⸺ What is their favorite place, and what do they love so much about it?

Aurora Hill and the Urona Aqueduct (yes I'm bringing this random ass structure only mentioned in the in-game calendar back. I did not write an entry for it in vain, okay ._.) are both perfect for stargazing, so they are definitely high up on her list. But there is another place. A place that is a little...tricky

Hidden away in the place where the sun never sets, there stands a lonesome tree far away from the Celestial Palace. Because you see, on some days, all she can remember is the rustling of the leaves as the wind travels through them and the warm beams of sunlight landing on her face. She can't quite make out his face anymore, but underneath the tree stands a young boy, barely older than her, awkwardly declares himself to now be her friend...

It's place that she forever yearns for--a place she sometimes isn't sure if it was just a fleeting dream, if it acutally exists. And yet, deep down, she knows that tree continues to grow, somewhere, in a realm she isn't welcome in

And then there are the other days. Where she loathes the tree more than even the scars on her back. Days on which the scenery is blury, covered by a heavy fog that she cannot lift and does not want to lift. That very same boy is still before her, hands shaking as he clutches the spear in them tightly, as if desperatly trying to steady himself. From it's tip, deep, dark red tears slowly drip, drip, drip onto the pair of wings seperating the two children. The pure and innocent white, once the symbol of angel, tarnished by the red oh so slowly creeping up its feather

Whenever her mind forces her to relive that moment over, and over, and over, and over again, her body follows suit and reminds her how her lungs had failed her completely while the air she so desperately tried to breathe kept attacking the very place her wings sat just moments ago, and all Marchosias can do is cry. The whole damn realm can burn down for all she cares, if only it would make those memories disappear forever

⸺ GENERAL INFO 08 ⸺ Do they have a kill count? How high is it?

Ah, you know :)

Maze's first (and pretty much only) response to bullshit is her returning her attention to whatever she was doing before while suddenly relentlessly stabbing you. So unless there's someone around to stop her, you can pretty much expect to be killed <3

There are also a handful of humans that she killed before they could forge a pact with her, but once the pact is fully forged, you're safe!

All that being said, she doesn't really like her clothes getting dirty, so her kill count is.....fairly low for a demon :)

⸺ GENERAL INFO 09 ⸺ Do they attend RAD? What is their role there? Club activties?

Current president of the newspaper club, yayayayay!!

I'm ignoring Nightbringer's 'RAD was built after the brothers fell' bit because A) The Glory Days devilgram supremacy, B) this is my AU & I can do what I want <3, and C) I don't like the the idea of the Diavolo's overreliance on the brothers (especially Lucifer) to get shit done in the Devildom. I know that the Demon King is still the one in charge before the brothers fell, but let Diavolo use his status as the crown prince to change the Devildom a little!! Anyway

She originally joined because she hoped her ability to gather information and intel (be it through the countless pacts she made, the countless connections she had built or her skills in manipulating and soliciting others into giving her what she wanted) would make her a useful resource for the newspaper club + a childhood friend of hers talked her into it. But nowadays she genuinely enjoys being a part of it, and while she would rather have had Mephisto continue being the club president, she puts a lot of effort into her new role

Speaking of Mephisto; once the brothers fell, Maze noticed that Mephisto seemed kind of down and that his mood kept getting worse and worse with every passing day. So she decided to try and befriend him.......except, her only points of reference when it comes to friendships and making friends were Raphael (who she forgot), and Baal and Aym who kinda forced themselves into her life. So instead of trying to be empathetic to his current situation, Marchosias just kinda walked straight up to Mephisto, stared at him and then forced him to eat parfaits with her. They have been besties ever since <3

She is also known as the one that keeps getting Diavolo kicked out of class every once in a while because these two usually can NOT shut up when paired together in Seductive Speechcraft. Diavolo wants to learn as much as he can from her experiences in the human world, meanwhile Marchosias is just genuinely interested in what is wrong with him (affectionate) <3

#i actually think i've answered all of those already last time but!! giving you some new lore with it because hell yeah!!!#(at least as far as there is new lore ;-; )#anyway not sure how to fit that into the wall of text but!!#the reason she decided to become friends with mephisto in the first place was because she vaguely remembered being in a kinda similar #situation as mephisto back when she was an angel & starting to feel much better after raphael made an effort to become her friend #so raphael kinda kickstarted the newspaper club's most iconic duo <3 #also just. “maze's favorite place?” me: mmmmhhhh angst land <3 #too-much-gacha #obey me #mel's oc marchosias

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lumine-no-hikari · 11 months ago

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Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #187

I still don't have quite enough sleep. I stayed up a little later than I wanted to, but I still wanted to go to the nice place with the awesome leader, which meant I woke up early, because the place is an hour away. It has been some time since last I wasn't too overwhelmed to go. I'm glad I went.

I was in a lot more pain than usual today, though, so I wasn't able to be chipper or to mingle in the way I usually do. I'm really glad that no one seemed to mind.

At the place, there is a young teenage girl who I wanted to give my collection of Pokémon cards to. She is very interested in them, and I had a great big huge binder full of some of the old ones that were around way back when they first came out. I arranged them in pages of sleeves - 18 cards per page - in numerical order. The formatting of these cards has changed dramatically over the years. I don't really like the new formatting, and the old formatting isn't widely available anymore, so I don't collect them anymore. So what's my binder gonna do other than sit on a shelf somewhere, collecting dust? Better that it goes to someone who will be able to appreciate them a little more.

