#like wind whistling through the windows windy!

[salamispots]

every time I make fake store ads/product designs I'm just like

[snorky]

Hi how are you?

I was hoping you could write something with Vince? Angst and fluffy ending? Please ❤️

Hold Me Close, And Never Let Go

Hey y’all, and hi to the lovely person who requested this Vince Dunn angst and fluff story. I'm doing well, and I hope you all are too. The pronouns for the reader in this story are they/them (so if you want it changed, let me know *directed at the lovely requester*). I’ve been busy recently, and so I apologize for this request coming out a little later than I wanted. I hope you also all enjoy this fic, and take care of yourself!

Pairing: Vince Dunn x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Angst, Stressed reader

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Heavy storms raged outside their Seattle apartment, the rain pitter-pattering against the windows as they tried to focus on their work. Thunder snapped now and then, and the wind seemed to whistle in the air as a warning.

The paper in front of them was taunting them, a blank page with no answer. All the numbers, letters, formulas, instructions, whatever it was, just didn’t make sense. It was all an incoherent mess to their tired eyes.

Deadlines were chasing them, yelling, screaming at them as if the time ticking down like sand slipping away through their fingers.

The pen in their hands seemed to be ticking them off at every moment. Ink flowed inconsistently, slipping on the paper in the wrong direction, scribbles and scrawls seeming to be the only thing that marked up their page.

A knock came from their door as they were lost in thought. 

“Baby? I miss you.” He called out from behind the door. “Can we cuddle together?”

It had been so long since they heard Vince’s voice, gentle compared to his figure. As badly as they wanted to cuddle with him, they had work to catch up on and do.

They just wished he could hold them, telling them that ‘it’s alright’ and ‘you’re doing lovely,’ to calm the storm of stress in their mind. The storm seemed to mirror the outside weather that was rampant, windy, and rainy.

Instead, they sighed, almost in irritation. “Can’t. I’m working.” Even though they mumbled, their voice still cracked, amplifying their exhaustion.

“Please.” The door creaked open as he came in, his steps careful as he walked towards them. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you,” he said quietly. “It’s been so long since I’ve even heard your voice.”

The storm continued outside, a flash of lightning followed by thunder disrupting the silence in the room.

Taking a deep breath in, it felt uneven, irritating them further. “Vince, I need to get this done,” they groaned. “Leave me alone for a bit.” Their voice came out much sharper than they had intended, and it was evident when a look of hurt appeared on his face.

He stood there in the middle of the room in silence, looking at them, arms crossed over his chest. They turned their head and looked at him for a brief moment, noticing how sad and disappointed he looked when they said that, and a pang of guilt struck them as they turned back to their work.

“Why.” He sounded hurt, his words came out so emotionally and yet empty and hollow all at once. “Why can’t you just rest with me for a moment?”

They thought about it in silence for a bit. The deadlines seemed so sudden, and the pressure to keep the expectations high was suffocating. Their body felt worn out, tense, and exhausted.

Turning to look at him, tears welled up in their eyes, blurring their vision. “I don’t know,” they croaked. “There’s just so much—”

Vince walked over to them, crouching down to be lower than eye level, and rested his hand on their shoulder. “You need a break.” He pleaded. “Okay?” His voice was always gentle with them, even when they both were upset or hurt. He never spoke louder than he had to, ever.

They finally let out a sob, exhaustion catching up to them, tears streaming down their face as they leaned into his arms. His hands braced them, holding them close as he carefully moved them off of the chair and onto the ground in his lap.

Their breaths were rough and ragged, uneven and unsteady.  “I’m sorry,” they mumbled, sniffling slightly. “I’m sorry for getting upset at you.”

“It’s okay, you’re alright. I know you weren’t feeling the best and that you weren’t in the right state of mind.” His words were genuine, smile sweet as ever.

Vince being this kind to them, even when they were upset, made them cry more at how sweet he was. The tears continued to fall, running down their cheeks, their nose now stuffy and irritated as they cried.

 “Shh, it’s going to be alright,” he soothed. His thumb rubbed small circles into their back, their face hidden in the crook of his neck. “Stay here with me, just for a bit.”

They both remained like this for a while, on the floor together in each other’s embrace, the storm calming down outside to a gentle rainfall. His deep breaths steadied them, a solid rock in the ocean that never seemed to move in the most hectic storms. Despite the tears continuing to run down their face, they remained silent for the most part, taking breaths in every now and then.

He hummed softly into their hair, pulling them closer to his body as he did so. “Let’s move to the bed, alright?” Pressing his lips to their forehead gently, he spoke, “We just need a quick nap, that’s all.”

Tears welling up in their eyes again, the kindness and patience he showed never failed to disappoint them. He never once upset them or made them feel bad about themselves. He was always caring and sweet, he was always perfect in their heart.

“What’s bothering you, sweetheart?” His hand went up to their face, cupping it gently in his palms as his thumb wiped a tear away.

They shook their head, choosing to remain in silence in fear that if they tried to speak, their tears would start to fall again, unending.

“It’s okay, we can always talk about it tomorrow, okay?” he spoke softly.

Keeping his arms wrapped tightly around them, he got up and walked to their shared bed. Setting them down gently on the bed, he then got in bed and lay down beside them. He then pulled the covers over both of them, encasing them in the soft, thick blanket.

“Cozy, baby?”

They nodded in response, scooting closer toward Vince under the blanket. He wrapped his arms around them, holding them warmly as one of his hands held the back of their head as they rested it on his chest, the stress slowly crumbling away.

It was just the both of them, just him in their world at the moment. The deadlines faltering away somewhere else, the stress melting away as he held them close.

“I love you,” they mumbled quietly.

He gave them a gentle peck on the top of their head and smiled sweetly at them. “I love you too,” he said. “And I’ll never stop loving you, baby.”

They smiled at his words, and before they could start tearing up again, he peppered soft kisses all over their face, making them let out a small laugh. “That’s what I like to hear,” he hummed.

[lexa-griffins]

for your clexa headcanons i don’t know if you mean something from your fics or just in general but one i have is that in canon lexa is afraid of the dark (which she’s annoyed by) but on days where it’s really windy clarke Always makes sure to have something ready to relight all the candles or have some maybe covered (?) safely in a way where it’s hard to put it out with just wind

No you're so right because, when is Lexa ever in complete darkness? Never. There are always candles be it in her room or her tent and total darkness would definitely freak Lexa out. As a small nightblood getting separated from the others at night in a nighttime exercise and curling into a ball until Anya found her and carried her back to camp. How she sees the demons that haunt her when the room is to dark and how she'll rush to light three more candles to try and brighten the room. Its a weakness, this irrational fear of the dark. Anxiety inducing. One of the few things that coulf send her into a full blown panic attack.

And even with Clarke here, she can't fully let herself be in the dark. She can too easily see Costia's headless body in the lump that is Clarke beside her, see the spirits of the commanders around her shaming her for living in weakness like this. So she keeps the candles. And Clarke doesnt argue.

And when the first storm since they got together arrives the wind feels like it could shake the entire tower, and it blows through Lexa's window and although her and Clarke are save and warm, cuddled underneath the piles of fur in the bed, Lexa is shaking as the wind blows off another couple of candles, the only three surviving sitting by the door, somehow protected, making the room darker and darker.

