a-hermit-pining

[a-hermit-pining]

Just finished Caleb's main story (Ik I'm a lazy bitch. I only log in for daily quests) and I have thoughts, so many of them.

I think the plot itself is amazing. I started with normal expectation of a reunion, then revolt at all the lies and manipulation, but the end ughhh, I wrecked me. I can't believe I'm saying this but I felt sorry for Mr. Colonel.

However, despite so many claims about mc, being just as freaky and manipulative didn't stand up for me. Even when she does track him, it is related to the incident for the children. She didn't seem freaky or manipulative to me 🤷‍♀️, just my take.

Additionally, I really enjoyed the biblical take on things. Especially Viper and his motivations. This story felt like a version of Paradise Lost, this time from Eve's POV.

A world with a cruel God. A fallen Adam, and a lost Eve. I'm excited to see what happens. For once, I want Eve to be the hero and rescue Adam from Garden of Eden.

I could be wrong, but this is just my dramatic take. Also, I am writing this from my phone and have let go of all the rules of grammar and sense.

[a-hermit-pining]

Rebloging because I hate this label glitch

Songs of Broken Hearts

AN: I read angst so, here we are doubling and giving it to you all >< Also if I being real, I would be pissed if Rafayel erased my memories without my will. Seriously, a step forward for my villain arc. Thanks for participating in the poll!

Pairing: LaDS boys (Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier) x reader

Ingredients: 100% angst.

My Fav: Xavier because the potential for more lore is insane.

(I do not own any of these characters. Literally nothing. Don't sue me please)

Zayne:

He saw the terror settle on your face. The slow, sick recognition bleeding into your eyes.

"No... it can't be," you whispered, stepping back, your voice splintering. "No... why?"

Zayne tried to scream. Tried to stop his hand from moving. Tried to claw his way back into his own skin.

But it was too late.

He felt the crooked grin pull at his mouth, not his own. A grin he had seen once before, stretching across the face of something he thought he'd buried forever.

"Long time no see, dearest," Astra purred through his lips.

It was wrong. It was all wrong.

And still, his hand moved, slow and sure, reaching for you.

His palm pressed against the crown of your head. A touch so familiar, it almost broke him, and he felt the jolt of your fear shudder through his bones.

"We meet again, thanks to my foreseer," Astra sneered, settling deeper inside him.

Zayne tried to let go. Tried to loosen his fingers. But they only tightened. Curling around your skull with a gentleness that betrayed the violence underneath.

He felt it then. The hum of magic, dark and coiled. The surge of power thrumming beneath your skin as the suppression spell activated.

He felt you fight. For a moment, one beautiful, desperate heartbeat, he felt you fight. And then he felt you break.

Your defenses crumpled, not gently, not mercifully, but like a tree ripped up by its roots.

"No one escapes fate," Astra whispered, his...Zayne’s, voice almost tender. "Not you either, beloved sister."

He watched himself lift your limp form into his arms. Watched the glow bleed from your mortal body. Saw the shift, slow and horrifying, as you reverted into the divine shape you had abandoned lifetimes ago.

Zayne, trapped inside his own flesh, could only watch, as everything you had fought to be was stripped away, and forsaken godhood revived under his fingertips. The god you had forsaken, was dragged back into existence against your will.

He would never forget the sound your soul made as it broke.

Xavier:

Velari, they called your kind. Primal beings. Sub-human.

Abundant across the lands of Philos. Creatures said to be obedient. Etched with runes. Neck, arms, ankles, symbols left by patrons past.

No better than livestock. Bred to feed the core of the Earth.

He had grown up watching you and your kind, in the palace. Sweeping halls, scrubbing floors, taking lashes for vases shattered by royal hands.

He had never once heard your voice. No one had. No one even knew your name.

Your servitude was all that remained of you. And that had not bothered Xavier.

Surely creatures so void of reason were best kept subdued. Better that than letting them loose, only to watch them perish.

Or so he believed.

Until you were gone. Replaced one morning. No one remarked. Not a word. Just gone.

He hadn’t noticed how much space you occupied until there was none of you left. Not your voice, you had none. Not your scent, it was masked by oils they gave you to smell like nothing. Not your steps, trained to match his without a sound.

But there had been a rhythm. A steadiness. And now it was gone.

The new Velari stumbled too loudly. Tied the laces wrong. Handed him the wrong sword once, and flinched too early when corrected.

Xavier hated himself for missing you. But he did. It was not affection, he told himself. It was not attachment. Just discomfort of disruption.

But still, he asked.

Quietly. To the handlers. To the servants. Once to the steward. "The Velari assigned to me, where are they?"

They blinked at him. Shrugged. "Which one?" they asked. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to describe someone who had been taught to leave no trace.