But she hasn't been coming to the place recently, I guess. So I left it with the older gentleman that she is usually with; he will give her the binder. I hope she likes it. But if she doesn't, I suppose I can always take it back, if she doesn't want it.

When we were done, J and I went to Eggcellent again. I was extra tired and cranky from the sleep deprivation and the rib pain, so I got two matcha lattes; one had rose syrup, tea jelly, and cream cheese foam, and the other one was basically the same, except it had lavender syrup instead of rose syrup:

I split each of these with J; he seemed to like sharing them with me, and that was good.

...I spent the rest of the day trying to design a house, with mixed success. It's nowhere near done yet. And I'm not really sure I'm liking the layout. And no... I can't show it to you when it's done, which really super sucks, but it is what it is.

At some point during all that, J reminded me that I have to come up for air every now and then when I'm working on things; I'm a lot like you in that if I'm left to my own devices, the hyperfocus becomes strong, and I don't eat, drink, or sleep properly like I should. I'm probably pretty dehydrated, actually... Suppose I had better fix that...

Well, in any case, J took me on a brief walk outside. The sun was setting, and it was especially nice today, so naturally, I tried to snag a few pictures for you...

...And that's all I've got. I hope you enjoyed looking at these as much as I enjoyed taking them for you; the world is full of beauty amidst the darkness. You just gotta know where to look.

...I should get to sleep. So I'm gonna get some water, and then go to sleep. I've got a visual field test tomorrow morning, I guess, because I had been having this weird thing happen in my left eye somewhat recently whereby a decent chunk of my vision is obscured by a navy-blue splotch for a fraction of a second, every several minutes.

It was doing that for a number of weeks, and then it stopped happening. But they don't know what it is, and my eyes look healthy from the exam just a few days ago. They imagine it's an ocular migraine of some kind (though there was no headache), but they're gonna do the visual field test just to make sure there's nothing weird afoot. I'm gonna assume it's nothing to worry about; possibly just stress-induced or something.

...Next week is gonna be rough. I've got the eye doctor, I gotta get a dress modified, there's therapy, and then orientation for the new job, and then I'm gonna get 4 teeth extracted. It's a lot. I'm daunted. But it'll be okay. I've got this. Don't you worry your pretty little head about me, all right? I'm gonna be just fine. But if you wanna maybe wish me a bit of luck, perseverance, endurance, and resolve, I certainly would appreciate it. And if you don't wanna, then that's okay, too; I'll be all right either way.

I love you. I'll write again tomorrow. Please stay safe.

Your friend, Lumine

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cuubism · 2 months ago

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Crossed Blades (16660 words) by cuubism Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Kaladin/Adolin Kholin, Kaladin/Leshwi (Stormlight Archive), Adolin Kholin & Sylphrena Characters: Adolin Kholin, Kaladin (Stormlight Archive), Leshwi (Stormlight Archive), Sylphrena (Stormlight Archive), Teft (Stormlight Archive), Dalinar Kholin, Venli (Stormlight Archive), El (Stormlight Archive) Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 05: Wind and Truth (Stormlight Archive), Explicit Sexual Content, Politics, Kaladin's canonical savior complex, Trauma, Near Death Experiences, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Battle, Major Character Injury, Established Relationship, Polyamory, POV Outsider Series: Part 3 of They Carried Gravity Summary: The ceasefire with Odium is meant to guarantee peace for one thousand years. But Kaladin isn't satisfied with a form of 'peace' that still gives Odium dominion over half the population of Roshar. Especially when it leaves an old comrade-in-arms trapped under his thumb.

I'm still so painfully obsessed with writing for this universe 😭 god I can't stop, help me

Teft waits at the Oathgate platform for Kaladin’s little strike team to return from Thaylenah. Perhaps he’s being overbearing. But Phendorana’s loss is still a raw and aching wound inside him and he can’t bear to lose anyone else. Not and keep his meager sanity. Kaladin taught him that, indirectly. Helping others helps.

Phendorana may be gone, but the oaths remain. Protect. He can’t protect his friend in the skies—no one can protect Kaladin there, he’s a better spearman than any of them—but he can watch out for him on the ground. Which is really where Kal needs a set of watchful eyes on him anyway.

Kaladin’s team doesn’t reemerge through the Oathgate. They land instead, flying directly over the mountains. Drehy and Skar seem to be lashing all four of them, which immediately sets Teft on alert. He’s glad he still carries infused spheres, even if he can’t use the stormlight.

Kaladin stumbles as they land, though Adolin catches him by the arm. Almighty, they are covered in blood, though neither looks mortally wounded so Teft restrains himself from rushing forward too abruptly.

Kaladin waves Skar and Drehy away before they start hovering, then lifts a hand to Teft in a weak greeting. Teft just shakes his head. Storming insane man had to go be a hero again. Couldn’t let peacetime lie. But he wouldn’t be Kal if he could let anything lie without trying to improve it.

“Look—” Kaladin starts, as Teft reaches them, but Teft just pulls him into a rough embrace.

“Storming hero again, hm?” he says.

“I’ll tell you all about it over a meal sometime, if he doesn’t,” Adolin says.