"Are you cold? Do you want me to ask for more furs?" Clarke asks with worry in her voice, holding Lexa closer to her and she trembles. Lexa dhakes her head no, trying to hide herself from the growing darkness in Clarke's chest. She falls asleep right before the wind blows out the remaining candles, holding on to Clarke for dear life.

The next night, the storm continues. Milder, but with winds still strong enough to blow how half of Lexa's candles. She's under the furs, alone now as Clarke said she'd be back a little later. As another blow whistles through the window and blows a few more flames, Lexa can feels the panic settle. Even more so without Clarke beaide her. She's shaking, her breathing heavy and eyes burning with tears she does not want to let shed. She tried to lighten the candles the window blew out, but they do not last long.

The first tears as dropped when Clarke stumbles through the door, the clicking of glass accompanying her.

Lexa stares in shock as Clarke makes her way inside with what seems to be a basket full of cups and vases, relics from the old world that survived, given how glass isnt fabricated much by the grounders.

"You have no idea how many doors I knocked on to get all of this." Clarke comments, quickly removing the glassware from the box and moving around the room.

Her shock seems stronger than her panic as Lexa manages a "what are those for?"

Clarke shrugs, moving around the room with quickness, dropping smaller candles inside the cups and the bigger ones inside the vases before lighting them up. Immediately, Lexa feels herself become calmer, and the room lightens up and warms with the flames, only for another gust of wind to come through and blow out the few candles without glass around it. The rest shakes but stays bright.

"That should do the job until I can ask Raven for something that works better." Clarke announces, clearly proud of herself and her solution. As she turns she finds Lexa staring at her from the bed, mouth slightly agape, that "i am so in love with you" look Clarke knows so well on her face, "its really nothing. You spent the entire night shaking and whimpering last night Lexa. I get. Darkness cant be... terrifying. I hadn't experienced true darkness until i got to the ground. We always had some light on the ark." By now she has made her way to the bed, laying down next to Lexa who quickly snuggles up to jer side, happy with the way she can clearly see Clarke.

"I feel... very panicked when I can't see. I always feel like there might be something in the shadows that might get me. Be it a real person, a-a monster or-"

"A ghost." Clarke finishes for her, knowingly

Lexa nods, "yes."

Clarke pulls the cover above both of their bodies and the wind continues to make the trees shake and sing.

"As long as I'm here, I'll make sure there is no darkness in this room. Even if I have to blow my own glass."

Lexa tilts her head woth a smile, "Can you do that?"

Clarke chuckles, "Probably not." And Lexa joins in, pecking her lips and hididng her face underneath Clarke's chin, "But I'd learn. For you."

Lexa let's out a shaky, happy sigh. The room is already warmer, and despite the wind, it continues bright, "As long as you're here, I'll never be without light"

[circusgoth-dotcom]

Wash, Cut, & Dry

Ship: Gabriel Morgrave x Phil Allen

Word Count: 951

Summary: The first time Gabriel and Phil meet, takes place a year after the events of the film. Gabriel is a model and backup dancer for a minor celebrity; while filming a music video, a storm blows in and filming is paused for the time being. Gabriel's boss sends him to the on-set stylist because he wants something different done with his hair, but the stylist quits halfway through and abandons the project. Another person on set instructs Gabriel to go into the nearby town and find Phil Allen's barbershop to get himself fixed up. Wanted to leave the ending kind of ambiguous and also hey he said the thing he said the title of the movie zhzhzh

Tag List: @canongf @futurewife @rexscanonwife

It was a terribly windy and dark day in Keighley, the kind of storm that drove customers away from the streets and kept them cooped up in their homes. Still, several businesses remained open in the pouring rain up and down main street, including Phil Allen’s barbershop. He sighed as he sat beside the front window, a mug of steaming coffee in hand and contemplating if he should close up shop and spend the rest of the afternoon reading in his apartment. He took a sip as a flash of lightning lit up the street. He whistled lowly, half-impressed by the sight, then startled to his feet as the door opened.

The air filled with the combined sounds of rolling thunder, rushing wind, and the tingling of the greeting bell, followed by the wet and disgruntled sounds of the entering customer.

"Good lord…" Phil exclaimed absently as he set aside his coffee and the customer yanked the door shut behind them. They wore a dark brown frock with only two buttons buttoned and generally looked a mess, with their choppy black hair plastered to their face.

Spitting and pulling strands away from their mouth, they spoke. "Are you Phil Allen?"

“Aye, I am. How can I help you?”

Relief seemed to emanate from the customer as Phil took their soaked coat, revealing a form-fitting leather coarser top and ripped skinny jeans. They offered a hand.

"Gabriel Morgrave, I'm a model and backup dancer for Clancy Westermann… we were shooting a music video when the storm blew in and Clancy wanted something different done with my hair, but the hairdresser totally freaked mid-cut and ditched us. One of the higher-ups told me to find you…" Gabriel peered through his dripping hair at the award plaques above the salon mirrors.

"Well, whoever this higher-up is, they've sent you to the right place. Please, take a seat. I'm going to grab some towels and I'll have my son put your coat through the dryer."

"Oh, you don’t have to…" Gabriel held out his hand for his coat, but Phil kept it out of reach.

"I insist. I don't want this Clancy fellow, whoever he is, getting in a kerfuffle because you caught a cold. I'm doing you a favour, now sit."

“Yes, sir.” Gabriel shrugged to himself and sat in one of the styling chairs. Meanwhile, Phil walked to the back of the shop and made his way half-way up the stairs to his apartment.

“Brian!”

There was a long enough pause that Phil continued, thinking to himself, don’t make me call for you again, until he heard the door open.

“Yeah, da?” Brian appeared at the top of the stairs. Phil handed him the frock.

“Run this through the dryer, won’t you? We have a customer, he’s just come in from the storm.”

Brian took the coat, though a confused expression formed on his face. “You wouldn’t normally do this for any other customer…?”

“Well, it sounds like he might work for a minor celebrity, so I want to stay on his good side, right? Hop to it.”

Brian nodded and disappeared back into their apartment as Phil returned to the shop, picking up fluffy, fresh towels on his way. “I apologize for their lack of warmth, but they should do the trick for drying you off.”

He handed one to Gabriel to dry off anything that wasn’t covered by the coat, then set to tousling his hair with the other. “My word, you weren’t kidding when you said the stylist marooned you mid-cut, this is ghastly… who would do such a thing?” It almost physically pained him to look at the rough cut and split ends as he worked.

“I think he felt overworked. Clancy is a very particular man, but his mind can change on a whim. Not everybody can keep up.” Gabriel cleared his throat as he dried his face. “I suppose I’m lucky.”

“So, what kind of cut was he looking for, anyway?”

A tired, bored look came over Gabriel’s features as he set aside the towel. “Oh, I don’t know,” he ho-hummed. “Would it frustrate you if I asked you to surprise me? Clancy won’t be mad, so long as you fix the disaster the last guy left behind.”

Phil peered at their reflections in the mirror, his brow furrowing slightly as he barred a sigh. He didn’t much like when clients told him to surprise them, as it was their own fault if they didn’t end up liking what he did. Before he could answer, Gabriel spoke again.