Just a shadow, swept clean with the noontide.

He retraced corridors. Returned to rooms you used to wait outside. Tried to picture your posture, the shape of your hands, the slope of your shoulders. He had watched you a thousand times and remembered nothing.

And now you were gone. Replaced like a chair that no longer fit the decor.

And now, even if he screamed your name into the sky, he would not know which name to scream. Because he had never once asked for it. Because you had never been allowed to give it.

Rafayel:

He was being punished. Not by the stars. Not by the gods.

By you.

A thousand years ago, you had been willing to die for him. To tear your own heart apart, to save the kingdom he could not. He couldn't let you.

He couldn’t bear it. He couldn't let you. So he stole your choice. Wiped the memory clean. Tore your love from your heart, the one you offered.

And when you were gone, he told himself it had been the right thing. That if you could not remember your sacrifice, you would never suffer its price.

He lied. He lied, and he bled for it through every lifetime after. Across every shore, under every star, through every dying dream he searched for you.

For a glimpse. For a touch. For a few stolen years. To kneel before you. To ask, silently, for a forgiveness he had no right to beg for.

And now...now you stood before him. And you remembered.

But there was no love in your eyes. No soft mercy. Only judgment, carved in the shape of your mouth, your hands, your voice.

"Forget me," you whispered, voice trembling with wrath. Your fingers curled over the bond carved into his chest. Not clutching, not pleading, but caressing, almost tender, the way one might stroke a dying thing.

"Forget me, Rafayel," you breathed against his ear, and he knew, he would never be able to obey. But it didn’t matter.

The bond began to tear anyway. Like tendons snapping one by one. Like heartstrings fraying under invisible knives.

Your name. Your laugh. The memory of the way your hands once warmed his skin. Piece by piece, you burned yourself out of him.

He tried to hold on. Tried to anchor himself in the echo of your heartbeat, but even that slipped away. Until there was nothing left. Only the hollow ache of something wrenched away.

After all the centuries he had spent chasing your shadow, you had finally caught him. And let him go.

[a-hermit-pining]

I'm so over tumblr labeling my posts as mature 🫠

And they won't even review in time. This sucks 😕

[a-hermit-pining]

Songs of Broken Hearts

AN: I read angst so, here we are doubling and giving it to you all >< Also if I being real, I would be pissed if Rafayel erased my memories without my will. Seriously, a step forward for my villain arc. Thanks for participating in the poll!

Pairing: LaDS boys (Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier) x reader

Ingredients: 100% angst.

My Fav: Xavier because the potential for more lore is insane.

(I do not own any of these characters. Literally nothing. Don't sue me please)

Zayne:

He saw the terror settle on your face. The slow, sick recognition bleeding into your eyes.

"No... it can't be," you whispered, stepping back, your voice splintering. "No... why?"

Zayne tried to scream. Tried to stop his hand from moving. Tried to claw his way back into his own skin.

But it was too late.

He felt the crooked grin pull at his mouth, not his own. A grin he had seen once before, stretching across the face of something he thought he'd buried forever.

"Long time no see, dearest," Astra purred through his lips.

It was wrong. It was all wrong.

And still, his hand moved, slow and sure, reaching for you.

His palm pressed against the crown of your head. A touch so familiar, it almost broke him, and he felt the jolt of your fear shudder through his bones.

"We meet again, thanks to my foreseer," Astra sneered, settling deeper inside him.

Zayne tried to let go. Tried to loosen his fingers. But they only tightened. Curling around your skull with a gentleness that betrayed the violence underneath.

He felt it then. The hum of magic, dark and coiled. The surge of power thrumming beneath your skin as the suppression spell activated.

He felt you fight. For a moment, one beautiful, desperate heartbeat, he felt you fight. And then he felt you break.

Your defenses crumpled, not gently, not mercifully, but like a tree ripped up by its roots.

"No one escapes fate," Astra whispered, his...Zayne’s, voice almost tender. "Not you either, beloved sister."

He watched himself lift your limp form into his arms. Watched the glow bleed from your mortal body. Saw the shift, slow and horrifying, as you reverted into the divine shape you had abandoned lifetimes ago.

Zayne, trapped inside his own flesh, could only watch, as everything you had fought to be was stripped away, and forsaken godhood revived under his fingertips. The god you had forsaken, was dragged back into existence against your will.

He would never forget the sound your soul made as it broke.

Xavier:

Velari, they called your kind. Primal beings. Sub-human.

Abundant across the lands of Philos. Creatures said to be obedient. Etched with runes. Neck, arms, ankles, symbols left by patrons past.

No better than livestock. Bred to feed the core of the Earth.