That’s been a weird thing to get used to. Those two together.

Everyone who’d left Urithiru as part of the last defense of the allied nations against Odium’s forces had come back from it changed, and for their part Kal and the princeling had returned from Azir joined at the hip. They’d pretended otherwise in public, at first, but Teft knew Kaladin better than that. He saw it.

Teft didn’t know what exactly had happened, and Kaladin had been tight-lipped about it except to say, “I almost lost him, Teft,” with such buried agony that Teft had let anything else he might say or question about the relationship drop.

Adolin’s a good lad, anyway, deep down. Once upon a time Teft would have said he was just naive and a little spoiled—but after what they’ve all been through these past few years, there’s really no such thing as spoiled, not anymore. Hard to call a princeling who nearly met his demise defending a city that wasn’t even his own spoiled.

And Teft could never imagine Kaladin drawing anyone who didn’t shine as bright as the sun.

“Don’t make it more than it was,” Kaladin says now, as Teft releases him.

“Nah, I think the prince’s version of the story might be more entertaining, especially with the way he moons over you.”

“Hey,” Adolin protests.

Closer, Teft can tell that the blood is Kaladin’s. He’s got a nasty-looking wound in his chest, visible under his open tunic. It’s partially healed over, but still darkly bruised. Teft barely wants to think about what could have caused it. Probably one of those horrible anti-stormlight weapons that had killed Phendorana.

“Give me your spheres, lad,” Teft says. Kaladin hands him a dun ruby broam he had apparently been drawing on. Teft swaps him a few infused garnets, and Kaladin starts glowing faintly.

The bruising around the wound retreats marginally. The garnet marks go dun. Storms, that injury is hungry.

“I should report to Dalinar,” Kaladin says, starting to walk off—

Adolin stops him with a hand on his shoulder before Teft can. “I’ll talk to my father. You go rest.”

“I’m fine,” Kaladin says.

“I’ll believe it when you stop devouring stormlight like you’re starving to death.” Adolin turns to Teft. “Teft, can you make sure he actually goes home?”

“Oh, with pleasure.”

“I don’t need to be minded!” Kaladin exclaims. But truthfully he looks utterly exhausted. Teft is getting this story out of him, that’s for sure.

Adolin moves to head off— and stops. He turns back around and pulls Kaladin into a kiss.

Kaladin makes a startled sound, but then leans lightly into the kiss. Teft looks away, giving them a meager illusion of privacy. He’s loved before, he knows that feeling.

He may not understand exactly what’s going on here, but he knows Kaladin deserves someone who looks at him like that.

Adolin heads off to make his report, then, after briefly tucking his forehead in against Kaladin’s cheek.

Teft lays a hand on Kal’s back and steers him towards the Tower. Kaladin winces and pulls away.

Teft stops him and pulls down the collar of his open tunic. “Let me see.”

“Are you actually undressing me right now in the middle of the Oathgate platform?”

“You’re the one who’s not wearing a shirt.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth as he takes in what must be the entrance wound, a brutal red mark under his left shoulder blade. A slight change in angle and the strike would have gone right through the heart. “Almighty.”

“He wasn’t trying to kill me,” Kaladin says.

“Sure looks like it, kid.”

“El is not an amateur with the blade. He could easily have aimed better if he wanted to be sure of it,” Kaladin says, shrugging his tunic back on. “Though my death was an acceptable possibility.”

“Why, then?”

Kaladin shrugs. “Curious what would happen, I guess.”

That’s somehow more chilling than a straightforward attempt on his life. “Change of plans. Medical wing. Come with me.”

“I really don’t think there’s anything my father can do for this that stormlight can’t,” Kaladin says.

“Maybe it’ll make me feel better, did you think about that?”

Kal’s lips curl up in a half-smile. “Alright.”

Teft walks him down to the medical center, and takes a moment to be grateful that Kaladin is so storming hard to kill, and that this time, he doesn’t have to lose anyone else.

Dalinar receives word that Kaladin and Adolin’s team is back from Thaylenah before Adolin arrives in his sitting room, so he’s not surprised when his door opens. But he drops the book he’s holding when he actually sees him, because Adolin’s shirt and hands and arms are coated in dried blood.

Dalinar rushes over to him, stricken. He’d promised himself, he’d promised after the final battle that he wouldn’t let anything happen to his sons again. And now here they are. “Son.”

Adolin looks down at himself. Touches the bloody front of his shirt as if he’d forgotten, as if he hadn’t just walked through all of Urithiru looking like he was bleeding out from a mortal injury. “Sorry. It’s... not mine.”

Then— “Is—”

“No, Kaladin’s alright now.”

Alright now. Storms, if he’s sent his best men to be decimated again—

He tries to calm himself. He can’t control everything. Kaladin and Adolin had made their own choices. He has to try to be okay with them making their own choices.

Adolin looks… surprised, almost, by Dalinar’s reaction. And storms, that hurts.

“I told him to go rest,” Adolin continues. “It was—” he scrubs a hand through his hair, distress flashing across his features. “It was. Bad. One of the Fused had an anti-light weapon and those things are much more potent than I realized and—” He steels himself, straightening his shoulders. “Anyway. It’s alright now.”