“Think of me like one of your models. You’ve won quite a few championships, I see.”

“I’ve only ever worked with one model…” He absently examined Gabriel’s hair, running his fingers through it and cringing at the uneven lengths. “She retired last year and I don’t know if I’ll ever enter another tournament without her.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows raised, intrigued. “We’ll see about that. Just try fixing me up, alright?”

“What…? Oh…” Phil waved his hand dismissively and went to open his drawer of tools. “Fine! But don’t come crying to me if Clancy fires you because I bunked up.”

By the time the words fell from his mouth and an embarrassed rose captured Gabriel’s cheeks, Phil knew he had gone too far. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, luv. Let’s get this over with, shall we? Deep breath… trust me, you’re in good hands.”

Gabriel inhaled through his nose, speaking a little stiffly. “Just prove it to me, alright?”

Determined to do right by this stranger, Phil plunged on, taking out several sizes of scissors and two electric razors, setting them on the counter. “Let’s start with a blow dry.”

[happyk44]

Thinking about Jason spotting Nico in a field of black rams, herding them slowly towards the shadows back to his father's kingdom. There are two sheepdogs sprinting around to keep the herd in line. One other dog, a guardian against predators, roams leisurely closeby. But Jason's eyes cannot stray from the boy for long.

He's slender, beautiful in a haunting way. As Jason wafts a warm breeze around him, enticing him to stay just a little longer, he can smell the rich scent of earth and pomegranates. A small fragrance of death clinging to his skin.

Jason touches without touching. The boy, whoever he is, is unscarred, thin but healthy. He shivers at every windy caress. Soft black hair tickles his cheeks and when he laughs, it sounds like a song. He speaks with a softened tone as he corrals the sheep together and calls out for one of the dogs to push back a wanderer.

When a roaming pack of wolves approach, wary of the boy protecting his flock, he hardens. As he flips towards them, his staff sharpens wickedly and becomes a sword. The sheepdogs tighten the herd. The guard dog growls in warning. The ground trembles.

It doesn't matter.

Jason simply scatters them all away with well timed lightning. He's not fond of harming wolves and luckily he doesn't have to, they run at the first bolt. The sheep bleat in fear, rumble nervously between themselves, but the boy calms then down as Jason runs up.

"Thanks," he says. "But I could've handled them myself." His sword smooths back into a staff. Childishly he knocks the horns on one of the more ornery rams until it quiets down. "My father wouldn't have sent me out by myself if I couldn't."

He whistles at the dogs and points towards the trees, where a shadowy crevice has formed. That explains the smell of death, Jason thinks.

The boy is a prince.

"I like to help," Jason says. He pulls power and strength into his voice. Tries for a non-threatening smile. "That's quite the sword, by the way. May I?"

The boy pauses for a moment. Then nods and hands it over. "Careful with it, it's not mine." As Jason admires it, Stygian iron and smooth to the touch, no hints of the blade beneath, the boy clears his throat. "I'm Nico."

"Jason." He looks back at Nico, whose eyes are a deep dark brown, almost void-like. It's intoxicating to stare into. "You're very pretty."

A rosy hue tints his cheeks. "Oh. Um, thank you."

He throws the staff away. The winds slam it high and out of the way. Nico startles but before he can say a word, Jason grabs him. The powerful winds drown his shouts as Jason carries him off into the sky. The higher they go, the less he struggles. Instead he turns wide-eyed and scared. But he is still so beautiful.

Even when Jason lands through the window into his room and deposits him on the bed. Even when he attacks, hands and fists and nails and teeth. Even when Jason pins him down with lightning and wind to tie him carefully down with chains given to him from his brother. Even when Nico's eyes well up with thick tears and he screams pointlessly for someone to come help him, powers useless under the weight of his bindings.

He is still so beautiful.

A pretty prince, just for Jason.

[vehspeaks]

The Shadow's Embrace

It was morning again, and the sky wore a sleepy gray hue. The Waystone Inn lay in quietude. It was a silence of three parts. The first part revealed itself with clarity, as the sturdy stone walls shielded the inn from the the winds of early Autumn. The second part emerged in the symphony of absence. Within the stone walls, copper wiring etched with protective runes warded off unwanted magic, preserving the tranquil ambiance. Yet the deepest silence remained hidden within a man. He lay there, lost in the realm of dreams, oblivious to the clamor of the world, burdened by the weariness of prolonged existence, forever awaiting the gentle touch of death.

As the first blush of orange caressed the horizon, marking the delicate embrace between night and day, the slumbering town began to stir to life. The crackling sound of kindling resonated, accompanied by the gentle murmur of simmering water, announcing the imminent arrival of comforting porridge. Autumn leaves whispered through the dew-kissed grass, creating a morning lullaby that awakened the world. Within the Waystone Inn, a sanctuary nestled amidst the rich tapestry of existence, the lingering aroma of freshly baked muffins permeated the air, their sweet nuttiness casting an enchanting spell. Amidst the remnants of diligent labor, a chaotic arrangement of copper utensils testified to the bustling activity of busy hands, while a spill of batter, akin to a shared secret whispered in hushed tones, sizzled on the rim of a worn stone bowl. And nearby, the cooling muffins sang a gentle melody, their tiny, contented pings forming a sweet symphony, as they embraced the tender caress of the morning.

These minuscule, forgotten sounds added a clandestine silence to the prevailing, resounding one. They stitched it together like tiny, gleaming threads of brass. The subdued thumping served as a counterpoint to the rhythmic beats of the tabor, accompanying the song. Amidst this symphony, Bast continued to softly whistle, his melody contrasting the serenity of the inn. Within the confines of the inn, the flickering flames of the hearth danced merrily, casting their warmth throughout the room and illuminating the copper fixtures. The stillness was tangible, interrupted solely by the gentle crackle of the fire and Bast's muted movements in the kitchen.

Kote awakened suddenly, surprised to find that he had overslept. However, something felt different about this day, a renewed vigor that he had not felt in years. For the first time in an age, he had dreamt. Dreams that rekindled memories of his days at university and the companionship of dear friends. A smile played on his lips as he made his way to the mirror, gazing at his reflection with wonder. He looked youthful, almost like his old self.

But the joy was fleeting, for the scars of his past were etched deep into his skin and his soul. The wounds of battles fought and losses suffered never truly faded. He pushed the thoughts away, savoring this moment of tranquility, avoiding the chest in the corner of the room that held memories he'd rather forget.

Descending the stairs to the common room, the alluring aroma of breakfast greeted Kote, a nutty scent that hung in the air like a warm embrace. There, Bast was already hard at work, preparing a bounty of chocolate pecan muffins. Bast's excitement was contagious, and he welcomed Kote with a broad grin, pushing a muffin into his hand. Kote took a bite and savored the flavor.

Gazing out the window at the beautiful windy autumn morning, Kote felt a sense of hope he had long thought lost. Perhaps this day would bring something new, something different. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, cherishing the peace of the moment. But the tranquility was short-lived as Bast's frenzied movements caused a copper tray stacked with soiled utensils to crash to the floor, creating a mess in the kitchen. "Be careful, Bast!" Kote exclaimed, but soon shrugged it off and began to help clean up with a smile. For even though Bast had made a mess, Kote's good mood remained unbroken.