He had grown up watching you and your kind, in the palace. Sweeping halls, scrubbing floors, taking lashes for vases shattered by royal hands.

He had never once heard your voice. No one had. No one even knew your name.

Your servitude was all that remained of you. And that had not bothered Xavier.

Surely creatures so void of reason were best kept subdued. Better that than letting them loose, only to watch them perish.

Or so he believed.

Until you were gone. Replaced one morning. No one remarked. Not a word. Just gone.

He hadn’t noticed how much space you occupied until there was none of you left. Not your voice, you had none. Not your scent, it was masked by oils they gave you to smell like nothing. Not your steps, trained to match his without a sound.

But there had been a rhythm. A steadiness. And now it was gone.

The new Velari stumbled too loudly. Tied the laces wrong. Handed him the wrong sword once, and flinched too early when corrected.

Xavier hated himself for missing you. But he did. It was not affection, he told himself. It was not attachment. Just discomfort of disruption.

But still, he asked.

Quietly. To the handlers. To the servants. Once to the steward. "The Velari assigned to me, where are they?"

They blinked at him. Shrugged. "Which one?" they asked. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to describe someone who had been taught to leave no trace.

Just a shadow, swept clean with the noontide.

He retraced corridors. Returned to rooms you used to wait outside. Tried to picture your posture, the shape of your hands, the slope of your shoulders. He had watched you a thousand times and remembered nothing.

And now you were gone. Replaced like a chair that no longer fit the decor.

And now, even if he screamed your name into the sky, he would not know which name to scream. Because he had never once asked for it. Because you had never been allowed to give it.

Rafayel:

He was being punished. Not by the stars. Not by the gods.

By you.

A thousand years ago, you had been willing to die for him. To tear your own heart apart, to save the kingdom he could not. He couldn't let you.

He couldn’t bear it. He couldn't let you. So he stole your choice. Wiped the memory clean. Tore your love from your heart, the one you offered.

And when you were gone, he told himself it had been the right thing. That if you could not remember your sacrifice, you would never suffer its price.

He lied. He lied, and he bled for it through every lifetime after. Across every shore, under every star, through every dying dream he searched for you.

For a glimpse. For a touch. For a few stolen years. To kneel before you. To ask, silently, for a forgiveness he had no right to beg for.

And now...now you stood before him. And you remembered.

But there was no love in your eyes. No soft mercy. Only judgment, carved in the shape of your mouth, your hands, your voice.

"Forget me," you whispered, voice trembling with wrath. Your fingers curled over the bond carved into his chest. Not clutching, not pleading, but caressing, almost tender, the way one might stroke a dying thing.

"Forget me, Rafayel," you breathed against his ear, and he knew, he would never be able to obey. But it didn’t matter.

The bond began to tear anyway. Like tendons snapping one by one. Like heartstrings fraying under invisible knives.

Your name. Your laugh. The memory of the way your hands once warmed his skin. Piece by piece, you burned yourself out of him.

He tried to hold on. Tried to anchor himself in the echo of your heartbeat, but even that slipped away. Until there was nothing left. Only the hollow ache of something wrenched away.

After all the centuries he had spent chasing your shadow, you had finally caught him. And let him go.

[a-hermit-pining]

We need a winner or I'll write both Xavier and Zayne.

Progress: choosing the gif rn

This will be quick because I'm writing this in an hour so this will be deleted later

[a-hermit-pining]

I mean look at him!!! 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDs as Hotel Staff

AN: I get writing zoomies sometimes. This is the result of that. It started as White Lotus au but derailed to Hotel Del Luna.

Ingredients: 100% Fluff and found family ish??

My Fav: All. I love them all.

Xavier: The most sleep-deprived hotel manager in the known universe. He greets the guests of Philos with a perfect, practiced grin, even when the presidential suite brats call at 2 a.m. demanding fresh coconut water.

(And guess what? They'll get it.)

You’re his unofficial work best friend. The staff member everyone marvels hasn't been fired yet. The one who pulls him back from the brink of snapping.

No one needs to meet the berserk Xavier. Truly.

You grab the ringing phone from his hands, smooth as ever. "Yes, sir," you say sweetly, "we'll have your coconut water first thing in the morning. Sweet dreams." Click.

You turn to Xavier, smug. "See? Not that hard. He’s piss drunk. We’ll be fine."

Xavier looks like he’s questioning all his life choices. Again.

Rafayel: The siren of Philos, or, as some TripAdvisor reviews mysteriously mention, "the ghost by the shore."

Helps you "handle" the problematic guests. The ones who threaten Xavier with bad reviews. By "handle," you mean... well. They stop being a problem. Permanently.