“You were right to send him to rest, I will speak with him later,” Dalinar says. “For now, sit with me. Tell me what happened.”

Adolin sits, and gives his report.

It is… definitely an unfortunate outcome, and Dalinar hopes they haven’t started another war before they're ready for one. But based on the strange behavior of that Fused leader, El, he thinks perhaps it might not escalate—or at least, not immediately, not in the way they’d expect. And the interaction between Kaladin and the Heavenly One, Leshwi… the reaction of the other Fused and Singers to them, that is interesting. There is something there.

Adolin is definitely shaken, though, and Adolin doesn’t shake easily, doesn’t show that he’s shaken easily, at least not to Dalinar. Dalinar is trying to be more perceptive about those things. He’s missed so much. He’s assumed so much.

After that meeting, early on after the ceasefire, when Adolin had fallen outside the council chamber, Dalinar had drawn him into his sitting room to talk. Kaladin had left them be, though Dalinar suspected he was waiting nearby to make sure Adolin got back to his rooms okay afterward. And so Dalinar asked what he’d wondered for some time now. “Son. What exactly is the nature of your relationship with Kaladin?”

Adolin had stiffened, and Dalinar raised a hand. “I’m not judging. I am only asking.” Almighty knew Dalinar had no more high ground when it came to relationships.

It was likely that, had this development occurred some years earlier, Dalinar would have had misgivings about Adolin courting another man. But it was hard to care much about that now, knowing that had fate taken a slight left turn, he could have lost one or both of his sons in just the past few weeks. Details fell into perspective during moments like that.

Neither Adolin nor Renarin had asked his opinion about the matter either, and for once Dalinar had had the presence of mind not to offer it.

Still looking a bit guarded, Adolin said, “We’re... together. I think I’d prefer not to discuss details. Shallan knows about it, if that’s why you’re asking. I wouldn’t go behind her back.”

“I know, son. I am not trying to criticize. I only want to understand what’s going on in your life.”

Adolin still looked a bit untrusting, but eventually eased. “Alright.”

“Are you... okay?” Dalinar asked. It had been so painful to watch him fall. Of course he’d understood that Adolin had been injured, but seeing the aftereffects firsthand had been a knife to the gut. If he’d worded the contract better so there was no war in those ten days— if he’d found some other solution earlier— if he’d sent more troops to Azimir in the first place—

Instead he’d let this happen to his son.

Adolin hesitated again, then gradually seemed to unravel. “I can’t—” he said, “I can’t. Shake it.” He clenched his fists in the tails of his coat to stop them from trembling. “Those ten days… got in me more than all the years of battle before. I didn’t realize how much until after.”

Even during times when he did not revel in it, Dalinar had, almost as a rule, been too callous about warfare. Desensitized to it. All Alethi were, but he especially. He had tried to pass it on to his sons, just by instinct, and he had succeeded at it with Adolin more than he ever had with Renarin. It was more jarring, then, to see the crack widen in Adolin’s composure, to see the blade that compounded warfare had driven deeper and deeper into his son over all these years finally catch on a bone and break it.

“I was ready to die there,” Adolin said. “I thought I was going to die there. I thought Kal was going to save my life and then have it be for nothing.”

Dalinar had read the reports, with equal parts horror and pride, and had, many nights since, woken with the thought of returning from the Spiritual realm on that final day, solution in hand—and having lost his son while he was gone.

Once again, he owed Kaladin a great deal.

“Not for nothing,” Dalinar said firmly. “It would never be for nothing. And you did well. You both did.”

He hadn’t said that to Adolin enough. Not nearly enough.

“We still almost lost the city,” Adolin said.

“After none of your support materialized,” Dalinar said. “Impossible odds. Don’t sell yourself short.” He hesitated then, not because he didn’t want to say it, but because he didn’t know how Adolin would receive it. “I’m proud of you.”

Adolin himself didn’t look like he knew quite how to receive it. “Thank you,” he said at last, quietly.

Dalinar nodded firmly.

“Please don’t treat Kaladin differently,” Adolin said. “Because of— well, for any reason, really.”

“As far as I’m concerned, I ought to award him a medal,” Dalinar said, and Adolin’s lips twitched up in a half-smile.

“He wouldn’t accept it.”

“He wouldn’t,” Dalinar agreed. They were silent for a moment, then Dalinar asked, “Has he been helping you with your injury? I know he has medical training as well.”

He hadn’t known how to broach the subject of Adolin’s wounded leg. Hadn’t wanted to, but he was trying to be less of a coward about those things.

“As much as he can,” Adolin said. “It doesn’t respond much to stormlight.”

This, too, another development. Adolin’s own strange form of Radiance. He called it being ‘Unoathed.’ Dalinar wasn’t certain how that was meant to work, but nevertheless.

“Good,” Dalinar said. “And your Blade… you were able to communicate with it?”

“Her,” said Adolin, and picked up the staff he’d been leaning on for balance as he came into the room, laying it across his thighs.

Dalinar started. He hadn’t even realized. But then, Adolin had been wearing a prosthetic earlier, which had since vanished. If that was the case, he’d managed to incorporate his Blade, and his spren into his life more thoroughly than most, ‘unoathed’ or not.

“I’m impressed,” he admitted, and Adolin grinned. “Very well, tell… her that she has my thanks for all she has done to help you.”