Kote surveyed the mess in the kitchen with a mix of amusement and irritation. Flour and batter covered every surface, and the floor was a minefield of soiled utensils and sticky batter.

"Well, I suppose this is what I get for letting you loose in the kitchen, Bast," Kote said with a chuckle.

Bast pouted. "I was just trying to do something nice for us, Reshi."

"I know, I know," Kote said, clapping a hand on Bast's shoulder. "But maybe next time we'll stick to something a little simpler; toast?"

As they started cleaning up, Kote couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie with Bast. They were like two children playing in the kitchen, tossing bits of batter at each other and making jokes as they worked.

"Look at the two of you," came a voice from the corner of the room. Chronicler sat at a small table, his quill scratching away at a parchment. "You're like a pair of mischievous sprites."

Kote grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment, Devan."

Bast snickered and eyed Chronicler. "Maybe we should toss some your way too, Chronicler. You seem like you could use a little sweetness in your life."

Chronicler rolled his eyes. "I'll pass, thank you very much. I don't want to end up covered in batter like you two."

Kote's eyes glinted mischievously as he picked up a dollop of batter and flung it in Chronicler's direction. The quill scratching suddenly stopped as the splotch of batter landed on Chronicler's parchment.

"Kote!" Chronicler exclaimed. "You spoiled a page!"

Kote chuckled. “It was a whisk worth taking."

Chronicler locked eyes with Kote with irritation, but as he looked into Kote's eyes, he saw something that caught him off guard - a glimmer of genuine joy. Despite the chaos around them, Kote seemed to be reveling in the moment, enjoying the company of his friend and the simple pleasure of cleaning up a mess together. His infectious good mood was like a warm blanket, and before Chronicler knew it, he found himself chuckling at the absurdity of it all.

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Bast flung another handful of batter at Kote, who retaliated with a swift flick of his wrist. The two friends continued their playful game, their laughter echoing through the inn's kitchen and spilling out into the morning air.

Outside, a different kind of energy was stirring. The wind, fickle and wild, had begun to pick up from the east. It howled through the town of Nawarre, ruffling hair and tugging at clothing as it passed. The gusts were strong, rattling windows and doors with a fierce determination, as if trying to shake the very foundations of the buildings. But it was the wind's playful nature that truly captivated the townsfolk. It danced between the buildings, swirling around corners and through narrow alleyways like a carefree spirit. The leaves it carried with it twirled in the air like ballerinas, graceful and light, as if caught up in the wind's whimsical magic.

In front of each building, the wind put on a show, revealing glimpses of life inside as it lifted curtains and skirts with a mischievous flair. It tousled hair and brushed cheeks, leaving a faint whisper in its wake that sent shivers down spines. It rustled through the branches of trees, shaking free the last of their leaves and sending them spiraling to the ground in a colorful dance.

Even the buildings themselves seemed to come alive under the wind's touch. The wooden planks of the houses creaked and groaned, their shingles rattling like teeth as if urging the town to awaken from its slumber. The chimneys breathed out puffs of smoke, carried away by the gusts like a message to the heavens, signaling the start of a new day.

Despite the wind's wildness, there was a sense of peace to it, as if the wind had come to play and to remind the town of the beauty of life. And as it danced through the streets, it brought with it the promise of a new day, full of possibility and wonder, a gift from the whimsical spirit of nature itself.

Inside the kitchen, Bast's laughter and Kote's jokes drowned out the sound of the howling gale, and their playful game continued unabated. For in that moment, they were invincible, shielded from the storm outside by the warmth of their friendship and the joy of their company.

The sound of Chronicler clearing his throat echoed through the room like the tolling of a bell. Kvothe and Bast, lost in their own world of play, were startled by the sudden interruption. Chronicler gestured to the papers in front of him, a silent reminder that time was slipping away.

Chronicler's interruption was gentle, but it was enough to pull Kvothe and Bast out of their playful reverie. They had been deep in the midst of a game, laughter ringing out through the inn as they chased each other with battered spoons.

But with a quick nod, they acknowledged Chronicler's words and set about finishing their tasks. Kvothe straightened his shirt, while Bast swept the floor with a flourish. They moved with a fluid grace, each movement precise and deliberate.

Once the last dish was washed and the kitchen was spotless, they pulled up chairs to where Chronicler was sitting. Kvothe took a deep breath and gave an introduction to the third day of his story.

Kote's voice quavered with emotion as he looked down at his hands, folded tightly in his lap. "This is it," he said, his tone heavy with regret. "The end of everything. Every mistake I've made, every wrong turn I've taken, will be laid out before you like a feast of shame. And I fear, my friends, that you will never look upon me the same again."

A loud gust of wind blew across the side of the Waystone Inn, startling Bast and Chronicler. Rising from his seat, Kote walked behind the bar and retrieved a satchel, throwing it onto the floor in front of the inn's entrance. His expression grew somber as he fixed his gaze upon the world beyond the window, his hands methodically assembling a collection of objects on a nearby table. Metal clinks and faint rustling filled the air as he arranged each item with deliberate purpose, his voice resonating with a measured tone, mindful of Chronicler's presence and the significance of capturing this tale accurately.

"Today, we confront the tragic fates that befell my dear friends and the vile betrayal that birthed their downfall," Kvothe recounted, his voice steady yet tinged with melancholy. "But before we delve into the depths of darkness, let us first pay homage to the radiant light that is Auri. Her intellect and beauty transcend the bounds of language, for it was through her that I discovered the true essence of magic, the enchantment found only in the pages of fabled lore. She unraveled the secrets of the Underthing, revealing wondrous vistas I had only dared to dream of."

"On a day much like any other, I found myself atop rooftops, lute in hand, lost in the sweet melody of music. It was then that I caught a glimpse of Auri, seemingly listening to my performance from across the courtyard. Perplexed by her proximity, I decided to continue playing, traversing the abandoned courtyard, drawn to her ethereal presence. The ballad I chose spoke of forbidden desires and a farmer's wife who harbored unconventional wishes involving donkeys."

As the recollection unfolded, Kvothe's hands paused for a moment, his eyes briefly studying the arrangement he had crafted. Then, with renewed purpose, he resumed his task, each motion deliberate, each item carefully positioned.

"Yet, as I drew nearer, it became apparent that the girl I approached was not Auri herself, although her beauty bore a striking resemblance. With raven-black hair and eyes adorned in a captivatingly dark and elegant makeup, she exuded an air of mystery. We had not crossed paths within the walls of the university. I wondered if Auri was playing a trick on me. Curiosity piqued, I greeted her with a bow, my voice filled with anticipation. 'And who might you be?' I inquired, expecting Auri's playful jest. However, instead of a lighthearted response, my cheek met the force of the most resounding slap I had ever experienced, accompanied by the name 'Nyx.'"

Kvothe's voice, heavy with a mournful melody, bore the burden of his words as he invoked the name, drawing out the last syllable with a pregnant pause. Almost sounding like the Cthaeh when he said the name. The trinkets meticulously arranged on the table seemed poised, awaiting their destined purpose. Towering above, Kvothe turned his unwavering gaze upon Chronicler, his eyes piercing the scribe's with an intensity that begged for his words to be etched into the very fabric of reality.