You skip the breakfast rush, stealing a moment by the sea to watch the sunrise. Rafayel surfaces from the water, sleek and shimmering, flopping onto the shore with practiced drama.

"Sup?" you greet him with a nod. "You're early, fish."

He glares. "For the last time, I am not a fish." He scoffs folding his arms, his tail thumps in annoyance. "Must I drown you again to teach you proper titles?"

"Yes, yes, High Prince of the Seas, forgive this poor mortal," you laugh, bowing low.

He preens, fixing the scales at his throat. "Besides," you ask, watching the sunrise, "you drowned another cruise?"

Rafayel smiles, wicked and unrepentant. "They trespassed into our grove. I'm merely an agent of natural selection."

You really should warn Xavier. Maybe.

Zayne: The resort's fitness trainer, seasonal worker. Come winter, he’s here. Come summer, he disappears into the mountains like mist.

Rich, middle-aged guests are smitten by the quiet, broody "Dr. Zayne."

Good thing you’re nosy enough to herd the overly touchy clients into "submersion tanks", a.k.a. the safest way to soak off the raging hormones of fifty-year-old teenagers.

You lean against his table after yet another close call. "She was halfway onto your lap, dude," you say dryly. "If I didn’t know better, I’d think you liked it."

He lobs a pen at your head. You duck, laughing. "Hey! I could have lost my eyesight. I’m not rescuing you next time, Dr. Zayne."

He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like the rumbly murmur of one of the snow leopards before they rip someone's hand off.

Sylus: The owner of Philos Resort. Ex-mafia (maybe). Semi-retired, mostly unhinged.

The one who decided it was perfectly reasonable to staff a resort with sirens, mountain leopards, and occasional revenants. (Yes, the sirens get paid in... alternative compensation.)

You’re halfway through losing your weekly pay in a messy game of cards with Luke and Kieran when Sylus strolls in, all wolfish grin and casual menace.

"Good to see my employees working hard," he says, sliding into the game like a shark in still water.

You try not to sigh too loudly. Losing your paycheck and your pride in front of your boss? Great.

Caleb: The ancient herald guarding the outer gates of resort. The one who slipped your resume under Sylus' nose and said, "This one. Get them."

His tiny hut, just outside resort boundaries, is the unofficial venue for staff parties, close enough for the sirens and leopards to join, far enough that Xavier doesn't have a nervous breakdown over property damage.

You’ve only seen Caleb use his staff once. A massive, glowing relic that appears from nothing. And it was to banish a screaming Karen into the Void after she threw hot coffee in your face. (Her son wept for hours. Not helpful.)

Caleb remains the hardest to anger, and the hardest to cool down once the ancient fury is lit. You’re still finding new strategies to convince him to release guests... eventually.

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDs Men with a Kaladin Stormblessed Coded Reader

AN: idc I really wanted to write this. And this is not perfect so I will write more. No one hold me back. I fucking love Kaladin Stormblessed.

Pairing: LaDS boys x gn reader (Kaladin coded)

Ingredients: 100% honor, 100% angst.

My Fav: Rafayel. Because I like bitter love interests.

(I do not own any of these characters. Literally nothing. Don't sue me please)

Xavier:

The battle was over. The ground was slick with blood. And you...you stood swaying in the center of it all, torn open, barely breathing, but still shielding the fallen behind you.

You hadn’t fought for yourself. You hadn’t even hesitated.

When Xavier reached you, he didn’t speak. He didn’t scold. He just looked at you, at the jagged wound slicing across your side, at the blood pooling at your feet.

How dare you. How dare you value your life so little. How dare you give yourself away so easily, as if it meant nothing.

He carried you back. His armor stained, his gloves slipping slick with your blood, and still, he never once let you go.

Not when the healers came. Not when the others whispered. Not even when you, half-delirious, tried to push him away.

Later, after the chaos settled, he found you again, stitched, bandaged, asleep and pale in your tent.

And he knelt. Sword drawn, point resting against the ground. Head bowed. An oath. Not for a king. Not for a kingdom. For you.

"Next time," Xavier said, voice low, cracking at the edges, "bleed for yourself first." His hand tightened on the hilt. "I’ll be there to cover the rest."

Rafayel:

"There must be another way," you said, loud enough to halt even the bloodthirstiest of the court. "If we flood the lands of the living, we bury not only our enemies... but ourselves."

A scoff split the air.

Yorrick’s voice thundered across the tent, thick with disdain. "And what would you know of it, General?" He spat your title like it tasted foul. "You, who have never worn chains. You, who speaks of mercy for those who would slay your own kin?"

You should have been afraid. You were not. Instead, your gaze slid past Yorrick, and found him. Rafayel.

High Prince of Lemuria. Silent at the head of the war table. Watching.