“She can hear you,” Adolin said confidently.

He had always been strange about that Shardblade…

Dalinar was curious about all that, the lack of Radiant oaths, the way he manipulated his Blade... but he had let Adolin go soon after that. He wanted his son to rest. He was worried, still, by the effect the injury would have on him—mental as much as physical. But less so knowing that Kaladin would be near him. If nothing else, that man was determined not to let anyone he cared for come to harm.

Dalinar did owe him some kind of medal.

He hadn't reached out to touch Adolin that day after the fateful council meeting. He'd been too uncertain where they stood. But now, Dalinar does reach out to his son, his son who's come back covered in blood and shaken up from nearly losing someone very important to him, even if he'll barely admit to himself how much he's shaken. Before Adolin leaves, Dalinar lays a hand on his shoulder. Adolin doesn’t brush him off, and that’s progress. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he says. “Get some rest. You did well.”

Adolin ducks his head, but pushes lightly into his hand. “Thanks. You should tell Kaladin, too. When you see him.”

“I will, son.”

With that, he lets Adolin go, accepting the small amount of progress for what it is.

Adolin feels a bit shaken after his conversation with his father—but strangely relieved, too. For the first time in a very long time, they’d spoken and, he felt, come away from it more on the same page rather than less.

He’s lost in thought as he walks back through the halls of the Tower, on his way to go find Kaladin who is hopefully actually resting, and nearly runs directly into Rlain and Renarin, walking in the opposite direction.

Renarin grabs him by the shoulders, looking panicked, and Adolin remembers again belatedly that he’s still wearing his shirt that’s covered in blood. He should just take it off honestly; wandering the halls completely shirtless would probably be less alarming.

“Oh, no, I’m okay!” he says, guilty. “Just. Need to change.”

Renarin releases him, pushing his glasses up his nose from where they’d slipped. “Stormfather. You look awful.”

“Thanks.”

“You really should go change,” Renarin continues, looking at him critically as if not fully believing he’s not mortally wounded somewhere. “And go lie down.”

“I’m alright. I won’t keep you.” He’s about to brush past them again when a thought occurs. “Rlain. Can I ask you something?”

Rlain looks confused, but says, “Yes?”

“What does this rhythm mean?” Adolin attempts to mimic the way Leshwi had been humming when she told Kaladin she thought they were a warpair. Based on Rlain’s expression, he completely butchers it.

But Renarin says, “That’s Longing. One of the old Listener rhythms.”

Rlain turns to him, seeming surprised but pleased. “You are getting good.”

“I pay attention,” Renarin says, blushing. “Adolin, where did you hear that?”

“From Leshwi,” Adolin says.

Now Rlain looks startled, attuning a rhythm that Adolin can only assume means surprise, or something. Renarin hums too, though his sounds more curious. Storms, that’s still weird to listen to.

“Fused cannot hear the old rhythms,” Rlain says. “Are you sure it sounded like this?” He starts humming a slow, wavering tone.

“That’s it,” Adolin says. “Venli looked surprised, too.”

“What was Leshwi doing?” Renarin asks.

“Talking to Kaladin?”

Rlain and Renarin look at each other, having a silent conversation.

“What?” Adolin says.

“Longing… can mean a number of things,” Renarin hedges. “I mean. I guess it depends… but it can be kind of… personal?”

“Personal?” Adolin echoes.

“I mean,” Renarin says, looking to Rlain for help but Rlain just gestures him to go on. “You could feel longing for lots of different things, I guess. Like. A person, for instance.”

He says it like he thinks Adolin will be devastated, but Adolin honestly isn’t that surprised. It’s kind of what he’d been assuming. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Thanks?” Renarin echoes. “That’s all?”

“I just wanted to know what it meant. That’s it.”

“I thought you might be upset.”

“I’m already married to one person,” Adolin tells him, “and courting another. It’s a little late to start getting particular about these things.” He claps a bewildered Renarin on the shoulder. “Thanks.”

As he turns to go, Rlain calls out, “Adolin.”

Adolin turns back to him. “Yeah?”

“Be careful,” Rlain warns. “Some of the Fused might be turning from Odium, but I still don’t know if they can be trusted. They are ancient, and do not follow the laws we know.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Adolin promises. Then heads off to finally go find Kaladin, and hopefully get some storming rest.

He finds Kaladin in his room. He seems to have washed and changed at some point while Adolin’s been gone, and is now dead asleep, curled up on his side on the bed, faintly glowing with an infused diamond broam in his hand. Adolin doesn’t wake him.

He gives himself a cursory wash as well, in the adjoining washroom, getting all the blood off. Puts on some fresh clothes, goes back to the bedroom intending to slip into bed beside Kaladin and just pass out, when—

“Adolin?” Syl pokes her head up from where she’d been slumped in the crook of Kaladin’s neck and shoulder. Adolin hadn’t even seen her there—or maybe she’d just been invisible before.

“Yeah?”

She floats up and flies towards the balcony doors. Adolin follows her.

He sits down in one of the balcony chairs, looking out at the dark mountains. Syl actually lands on his shoulder, and sits there, legs swinging. Adolin waits until she decides to speak.

She doesn’t, and when she’s been silent for a very long time, Adolin says, quietly, “How are you doing?”

“Tired,” Syl says. “He. He almost.”