"Nyx," Kvothe began, his voice a soft whisper, tinged with reverence. "Nyx was Auri's shadow." He spoke of her with profound comprehension, for Nyx danced through existence with an otherworldly elegance and a silence that could rival the deepest of enigmas. She clung to Auri, their lives intertwined in twilight realms where secrets loomed. Wherever Auri trod, a shadowy ballet followed, Nyx mimicking her every step—a loyal silhouette woven into the tapestry of their shared being. Yet, despite this profound connection, Nyx found herself abandoned. Auri had somehow severed herself from her shadow. It was Nyx who led me to the Doors of Stone.”

Before Kote could elaborate further, the wind bellowed outside, rudely rupturing the room's tranquility. Kote's eyes darted towards the window, fear and anticipation entwined in his gaze. In one swift motion, his hand sought the lever attached to the intricate contraption upon the table. A mighty blast erupted from the device, reverberating with a tumultuous clamor that shook the inn's very foundations. And there, beyond the window's reach, a tempestuous maelstrom of pulsating emerald energy ensnared the establishment.

In the wake of this eruption, a torrential onslaught of Scrael descended upon the inn from the distance, their malevolence palpable in their merciless assault. Countless spindly legged spider-like Screal unleashed their wrath upon the sturdy walls of the inn. Yet the forcefield stood unyielding, a bastion of protection repelling the vile onslaught. The town however was not so protected.

Chronicler and Bast, witnesses to this devastating spectacle, stood frozen in horror, their eyes widened by disbelief. Yet Kote, the innkeeper, remained composed, his countenance unflinching in the face of the tempest. His voice, calm and resolute, pierced through the chaos that enveloped them.

"But let us set aside that tale for another time, my friends," Kote declared, his words ringing with unwavering resolve. "Our attention must return to the present, for we are now in the final moment, the moment of reckoning everything must be played out perfectly." Casting a final gaze out the window, Kvothe's visage hardened, his eyes, an unquenchable flame of determination burned fiercely. "For now, let us press on with unwavering resolve, and may the retelling of this saga stand as a testament to the truth that must endure."

Kote's voice cut through the air like a blade, its edge honed with suspicion. "You're hiding something, Devon."

As Kote, with a steady gaze, met Chronicler's eyes, a subtle spark of curiosity danced within his own. With a single raised eyebrow, he silently conveyed a question, a challenge, to the chronicler of stories. The room seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with anticipation.

Chronicler's unease grew, his composure shattered by the relentless onslaught of Scrael, their malevolence repelled by the pulsating green barrier outside. His fingers trembled, the quill in his hand a mere plaything. "Me? How could you entertain such a notion? I am but a chronicler, a mere vessel for the truth to be unveiled. I assure you, I harbor no part in this... this chaos. Kote, dear Kote, I believe in your tale, and it is my utmost wish for the world to embrace it as well."

Kote's eyes, like shards of obsidian, bore into Chronicler's soul, seeing through the fragile facade he had constructed. "Your words hold the cadence of truth, but there is a dissonance that reverberates within them. A melody gone awry. And I sense in you the song of a Chandrian."

Kote: “It matters little now, Chronicler. Against all odds, I find myself compelled to trust your words. I admit, suspicions of your duplicitous nature lingered within me, entwined with thoughts of your shadowed machinations. Yet, in this singular fateful meeting between us, I perceive a glimmer of authenticity. It’s a shame that I can't protect you from him…” 

Kote's words hung in the air, tantalizingly close to revealing a hidden truth, but then he abruptly fell into silence, his eyes locked upon the door, a harbinger of imminent arrival. Chronicler, though reluctant to acknowledge the unsettling reality mirrored in Kote's gaze, followed suit and turned his attention to the entrance. The relentless onslaught of Scrael finally ceased, each abhorrent creature ensnared within the confines of a formidable forcefield, their desperate limbs flailing futilely in search of solid ground. The inn shrouded itself in a profound hush, as if the very fabric of the atmosphere held its breath, bracing for the ominous fate that awaited. Serpentine tendrils of darkness slithered forth, creeping stealthily from under the door.

Chronicler was seized by sudden panic, his eyes darting frantically across the room, searching for refuge from the encroaching shadows. The inn, once warm and inviting, now draped itself in an ominous cloak. With quill in hand, he pleaded with desperation, "Kote, believe me! I wasn't there when tragedy befell your family. I bear no ill intent towards you or yours, I did not become a Chandrian by choice, I swear upon my name."

Kote's eyes bore into Chronicler, a piercing intensity that cut through the air. "Back in my days at the university, I delved into ancient texts and discovered a thread of knowledge. Did you truly think I could decipher that intricate puzzle in a measly fifteen minutes? No, my dear Chronicler, that cipher has been my pursuit for ages, spanning countless tomes and eras." He paused, letting his words sink in. "I surmised that you could only be one of two things—either a Chandrian or an Amyr. Did you honestly believe that you orchestrated this grand scheme? It was Bast, acting under my command, who orchestrated this entire elaborate ruse."

His gaze shifted, as if drawn magnetically towards the door. A mix of resignation and trepidation painted his face. "And now, he has arrived. The one I never wanted to face again. I find myself utterly powerless to stop him, bound by circumstances beyond my control. There's naught I can do, even if I desired otherwise." Kote's voice carried a heavy weight of defeat, a haunting echo of his once indomitable spirit. “He’s just broken our wards.” 

Suddenly, a loud crash shattered the silence. The door burst open and a shadowy figure loomed in the threshold, its features obscured by darkness. The tension in the air thickened, and Chronicler couldn't help but feel a sense of terror. 

Kote stood with arms open wide in a greeting towards the dark figure. “Ah, my dear friend! I am relieved to see you have arrived at last. Gathered here we are, united in our shared anticipation of the bittersweet embrace of death, that coveted respite we long for. The realm of eternal slumber beckons, its allure growing ever stronger. And now, I beseech you, would you grant me the honor of bringing this existence to its final rest? For the weight of life has become an unbearable burden, a source of unyielding agony that gnaws at the very core of my being.” 

The figure draped in shadows let out a sinister chuckle, casting an ominous pall over the surroundings as he strode into the building. With each step, darkness and despair seemed to follow in his wake, enveloping all within its clutches. And then, with a voice laced with malevolence, he spoke.

"I care not for you, or your dramatics, Kote," the figure sneered, his words dripping with a venomous edge. "Your reckoning will not pass by my hand. No, it is the scribe I seek, the chronicler of tales." A twisted gratitude seeped into his tone. "I extend my gratitude to you, for you have unwittingly assembled him here for me."

With a casual flick of its arm, the figure summoned forth a surge of unholy might, unleashing a torrent of dark power that reverberated through the very fabric of existence. In a mesmerizing display, the elegant sword named Folly was wrenched from its place amidst the hearth, becoming naught but a puppet in the figure's grasp, guided through the air with a chilling precision. And as the blade underwent a metamorphosis, its form shifting and undulating like quicksilver, a more ominous countenance took shape.

The figure's voice dripped with a mix of satisfaction and haunting nostalgia. "Ah, it is a pleasure to feel her weight in my hand once more," it spoke, the words laden with a sinister delight. "You, Kote, have guarded her well, and for that, I suppose a token of gratitude is in order."