"You think blood will cleanse blood?" you said, voice steady. "Who has ever bound the sea? Who has ever forced the tide to obey?" You stepped forward, every word a hammerblow.

"Even water trapped in water skin finds its way back to the ocean. Bodies can be enslaved. Minds…" Your eyes locked with his. "Minds cannot."

A tense silence fell. Yorrick’s hand twitched toward his blade.

Rafayel moved. The sea answered him. A gust of salt wind tore through the war tent as the High Prince rose, the gold of his robes whispering along the floor.

"Enough," he said, voice a low roll of thunder. Yorrick froze. The council froze.

But Rafayel wasn’t looking at them. He was looking only at you.

"You think to lecture me on captivity?" he said, and each word landed like a dagger in the gut. "You think to remind me what it means to have chains set to bone, and salt stuffed in the wounds?"

He descended the steps. Every movement a tide pulling the world with him.

"I was broken," he said, softly now, and somehow that was worse. "And you would have me thank them for it?"

For a long moment, there was only the sound of the sea, restless beyond the walls of the tent.

Then you lowered your gaze, but your voice carried clear and sure: "What better are we than mortals," you said, "if we seek the same ruin in our vengeance, my prince?" You bent your knee. Bowed low before him.

"It is not your nature to destroy," you murmured. "Yours is a soul made for creation."

Zayne:

"Traitor," they called you.

Shunned you from the world of the living. Cast you out into the mist. No longer a person, but a shadow. A sprite.

Your crime: offering mercy to the broken souls of the fallen wanderers. Your sin: seeking redemption for the lost. Bringing back their souls to some peace.

But you became one of them.

Had you been wrong? Had your hands, reaching out in hope, only dragged more souls into ruin?

Zayne saw it all.

Any sane man would have let you fall. Would have watched, silent and grieving, as the world devoured your unyielding heart.

He could have stayed. He was a cardiologist respected, revered. He could have saved hundreds, maybe thousands, safe behind the walls of the world you abandoned.

But he did not. He could not.

When the world turned its back on you. Zayne chose to turn his back on the world. If your fate was to fall, then he would fall with you.

Without hesitation. Without regret. Without ever looking back.

Sylus:

A foot soldier with a rusted spear stood before the dragon. Sent alone to slay the beast that noble knights refused to face. They sent you instead.

Sylus snorted, even in his dragon form, smoke curling from his nostrils. He had enough mind left to know the difference between prey... and bait.

Your death would not glorify him. It would strip him of his title as a noble beast. Seal his mountain in shame. Mark him forever a monster.

So he waited, crouched in the gloom, calculating how best to rid himself of this wretched mortal without bloodshed.

He was still scheming when you moved.

Without hesitation, you stepped forward, and snapped the rusted spear against your own thigh, the brittle wood cracking in two.

Sylus stilled, stunned, as you dropped the broken pieces at his feet like an offering. "I shall not harm you, old dragon of Philos," you said, your voice carrying clean and sure through the cavern's heavy air. "I will return to my world. No harm shall come to yours."

You looked at him eyes steady, unafraid. Clearer than any mortal he had ever seen. Perhaps that was what a foolish, fragile kind of morality did to a mortal body. Made it stubborn. Made it beautiful.

Sylus shifted, his great head lowering, his molten crimson gaze fixing you in place. "They will hunt you instead," he rumbled, the cavern trembling with the force of his voice. "An ineffective bait is a discarded one." There was something like mirth in his tone. A low, curling amusement.

How could he not savor this moment? It was not every day the Creator bestowed upon the world a mortal so foolish, and so brave, that even a dragon found himself... entertained.

Caleb:

You refused to step foot in the town where your failure lay. The charred remains of your once home.

You had failed to save him. Failed to protect him.

The nightmares of the fire still haunted you, licking at the edges of your sleep, dragging you back to that day, again and again.

You had let the fire take Caleb from you. You, who fought for the world, who swore to guard it, had lost the one soul you should have shielded most.

It was always the same. Anyone you sought to protect... was taken from you.

Just like Caleb had been.

You went through the motions of life after. Fighting wanderers. Mining protocores for the Hunter’s Association. A hollow blade wielded by a hollow hand.

But no matter how many beasts you struck down, no matter how deep you buried yourself in work, there was no victory.

Only smoke. Only ashes. And a heart torn apart by its own hand.

"Forgive me," you whisper to the night sky, over and over on lonely nights. "Forgive me, Caleb," you repeat, tears slipping down your cheeks.

"I failed, Grandma. I'm sorry." Your voice cracks as you look up, searching the stars for answers that never come.

[a-hermit-pining]

How to write a Kaladin Stormblessed coded reader??