“I know,” Adolin says. He closes his eyes in pain at the thought, then steadies himself. “I know.”

Syl hunches over on herself, shivering.

“If that. If the anti-light had. If it had killed him.” Adolin really doesn’t want to think about it. “Would it have killed you, too?”

“No,” says Syl. “I don’t know what would have happened to me, exactly. But I would have survived.”

Survived, but been changed, and Adolin knows what that’s like.

“I couldn’t do anything,” Syl says. “I didn’t think that much about it, until today. If he’s down, there’s little I can do to protect him, in the Physical realm.”

“I can’t protect him very well either, Syl. Not anymore.”

“What do we do, then?”

“I don’t know. Our best?” He holds tight to the edge of the chair to steady himself, pained. Helpless.

“I don’t want Kaladin to die,” she says, voice small.

“He won’t. Look. We’ll work together, yeah? As long as either of us has strength left, we’ll stand and fight and we won’t let anything happen to him. I promise.” He feels a bit like a horse promising to protect a highstorm, but he says it anyway.

“Promise,” Syl echoes.

“I’ll help you,” Adolin says. “I’m pretty invested in this too, you know.”

“I saw.” Now there’s a bit more cheer in her voice. More optimism. “You trusted me. When I let you wield my blade. You let me lead.”

“Why wouldn’t I trust you?” he asks.

“Adolin,” she says, insistent. “You would have closed your eyes and let me take control. In the middle of a battle.”

“I kind of wanted to try that out, actually.”

Syl huffs, floating in the air and hovering in front of him so he’s forced to look her in the eyes. “I’m a spren. People always think that we are just accessories to the Radiants. But you let me lead.”

He finds himself smiling, just a bit, at the awe in her tone. “I think you’ve more than proven yourself, Syl.”

“I could have steered you wrong— or gotten you hurt—”

“Look. The thing is, being in an actual battle isn’t like dueling. It’s not a solitary test of skill, it’s a mess. You have to trust the people you’re fighting with to have your back. If you don’t trust them, why are you fighting by their side in the first place?” He smiles at her. “So, I trust you. Besides, I think we can do better for Kal together than we can alone.”

Syl takes his face between her small hands. “You’re a good man, Adolin Kholin,” she says.

“You’re a good spren, Sylphrena,” he says, mimicking her tone.

She grins, then spins away from him again, floating in the air. “We’ll stick together. You’re my Radiant-in-law.”

“I’m your Radiant-in-law?”

“Yup! Like when humans are married, so their relatives—”

“Yeah, I figured that part out,” says Adolin.

Syl spins again, seeming more joyful. “I want to try out the closed-eyes-mind-control-fighting thing,” she says. “It might make Kaladin jealous, though.”

“Well, you’re my spren-in-law, so he’ll have to cope.”

She giggles.

“Serves him right anyway,” Adolin adds.

“Ooooh, is this because Leshwi said they were a warpair?”

Adolin groans.

Syl laughs. “Ha!”

Adolin buries his face in his hands. It’s really stupid to be embarrassed in front of a spren, and yet.

“Don’t worry.” She pats his cheek. “You’re doing a different sort of pairing. It seems a bit more fun, to be honest.”

“Syl.”

“I mean, I don’t really understand it, but I think if I was a human I would rather be doing kissy kissy faces than beating people with sticks.”

Adolin gapes at her. “Says someone who can turn into a stick.”

Syl just laughs.

Her laughter is still ringing out when Adolin hears footsteps behind him, and Kaladin leans in the doorway. “Are you stealing my spren?”

“I think I’m the one being stolen,” Adolin says.

“I like him, he’s mine now,” Syl says. She wraps her arms around a lock of Adolin’s hair.

“I should have known, you two are always plotting something,” Kaladin says.

“You love our plots, don’t deny it,” Syl says.

“I’m denying it.” Kaladin sits down heavily in the chair next to Adolin’s. Almighty, he still looks drained. “What exactly are you plotting now?”

“We’re planning how I’m going to borrow him for sparring practice so he doesn’t feel left out about you fighting with Leshwi,” Syl says.

Adolin buries his face in his hands, mortified. “Syl! I thought I could trust you!”

“Nope!” She giggles, flying around Kaladin’s head in dizzying circles. Despite the embarrassment, Adolin’s glad to see her more cheerful. “It’s all part of my plot.” She ruffles Kaladin’s hair, then says. “I am going for a flight. I will see you later.” And she zips out over the balcony, giving them a wink as she goes.

Kaladin watches her go. “Is she okay?”

“I think so.”

“Are you okay?”

Adolin gives him a sidelong look.

“So that’s a no,” Kaladin says.

“Hey.”

Kaladin’s lips tug up in a half-smile. “Were you actually jealous of Leshwi?”

“Stop. And why are you smiling?!”

“You’re always telling me to smile more, now you’re upset about it?”

“Kal.”

Kaladin’s smile only widens at the admonishment. “I don’t know, maybe because the most desirable man in Alethkar is jealous of me spending time with someone.”

That successfully derails Adolin’s train of thought. He leans closer to Kaladin. “Most desirable, hmm?”

Kaladin laughs, actually laughs out loud. “Great, now I’ve fed your already massive ego.”