With an ominous flourish, its slender finger extended, pointing directly at Chronicler, its unyielding gaze piercing his soul. A voice, dripping with malevolence, spilled forth in a venomous whisper, the words a macabre decree that sent shivers racing along every nerve.

"Once this wretch meets his fate," it proclaimed, each syllable laden with a foreboding weight, "I shall grant you a fleeting respite, a mere breath of time, to glimpse her visage. But be warned, for it shall be but a fleeting ember before I cast her once more into the abyss of eternal torment that is my company."

Chronicler rose from his seat, his features contorted in panic and a desperate plea poised on his lips. Yet, before a sound could escape his throat, a sudden hush befell the room as the floating blade cleaved through his flesh with a sickening crunch. Time seemed to slow as the metallic kiss met tender flesh, sending rivulets of crimson spraying across the parchment. The vivid ink of Chronicler's transcribed words became entangled in a macabre dance with the crimson tide, blurring and distorting the meticulous script he had so diligently crafted. A gasp of agony mingled with the metallic tang of blood, filling the air with a raw intensity that bordered on the surreal. In that harrowing moment, the fragility of life clashed with the brutality of fate, leaving an indelible mark upon both the parchment and the storyteller who had dared to chronicle the tale.

The voice of the enigmatic figure tore through the stifling silence, its words laced with simmering anger and unwavering certainty. "Look upon the web of lies he has spun, a tapestry woven from deceit and distortion," it declared, the unsettling certainty lingering in the air. "Did you truly dare, Kote, to defy the threads of your own destiny? For he, too, would have betrayed you, his treachery an inevitable strand in the intricate design. Already, he revels in the art of deception, wearing the mask of benevolence while profiting from the sale of a chapter unwritten. His actions reek of boundless betrayal, a parasite feasting upon the unsuspecting, twisting reality to satisfy his insatiable desires. Even the majestic dragons he reduces to mere cattle, stripping them of their awe-inspiring grandeur."

The figure's voice seethed with righteous fury, unmasking the depths of its contempt. "And let us not forget his despicable portrayal of women, his insidious misogyny laid bare for all to see. His charitable donations, too, a façade of false generosity, exploiting the contributions of his devoted readers for personal gain. He must face his own reflection, peering unflinchingly into the abyss of his tarnished soul," the shadowy figure proclaimed, casting its discerning gaze upon Bast, who stood under the weight of its piercing scrutiny.

"Have no faith in the faeling, either," the figure persisted, its voice dripping with contempt. "Anyone foolish enough to seek your restoration, blind to the cataclysmic havoc your narcissism will unleash upon them. Have your dalliances with Felurian and his despicable father not taught you a single thing? Know that they, too, met their demise by my hand. Just like your other deceitful companions."

Bast, fueled by unyielding loyalty, unleashed his fury with a vehement roar, his voice seething with indignant rage. "My father may have been wicked, but his life was not yours to take!" His words reverberated with an incandescent intensity, challenging the encroaching darkness that tainted the very core of the inn. Displaying a breathtaking exhibition of otherworldly agility, he defied the shackles of mortal existence, soaring with ethereal grace that defied gravity's hold. With unwavering determination, he hurtled towards the advancing shadow, daring it to invade their sacred refuge.

In response to his call, a legion of crows echoed his defiance, their caws slicing through the air like a discordant symphony of warning. Beaks glinted with ominous intent, talons poised for battle in the dim, foreboding light.

"Please, Bast! You can't come out on top. Surrender," Kote implored, his voice heavy with a melancholic tone that mirrored the depths of his sorrow. "I have much left to teach you, to guide you along the path of truth and wisdom." His words bore the weight of profound knowledge and a desperate yearning for understanding. Yet, in his heart, he knew the futility of his plea, for the wheels of fate had already been set in motion, the die cast.

Kote's resignation echoed through his voice, the sorrow seeping into every syllable, as he issued a brief warning. The urgency laced his words, attempting to break through Bast's anger and reach his understanding.

The figure's response materialized not as a mere retort, but as a sinister laughter that tore through the air, rending the avian assault into dissipating shreds of smoke. With a malevolent flourish, it revealed from the depths of its cloak an iron chain adorned with spikes of malice—a serpentine embodiment of wicked intent that slithered through the air. In an instant, it ensnared Bast's leg, mercilessly wrenching him to the ground. The chain coiled around his writhing form like a venomous serpent, its constricting grip draining the life essence with relentless malevolence.

Bast, consumed by a torrent of emotions, fought to utter his words through labored breaths, his voice trembling with a mixture of sorrow and desperation. "Reshi... Please... Act... Act swiftly... I beg you..." His eyes, a reflection of his indomitable spirit tinged with anguish, implored Kote for aid in their dire predicament. The spiked chains constricting his form forced painful wounds to seep crimson, staining the ground beneath him.

Kote, consumed by a tumultuous blend of helplessness and determination, rose from his seat, tears streaming down his face, bearing witness to the tragedy unfolding before him. His heart, heavy with sorrow, knew he was unable to match this adversary. His voice quivered with a potent blend of anguish and resolve as he voiced his protest. "Have we not endured enough?" Kote gestured towards Chronicler's lifeless body, his tone laden with grief. "Yes, he may have been a Chandrian, but why must you claim Bast as well? Why not simply take my life and bring an end to all of this? Was it not sufficient to hunt down and annihilate seven of the Chandrian, as you have done? A contract was signed in blood, and you have fulfilled its final part. You must return to me, now."

Through the hallowed confines of the Waystone, the figure's voice reverberated, a chilling melody steeped in sinister confidence. Its words slithered forth, dripping with venomous assurance, challenging the very foundation of truth clinging desperately to Kote's fading grasp.

"Seven Chandrian?" it mused, a derisive scoff hanging in the air like a poised dagger. "Ah, dear Kote, your tenuous hold on reality falters within this mortal realm. As long as the University exists new Chandrian will be made, you proved that. I shall persist until the essence of the Chandrian and their disciples is but a distant memory, erased from the tapestry of existence. I will not return to you until each student harboring their dark legacy is snuffed out, their deserved demise delivered with meticulous precision. As we speak, my Scrael scour the four corners, relentless hunters on an unending quest. Every arcanist shall taste the bitter sweetness of death, banished to the shadowfell, forever imprisoned in the realm of eternal darkness."

As the figure's chilling proclamation echoed through the air, Bast's struggles intensified, the spiked chain digging deeper into his flesh. Agonizing cries tore from his lips, mingling with the cruel laughter of his tormentor. The once-vibrant fae, embodiment of mischief and spark, was now reduced to a mere vessel of suffering. Blood stained the ground beneath him, a grim testament to the brutality of his fate.

Kote's heart shattered, the weight of despair crushing his spirit. He had sworn to protect Bast, to shield him from harm, yet now he could only bear witness to his trusted companion's anguish. Tears flowed unabated down Kote's face, mingling with the rain that fell from the darkened sky. A silence hung heavy in the air, its tendrils coiling around Kote's weary heart.