I've written knights but my man Kaladin I'd way beyond all that.

"Honor is dead, but I'll see what I can do." Said the epic man 💣💣

[a-hermit-pining]

GENUIS 🫂

Blood-Red Commander Sylus 🗡️ (Sylus x Igris)

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDs and Platonic GN Reader

AN: How did this get to angsty? Might have to write Caleb's scenario into a fic 😌

Pairing: LaDS boys x Platonic gn reader

Ingredients: 20% fluff, 80% angst.

My Fav: Xavier, Caleb and Sylus. Almost bawled imagining last two.

Xavier:

"Just pull me out already," you snap, smashing another wanderer’s head into a jagged rock. "You can't fight with a damn dagger."

It would’ve been easier, so much easier, to simply be a sword and nothing else. But Xavier, ever stubborn, ever foolish, clung to his ethics about using a conscious weapon.

"I would rather not dirty my hands, my liege," you sneer, tugging the title tight enough to choke him, even as you kick another lurking wanderer creeping behind his back. "This humble sword begs you to use it, my liege."

That's what you were. The royal sword of the Kingdom of Philos. Passed down through generations, an artifact, a legend. Until you came to be in his hands.

And he… he refused to wield you like all the others did.

Rafayel:

"I’m sure Prince Rafayel would have something clever to say, Your Highness," you murmur, shooting a sly look at the sullen boy across the court.

Rafayel grumbles audibly.

Prick. Spoiled princeling.

He glares at your back, face pinched in barely restrained annoyance.

"Father dearest," Rafayel drawls, voice dripping with sarcasm, "your advisor speaks in such riddles, I’m sure no one in this court has understood a damn thing in years."

The king only laughs, waving him off, indulgent.

You smile to yourself. Another victory. Another day.

You bow deeply to the Empress. Your sister, seated high above, radiating authority.

Her son, not this incompetent siren currently burning holes into your back, would be the next emperor of Lemuria.

And you would make sure of it.

Zayne:

You were the hot professor.

The one whispered about in the back rows of med school lecture halls, competent, brilliant, professional, and endlessly, compassionate.

To Zayne, you were everything he wanted to become. Your lectures became his worship. Your praise, his lifeline.

He became your unfailing student. Then your teaching assistant. Then your research partner. Until your name, neat and sure, signed the bottom of his residency recommendation letters.

Somewhere along the way, the innocent crush softened into something sturdier. A bond. A place he belonged.

Late nights stacked with patient files turned into home-cooked meals, his mother sending enough to feed you both. Long hours turned into weekend visits. And somehow, he became a fixture in your home.

He met your partner. Held your daughter, just five years old, when she ran giggling into his arms, calling him 'Yane'.

And he much preferred this.

Sylus:

"It was instinct," you murmur, kneeling before him. "I heard the gun and..." You lift your gaze, and meet his.

Sylus stares down at you, silent, stone-faced. At the bruise blooming dark across your swollen cheek.

Behind the heavy doors, he can hear your brothers, Luke and Kieran, shuffling anxiously. But they know better than to intervene now. Not after what you had done.

"Did I not forbid you from entering the room?" Sylus grinds out, voice sharp as broken glass. "So what gave you the right to go against my word?"

You lower your eyes, guilt clawing through you. You had never disobeyed him. Not like your brothers, reckless and headstrong. You respected him too much.

But the hunter...the shot...the sound of his gasp. You hadn't thought. You had just moved.

"I am sorry," you whisper, bowing lower. "There is no forgiveness for this."

Behind your closed lids, the memory burns: Your boss’s body recoiling from the shot. Your hand dragging the woman off him, fury overtaking reason. Your gun raised without permission. Pointed. Defiant.

You went against his orders. Against him.

Sylus’s jaw locks, muscles straining. He should be furious. He was furious. He would have shot anyone else.

But the bruise on your cheek twists something deep inside him, a raw, ugly shame.

You haven't changed. Even after all the blood spilled, all the years hardened. You are still the same stubborn, reckless child he took in. One of the triplets who swore loyalty to him with every drop of blood they had.

Caleb:

"And what," you say carefully, setting your notes aside, "compelled you to do that, Caleb?"

He shuffles anxiously in his chair. Fidgeting. Flexing his fingers. Refusing to meet your eyes.

"I was protecting her," he says, almost defensive. "Keeping her away from harm. That was the only way I could think. I had to keep her close."

It had taken months to even reach this point. Months of silence. Of angry outbursts. Of numbed, dazed sessions where he barely spoke through the haze of medication.

Now, here he was, fractured and raw, finally pulling words out of a healing mind..