“Feed it. Keep feeding it.” He leans his head on Kaladin’s shoulder, and groans. “Ughh. You two looked beautiful together though.”

He can’t see it, but he can imagine Kaladin’s raised eyebrow. “Beautiful?”

“I can be jealous and appreciate some excellent spear work, okay?”

Kaladin chuckles. “Alright.”

Adolin’s quiet for a while, then admits, “It’s not really about Leshwi. I just wish I could fight like that with you.”

Kaladin wraps his arm around Adolin’s shoulders.

They had had a few moments like that in the past, fighting in sync. It would have been even better now, Adolin thinks. Except Adolin doesn’t think he can keep up with him.

Kaladin says, “Why not, though?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why not fight like that?”

“Kaladin.”

“In training I mean,” Kaladin persists. “We spar against each other all the time. So why not with each other?”

It would be nice, Adolin thinks wistfully. “I—”

“I’ll work around you,” Kaladin promises, and Adolin feels suddenly choked up.

“You really would do anything for me,” he says, and it feels much less like a joke than it did earlier.

Kaladin ducks his head. “You hold your own better than you think, even now,” he insists. “Don’t act like you’re some novice, okay?”

Adolin knows that. It just feels that way, every time he reaches for his usual skill and it's not quite there.

“We’ll try, then,” he says. It will probably be fun.

Kaladin hums in agreement. “You looked good with Syl,” he says.

“You’re not jealous?”

He shakes his head. “If she wants to fight with you, that’s her choice. Besides, I think I’d probably be dead if she didn’t. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it happen before, though, with a living blade. Normally they only accept their own Radiant.”

“Syl’s a trendsetter,” Adolin says. “I think we might be friends, sort of?”

“That’s good. She should have friends other than just me. So long as you two don’t spend too much of your energy plotting against me.”

“No promises.” Adolin yawns, then, exhausted. “Almighty, what a day.”

“Should get you to bed,” Kaladin says, standing and drawing Adolin up by a hand.

“Get me to bed?”

But he follows Kaladin inside.

Kaladin climbs back into bed, lying down tiredly. Adolin lets Maya fade back into mist and, before collapsing face first onto the bed, goes to finally take that painrial off his leg—

“Don’t,” Kaladin says.

“What?”

“Don’t take it off. Just wait until tomorrow morning. Give it the night to rest.”

“But—”

“Adolin.” Kaladin’s face is creased in pain, as if he knows exactly how much Adolin’s leg is going to hurt the moment he stops muting it. “Don’t. Consider it surgeon’s orders if you have to.”

“Alright, fine.” Adolin falls into bed, beyond exhausted. “Thought you said it’s not good to wear all the time.”

“It’s not, but only because you won’t realize when you’ve pushed too hard if you can’t feel it. That ship has kind of sailed already.” In his ‘surgeon’s’ voice, he says, “Pain is bad for the body.”

Adolin waits, face mushed into his pillow. One second. Two seconds. Three. “I hope you’re reflecting on what you just said.”

Kaladin groans.

“I’ll allow the hypocrisy,” Adolin says, turning on his back and stretching his arms above his head.

“How charitable,” Kaladin gripes. “Does it help if I am, under extreme duress mind you, using some of that salve I gave you for your leg?”

“Actually, yeah,” Adolin says. “It does. Did you go see your father, then?”

“Teft made me.”

“Teft is my best friend now,” Adolin says wistfully, and Kaladin pokes him in the shoulder.

“As I told him beforehand, there is nothing traditional medicine can do to heal a wound caused by anti-light,” Kaladin says. “But we took notes on the effects, which I am sure Navani will want to interrogate me about later.”

“What were the findings?”

“We don’t really understand how exactly stormlight itself works,” Kaladin says. “Syl thinks that it holds more onto your soul than onto your body. So my father was theorizing that the anti-stormlight eats away at your soul in a way that requires huge amounts of stormlight to repair. That’s why it heals so slowly.”

“Ouch,” Adolin says.

“Yes,” Kaladin says dryly. Then he turns on his side and, with a heavy sigh, rests his head on Adolin’s shoulder.

Adolin hardly dares to move, afraid to spook him. Kaladin is like an old, grumbly axehound—he’ll let Adolin curl up on him if he thinks it’s what Adolin needs, but he rarely does it himself. Adolin stays very, very still.

“You’re making it weird,” Kaladin says, against his shoulder.

“Sorry.”

So instead Adolin wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulls him closer. Tucks Kaladin in against his side. Doesn’t get much further than pulling a blanket over them before sleep is pulling him down, the exhausting day finally catching up with him for real.

He doesn’t fight sleep. Just holds Kal close, and lets it pull him under.

Adolin wakes to the feeling of the bedsheets twisting and whipping away from him, and startles upright, half-convinced he’s going to find invaders in the Tower—

just in time to see Kaladin vanish out onto the balcony, steps tripping and overly-hurried.

Well, shit. He should probably have guessed this would happen.

“Kal—” Adolin levers himself out of bed, scavenging up one of the crutches he keeps leaning against the wall, and limps out after him.

He half-expects Kaladin won’t even be there, that he’ll have just flown off— but when he gets out on the balcony, Kaladin is sitting on the stone floor, back to the wall, knees pulled up to his chest. Adolin’s heart breaks.