The shadowy figure sniffed, its voice a chilling murmur that oozed with the echoes of ancient malevolence. "Ingenious, ensnaring her here, Kote," it spoke in a painfully familiar tone. Its piercing gaze swept across the inn, a predatory glimmer dancing within its eyes. "A miniature crockery, your inn has become. It took me countless cycles of the moon to unveil the hidden path to this sanctuary. Your cunning, Kote, shielded it with an artful veil of ingenuity. But why, pray tell, confine her for all this time when it was you who beseeched me so fervently to resurrect her? I found a path to salvation. You ought to rejoice."

The figure's eyes glimmered with a baleful glint, as its voice slithered forth, dripping with venomous intent. "Fear not, for I shall not inflict harm upon her. The snuffing of her flickering flame holds no allure for me," it hissed with calculated cruelty. "Nay, I have come to liberate her. She belongs to me now, cherished in her ethereal form. But, dear Kote, the burden of her demise rests solely upon your weary shoulders, burdened with the weight of your long neglect. Only you possess the key to her return. A task I know you shall eternally forsake. The weight of her presence shall forever haunt you."

With resolute steps, the figure emerged from the shroud of shadows, venturing into the trembling light cast by the inn's flickering glow. As the darkness relinquished its grip on his black elegant robes, Kote beheld a pale and handsome figure—a man with flowing fiery red hair, his piercing emerald eyes gleaming with an insidious shade that could bring even the strongest woman to her knees. A man so wicked, the Cthaeh itself feared him.

Veh's voice slithered malevolently through the air, each syllable a venomous whisper that wormed its way into the depths of their souls. "I shall unbind her from this ephemeral prison," he hissed, his tone drenched in wickedness. "And she shall elect me as her Watcher. For she has ever held a greater fondness for my presence." Veh's laughter, devoid of warmth or mirth, resounded with ruthless cruelty. "Behold, I shall grant you a semblance of fairness. Should, by the light of Tehlu himself, her heart dare to favor you, then I shall relinquish my separate existence, merging seamlessly with your being, restoring the man we once were."

Kote, burdened by a frail flicker of hope that struggled against the encroaching darkness, yearned to be whole once more, to revel in her presence anew. The memory of their shared melody lingered in his mind, haunting him with bittersweet echoes that stretched across the ages. He longed for the days when they would sit together, savoring the taste of strawberry wine upon their lips, engaging in conversations about the simplest of things. Kote would give anything to have those moments return, even if it meant enduring her prolonged absences, her visits reduced to fleeting glimpses amidst the passing seasons. For it was in those stolen fragments of time that he felt the true essence of wholeness, the small moments that now only served as painful reminders of his existential emptiness.

With a heavy heart burdened by the weight of his desires, Kote found himself bowing beneath the relentless force of his yearning. He acquiesced, his voice but a mere whisper amidst the mournful air. "Do it then," he murmured, surrendering himself to the capricious hands of fate, aware deep down of the inevitable consequences that would follow.

With a single, merciless strike, Veh unleashed Folly upon the very foundation of the room. The floor trembled beneath the weight of the blow, as if the world itself recoiled in fear, shuddering in anticipation of the impending storm. The air grew heavy, electric with a pulsating tension, vibrating with a symphony of a song long unsung. The sword underwent a profound metamorphosis, its essence twisting and contorting until it emerged as a sinuous stream of living mercury. A macabre dance of transformation unfolded before their starved gazes, an enchantment both grotesque and captivating.

Amidst the undulating mercury, a figure emerged, ethereal and beguiling. Denna glided forth with measured strides, her presence a mesmerizing spectacle that  could bewitch all who behold her. Raven feathers, as dark as sorrow's ink, wove together into a garment that trailed behind her, a melancholic cloak of night. In her delicate hand, she held a gleaming dagger, a shard of moonlight forged into a weapon. Her gaze, a tempest of choices, darted between Kote and Veh, casting a shroud of uncertainty over the tear-stained scene.

Denna, woven with resignation and pity, approached Kote with measured steps, each one burdened with the weight of impending sorrow. Her presence, once a flickering light in his world, now cast a mournful shadow over him. The symphony of their shared moments echoed through the air, haunting melodies that stirred the depths of his anguished heart. A melancholic sigh, burdened with the weight of cruel destiny, slipped through her quivering lips, entwining with the unshed tears that shimmered in her eyes. Fate, that merciless weaver of threads, had woven its final decree upon the intricate tapestry of their lives. The portion of his essence that she cherished, once safeguarded within Kvothe's own being, now resided within Veh, a devastating separation that he himself had unwittingly orchestrated in his naivety long ago. His soul shuddered beneath the weight of remorse, his spirit trembling with the knowledge of the irreversible choices he had made.

Denna, her voice now a somber whisper, traced the jagged contours of their shared sorrow. "I must go with him, dear Kote," she murmured, each word a mournful melody that resonated through the caverns of his aching heart. Her words carried the tender lament of a love torn apart by the capricious whims of destiny. In the labyrinthine depths of her gaze, he glimpsed the shards of shattered dreams, the remnants of a future that would forever remain elusive.

Denna, her countenance a tumultuous blend of hesitance and malevolence, directed her dagger's pointed menace toward the tender hollow of Kote's exposed abdomen, while the mournful arc of her lips betrayed an intimate grasp of sorrow's depths. The blade quivered in her grasp, its metallic glimmer subdued beneath the weight of unspoken anguish, as though recoiling from its own dark purpose. Silence, thick as a leaden shroud, draped the air, its crushing weight an inextricable weave within the tapestry of their shared fates. With a leaden heart burdened by his choices, Kote braved the precipice, surrendering himself to the merciless choreography of their entangled lives. He embraced the searing kiss of the blade—a bitter-sweet caress that pierced the very core of his being. Through his veins coursed a tempest of torment, mingling with a profound void that devoured his essence. In this self-inflicted sacrifice, he bore the immense burden of their shattered aspirations, his spirit eclipsed by the toll of his chosen path. As the mantle of darkness descended upon him, Kote’s world condensed into a singular point of anguish and remorse. The symphony of their intertwined existence soared to its climactic zenith in his waning awareness—a tragic opus destined to resonate through the eternal corridors of time. In this solemn juncture, their destinies fused irrevocably, their love and loss etched indelibly into the annals of history.

 Slowly, Denna turned her gaze toward Veh, drawn inexorably into his embrace by an irresistible force. Their longing surpassed the bounds of mere mortality, their souls entwined in a dance of desire. Her delicate hand trailed down Veh's chest, a knowing smile playing upon her lips. And in a piteous gesture, she waved farewell to Kote, bidding him a goodbye too burdened with sorrow to bear. Veh, his voice laced with a hint of urgency, spoke to Denna. "I must ascend the stairs, my love, retrieve something of great import." An audible click pierced the silence, emanating from the upper chambers. Veh glided upstairs, disappearing from sight, only to descend with Kvothe's Shaed draped upon his shoulders, carrying Kvothe's lute case and adorning himself with the rings that once adorned Kote's fingers. In his grasp, he held out the Loeclos Box to Denna. Denna's smile bloomed as she clutched the box to her heart. And so, Denna and Veh departed from the ravaged inn, stepping into the desolation that lay beyond its crumbling walls. Left behind, Kote crumbled upon the icy floor, his lifeblood pooling around him, blending with the wreckage of his shattered dreams. Inconsolable sobs wracked his body, each breath a painful reminder of the irreversible loss he had suffered. Beside him, his cherished companions lay lifeless, their absence casting an irrevocable shadow over his heart, a heart shattered beyond repair.