He glances up at you, pleading. "It wasn’t to hurt her," he insists, voice cracking. "I could never... I love her. I just—" He chokes on the words. "I had to save her. I had to keep her safe."

Tears slip down his face unchecked. He doesn't even reach for the tissues you offer.

"You understand me, right?" he whispers, desperate. "You’ll tell her? Tell her it was love. That I love her. I was wrong, but—" He clutches your hands, tight and shaking. "Please. She has to know. She has to know, so she can come back. So she can... take me with her. Please."

He is begging now. To bring back a person long gone.

[a-hermit-pining]

Everyone in this fandom is a god damn genius. Every fic I read is chef's kiss worthy 🤧

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDs Men React to You Being Whipped for Them

AN: Is it love, if not bound by subtle insanity?

Pairing: LaDs x GN Reader

Emily Bronte (Wuthering Heights): “He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

Yearning Event

Xavier:

"Sit," you say, practically shoving him onto the bed. "Sleep. On time. For once."

You tuck him in with a look that brooks no argument. "You're going nowhere tonight. I don't care if the world ends. It can wait until morning."

Xavier blinks up at you from under the blanket, wide-eyed. He never imagined he'd live to see the day someone forced him to sleep. He slept plenty as is, but this? This was different.

You lean in, palm cupping his cheek, thumb brushing over his pout. "Not sleepy?" you ask, voice soft, lips close.

And then the little gremlin bites your finger. Gently. But still. His eyes glimmer. "Can't sleep," he whispers. "Not tired enough."

He gives you the look. You know the one.

You’re not sure if you want to fight him or kiss him breathless. Possibly both.

Rafayel:

He knows you’re whipped. And he lives for it.

This? This is his dream come true. You, hovering with tissues and cough drops. You, his personal bodyguard, ready to throw hands at anyone who so much as sneezes in his direction.

He flashes smug little smiles at everyone who sees you fuss over him. Sips his tea like royalty. Winks like the menace he is.

Cue: entire exhibition crowd watching you dig through your bag for lozenges because his voice might sound hoarse.

He’s a sucker for love, but terrified to be the first one to say it. So when you pour your heart out first?

He’s free. Free to adore you with all the softness he’s hidden for years. Free to give back everything he’s been aching to share.

He’ll never say it, but this kind of love? This saves him.

Zayne:

He doesn’t know what to do with this. Not at first.

You bring him lunch at work. Spend weeks researching ways to break the curse. Kiss every scar like it’s sacred.

Everyone around you sees it. The way you’re gently, beautifully spoiling him. And they love it. They love this for him.

And slowly… so does he.

At first, he’s confused. Then touched. Then quite overwhelmed.

Because he’s never had this before. Not like this. Not so deliberate. So quietly certain. But over time, it settles in his chest like warmth. Like a memory he never had but always wanted. Like home.

And when he finally learns how to return it. When he stops being afraid of breaking it... oh, gods. You’ll drown in it.

Because Zayne doesn’t love in halves. He just never thought he was allowed to have this.

Sylus:

He’s supposed to be the suave one. The smooth-talker. The charm incarnate. The planner. The tease.

But your easy, unrelenting affection? It undoes him.

“What next?” he asks, leaning down to tilt your chin up. “You going to complain next? ‘Sylus, why can’t you ever plan anything in advance?’” He mocks your voice with a grin, cocky and effortless.

But your smile doesn’t waver. You just wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer. Like you always have.

“No,” you murmur. “I think it’s an excellent idea to take a vacation. Thanks for planning, Sylus.” You say his name so gently. So sure. Then kiss him with painstaking care.

And he’s stunned. Just… still. A blush creeping in. Throat tight. Something in his chest cracks open.

“Well,” he says, voice lower now. No teasing this time, just a quiet, genuine warmth. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Gods help him. You’re too good at this.

Caleb:

You’re both the problem. The gooey couple that makes strangers jealous and your kids roll their eyes.

Your love is obnoxiously mutual. Like something ripped from a bard’s over-the-top romance ballad. And he lives for it.

He’s jealous by nature. Territorial. But with you? He has never felt more safe. You never give him reason to doubt. Never make him feel like he’s too much.

To be cared for so deeply, to be someone’s center of gravity, it heals something ancient in him. It’s the love he didn’t know he was allowed to have. And gods, he guards it with everything he is.

Because in your eyes? He’s not a colonel. Not a soldier. Not a weapon. He’s just Caleb. And he is so, so loved.

[a-hermit-pining]

As the eldest sibling, the urge to protect Tien is insane.

Screaming, crying, throwing up as I read Stormlight Archive

[a-hermit-pining]

Heavenly Archives- Calamity 06

AN: Sylus is Hua Cheng coded. Fight me. I dare you. Tried something new, let's hope formatting did not kick my ass.