“Kaladin—”

“Wasn’t trying to wake you,” Kaladin says quietly. “Sorry.”

Completely ungracefully, Adolin slides down the wall to sit beside him on the floor. Up close he can see that Kaladin’s hands are trembling, that he’s pressing one to his chest, rubbing unconsciously at the skin.

Adolin wraps his arms around him, pulls him close. Kaladin tucks his face into his throat, and Adolin cradles the back of his head, tangling his fingers in his hair. It’s something he does for Shallan, and it works here too—Kaladin melts against him, wrapping his arms around Adolin’s waist and holding tight. Almighty, he’s shaking hard.

“I thought you might go for a flight or something,” Adolin says, lips pressed to the top of his head. “Seems to calm you.”

“I’ve already used half the stormlight in the Tower healing that wound,” Kaladin says, voice muffled. “If I use any more I think I will actually throw up.”

Now Adolin wonders if at least part of his shaking is an effect of that. He hadn’t thought it was possible for Radiants to overuse stormlight, but then, it’s possible to overuse pretty much anything.

“Is that what’s got you awake?” he asks.

Kaladin shakes his head. “No. Just… going over everything, again and again.”

More like reliving it, Adolin thinks. Kaladin might act unaffected most of the time, but there’s really no way to not be affected by being stabbed through the chest.

Kaladin starts rubbing unconsciously at his chest again. Adolin takes that hand in his own and holds it close. “Tell me?”

“I can still sort of feel it,” Kaladin says softly. “How it felt… the warlight.”

“Like phantom pain?” Adolin asks.

“Like phantom… joy. Warlight… I don’t know if that’s really the right name for it. But either way, it doesn't really feel strange, or wrong, it feels like something that should have always been there was finally set right." He pauses, thinking about it. "I didn’t understand what Navani meant when she talked about the tones of Roshar. Now I do. We aren’t meant to be in conflict. We’re meant to be… in balance. Complementary.”

“You’re becoming very philosophical.”

“Maybe. I don't know."

Adolin studies him in the dark, the weight of his body against him, the continued subtle shaking. With some pain, but no more jealousy, he says, “If you really feel like that about Leshwi, you should tell her.”

Kaladin sounds surprised. “That’s not what I—”

“Isn’t it?”

“But—”

“Kaladin. You should tell her. Don’t live with regret.”

After a long moment of thought, Kaladin asks, “How do I tell her that?”

“Well, how did you tell me?”

“I didn’t.”

That’s… true actually. With them it had just kind of happened.

Adolin doesn’t push him to say it now. He doesn’t really need Kaladin to say it.

“It’ll come to you when you need it,” Adolin says. “Or just show her. Maybe she already knows.” He thinks again of Renarin’s explanation of the Rhythm of Longing.

“Hmm,” Kaladin says. “I doubt it will go over well. In general.”

“When’s that ever stopped you from doing something?”

Kaladin huffs. “I suppose.”

“Is that all you were thinking about?” Adolin asks.

Kaladin doesn’t respond.

But then, he is like that sometimes. Private. Tight-lipped. Uncertain he’s allowed to be otherwise, that it’ll be received. And the thing is, he’s so kind. And he shows it so obviously. Kaladin doesn’t think he’s obvious about it, but he is. He’s so obvious. Always there with a hand on one’s shoulder, with a meal, with a spear braced in defense. But then he’s always surprised to get it in return.

“Hey.” Adolin digs his fingers deeper into his hair, holding the nape of his neck. “Come here.”

It doesn’t take much force at all to draw him in, to coax him to crawl into Adolin’s lap, settle on his thighs, wrap his arms around Adolin’s shoulders and press his face into his neck. He lets out a heaving breath, warm on Adolin’s skin.

“You’re okay,” Adolin murmurs. “I got you.”

Once, Kaladin would have bristled at him for saying something like that. Now, he just sags further into Adolin’s body.

He needs this, Adolin thinks, even if he has a hard time admitting it. And Adolin doesn’t know where else he would possibly get it. The men of Bridge Four are very good friends and Adolin thinks Kaladin could probably talk to them more openly and be well-received, but he’s not going to do this with them because at the end of the day they are still his men, even if he’s no longer officially their commanding officer. And sometimes Adolin wishes they could have gotten here years ago, because Kaladin needed this then, too, maybe even more—except he knows it couldn’t have been this way between them, then, not yet. Something about that final ten days trapped together in Azimir had cracked them enough that their edges were finally able to lock together.

“Did we make things worse?” Kaladin asks. “By going to Thaylen City?”

“I don’t know,” Adolin says. “I think… I think you might have opened a door. Where it leads, though… that I don’t know. We’ll have to figure it out as we go, I guess. And,” he promises, “we will.”

They sit there for some time, quiet. The night air is chill, but the floor is warm under them, and the stone wall at their backs. Another quirk of the Tower.

“I want to figure out what to do with warlight,” Kaladin says eventually. “Something in there is the key to stopping all of this.”

After watching the way Kaladin and Leshwi had fought together, Adolin thinks he agrees. “If anyone can make true peace happen, it’s you, Kal.”

And Kaladin, curled up small in Adolin’s lap, hands still shaking, says, “I’ll try.”

#my writing #stormlight archive #kadolin #kaleshwi #wind and truth spoilers #stormlight archive spoilers

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