Pairing: Sylus x Reader

"No water is enough when you have crossed the sea, No cloud is beautiful but that which crowns the peak. I pass by flowers that fail to attract poor me, Half for your sake and half for Taoism I seek." - Yuan Zhen

Yearning Event

HEAVENLY ARCHIVES: CLASSIFIED RECORD [CALAMITY PROFILE: 06 / DESIGNATION: SYLUS] ACCESS LEVEL: RESTRICTED (CELESTIAL RANK IV AND ABOVE) COMPILED BY: IMPERIAL RECORDS DIVISION / UNSEALED UNDER ORDER #AX777-B DATE OF PRIMARY INCIDENT: ~1200 cycles prior

Warning

The following document is sealed under Heaven Decree 06-CRIMSON, originally issued 1200 cycles ago following the Sixth Calamity.

This file contains information deemed volatile, heretical, and historically destabilizing by the High Court. Unauthorized access or reproduction of any content within this archive will result in, immediate invocation of the Silent Oath

SUMMARY OF EVENT

The Sixth Calamity, known to common folk as Sylus, launched a full-scale assault on the Heavenly Court approximately 800 years ago, resulting in the complete destruction of the East Pavilion, obliteration of the Warrior God Corps, and the permanent disbandment of the Flame Lotus Order. Casualties remain unnumbered due to ashfall corruption of divine records. The attack was sudden. Brutal. Unprovoked by any known celestial decree.

Only one structure was spared:

a small, unregistered hut located in the lower gardens of the Heaven’s Eastern Watch.

The Calamity halted before it. Witnesses, those who survived, claimed the moment Sylus laid eyes on the structure, the wrath that devoured gods was gone. Just... gone. What power resided in that hut remains unknown.

SURVIVING ACCOUNTS: WARRIOR GODS’ REPORTS

“He saw something. Something sacred. Something from... before.”

“I thought it was the Empress herself. But it wasn’t her body he bowed to.”

“It looked like grief.”

None could agree on the true nature of the site. Some say it belonged to a nymph. Others whispered it was the former quarters of a forgotten imperial concubine. But the most consistent, albeit suppressed, theory, is that it was once the resting place of a young god of justice, long erased from the rolls.

FIELD REPORT: FALLEN WORLD (RESTRICTED TERRITORY)

In an effort to reconstruct a timeline preceding the Calamity, our team was dispatched to the former dominion of Sylus in the Lower Realms.

ORAL ACCOUNT: ORC CAMP, TERRA BONE REGION

“He was mortal back then,” said one orc, self-identified as Talus, former shield-bearer to the house of Sylus. “Lord was young. Just flesh. Walked among the rest of us. Then he saw his love, the justice god. The bright one. And from that moment, nothing else ever mattered again.” [Laughter recorded. Followed by minor static interference.] “Doomed, he was. Ye can’t love a god and survive, aye?”

CULTURAL REFLECTION: FOX TRIBE, EASTERN HOLLOW

“Mortals cannot touch gods,” said the Nine-Tail Elder. “But our lord tried. He gave everything, breath, blood, name, for the one he called his justice.” “When the god was put to trial, stripped of title, cast aside by Heaven, Sylus burned with him. But he was only human. His body broke. His mind fractured. What was left... was rage.”

“That’s what the heavens call a calamity. Grief so powerful it set the sky on fire.”

UNCONFIRMED ANOMALIES:

No divine records remain of a “justice deity” fitting the descriptions collected from the lower realms.

The hut spared by the Calamity has since vanished.

Sylus has not been seen since the day of the assault.

Multiple sealed temples in the Fallen World still bear symbols that match the preserved markings on the hut.

FINAL NOTATION:

Though officially labeled a Calamity, Sylus's actions and motivations remain subject to dispute among celestial historians. Many believe the destruction of heaven was not an act of power, but of mourning.

Of a love made sacrilege. Of a grief no god dared name.

Further investigation is forbidden under Order 497-H. All who speak the name of the forgotten god shall be marked with silence. But still, in the ruined corners of the world, one phrase persists:

“Justice prevails by the hands of calamity, bringing heaven to its knees."

[a-hermit-pining]

Requests are open for this event only. Please don't send any other ones, I will not be answering them because I am currently incapable of writing anything that is not a dramatic proclamation of love.

I am feeling the never ending existential angst grip my heart, so here we are.

I have 2 fluff request pending but I want to write longing, yearning, heartbreak.

So send me a poem and a LaDs guy of your wish. And I will write something, a poem, a letter, a journal, a headcanon, a drabble, or anything in the realm of possibility.

Extra points for some Rumi in there 💖

Only 10 slots for now.