Upon the floor of the Waystone Inn, a profound stillness settled, a silence of three parts. Two souls, bereft of breath, found eternal solace in serene slumber, their tales interwoven into the tapestry of a story unfinished. Amidst them knelt a solitary figure, burdened by the ceaseless weight of agony, a penance stretching across the boundless expanse of time. Within his grip, a key, a coin, and a candle, symbols of a past entwined with destiny's cruel design. Before him sprawled the parchment pages of his life, poised to unfurl his narrative. As anticipation thickened the air, the wick ignited, ethereal flames casting melancholic shadows upon his face. And in that moment, a glimmer of a smile graced Kote's lips, bittersweet respite amidst the sorrows of his world. With a binding made, the surge of heat and consuming pain washed over him, and Kote relinquished his hold on the realm of the living. Within the sacred confines of his surrender, the innkeeper found his long-awaited rest.

[set-phasers-to-whump]

a light at the end of the tunnel

prompt: comfort

whumpee: eddie diaz

fandom: 911

hi here's my 31st and final fic this month!!! how the time flies...anyway this fic is set current times-ish (though full disclosure i am behind by two episodes) and is pre-buddie. hope you like it!

It has been a hellishly long week. It’s the tail end of it now, a rainy, windy Saturday evening. Eddie is lying atop his bed fully clothed with his eyes screwed shut, trying to force himself to fall asleep. 

It’s not working. He feels like there’s electricity buzzing under his skin, like he can’t quite breathe properly, like there’s a weight sitting on top of his chest. 

It’s too much. This week has been too much and the silence of his empty house is too much and he never should have agreed to let Chris go on that overnight trip to the aquarium because if he hadn’t then his son would be here and Eddie would be able to exist. 

But he’s alone. The rain drums on the roof and the wind whistles at the window. He gives up on keeping his eyes closed and stares up at the dark ceiling. 

He wants…he wants something. He doesn’t know what it is. It isn’t this, though. This crushing weight on top of him and the low-level anxiety rippling through his body. 

His phone rings. The sound startles him, momentarily distracts him from himself. 

It’s Buck. He picks up, squinting at the bright light of the screen. 

“Yeah?” He’s surprised by how normal his own voice sounds. 

“Hey, Eddie. Do you wanna come over and, uh, watch a movie or something? I know Chris is at the aquarium and we’re off tomorrow and I’m so bored and I was wondering if you were bored too -”

“Yeah, I’ll be there soon.”

“Great, yeah, okay. See you soon.”

Eddie stares down at his phone for a few seconds. It’s earlier than he’d thought - not even 8:00. The thought of dragging himself up and driving to Buck’s is unpleasant, but the thought of being at Buck’s, of not being alone, of having someone to distract him from everything, is wonderful. 

And so he gets up. He’s still dressed, so at least he doesn’t have to bother with that. He scrubs a hand over his eyes as though he’d actually done any sleeping and then grabs his keys and heads outside. 

He jogs through the rain to his truck. The chilly air fills his lungs and makes them burn, but it’s pleasant, sort of grounding. He breathes in deeply, inhaling the scent of the rain, then climbs into the driver’s seat and sets off. 

It’s not until he’s knocking at Buck’s door that he wonders whether he should have brought something. But it’s too late to do anything about that now. 

Buck opens the door and raises his eyebrows. “What, did you lose your key?”

Eddie blinks. His key to Buck’s apartment is in his pocket. He knows he has it. He has no idea why he’d decided to knock. 

He shrugs and follows Buck inside. Now that he’s here, he’s all of a sudden not certain that being here is the best idea. He feels…on edge. Like one tiny thing might cause him to explode, to collapse. 

“Come on,” Buck says. “I’ve got pizza. It’s a little bit cold, but…”

“I’m not really hungry,” Eddie replies. He tries to smile, to wave it off. He can feel himself failing.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

He can’t not say yes. He figures it’s probably hardwired into his brain. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

“Oh,” says Buck. “We don’t…we don’t have to watch a movie, then.”

But if they don’t watch a movie then there’s no reason for Eddie to be here. And he doesn’t want to go home. Even though he does feel weird, like he isn’t sure that being here is smart when he feels like something in him might crack, he can’t imagine leaving. 

“No, no, I’ll be okay. I’ll try not to fall asleep on you.”

Buck shrugs. “If you’re sure. You want anything to drink?”

Eddie shakes his head. All he really wants to do is sit down. 

He gets his wish. They sit on Buck’s new couch, which isn’t actually new. It’s secondhand and well-worn. Eddie sinks into it so deeply that he wonders whether he’s going to simply fall through the bottom. 

“Any preference?”

Eddie stares at the TV without actually seeing anything. “Up to you.”

Buck deliberates silently but intensely for several minutes. Eddie watches him. And then catches himself watching, and stops. 

Buck settles on a movie Eddie’s never seen, some old detective film shot in black and white. Eddie stares at the opening credits until his eyes start to water. God, he’s tired. 

He’s not sure how long they’ve been watching the movie - or rather, how long Buck’s been watching and Eddie’s been staring - when Buck gently taps him on the shoulder. 

“Eddie.”

“Hm?” He shakes his head slightly, turns to look at Buck. 

“You sure you’re alright? You seem…I dunno. Off.”

Eddie shrugs. “It’s nothing.” His chest feels tight again. Maybe he should just leave. It’s the last thing in the world he truly wants, but. He’s put himself upon Buck too many times before. 

And by this point he knows Buck doesn’t mind, doesn’t think any less of him for breaking, for being unable to hold himself together. But he can’t entirely force himself to believe that. It’s complicated. 

“It’s not nothing to me. If something’s wrong. That’s not nothing, Eddie.”

He shrugs again. Part of him is screaming to just talk, to tell Buck his stupid problems and be comforted about them. Another part is screaming, just as loudly, that he can’t do this, isn’t allowed, shouldn’t want to. 

“Eddie, please.”

He takes a breath that kind of shudders on the inhale. “It’s not even…there’s nothing really wrong. It’s just. I don’t know, everything? Not everything. It’s this week. I don’t…a lot of bad calls, Chris was angry at me, weird conversation with my mom, I don’t know. I don’t know why it’s like this.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Buck says. He’s moved closer to Eddie at some point. Their legs are touching now. Buck’s hand is on his shoulder. “Sometimes it’s just like that, you know? Too much happening all at once.”

“But it shouldn’t - I shouldn’t -”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, Eds. That stuff doesn’t matter. It’s okay to just…to just be overwhelmed sometimes.”

Eddie doesn’t know if he can make himself believe that. But Buck sounds so sincere and he wants to believe it, he thinks. He wants…

He wants a fucking hug. Which is the most embarrassing thing in the world to realize, to admit to himself. He feels his face heat slightly just from the thought. He wants to just be held for a little while and forget about everything else. 

But he can’t have this, because he’s incapable of asking and it’s not like Buck can read his mind. 

“You still with me?” Buck asks. His hand is still on Eddie’s shoulder, squeezing gently. This is good enough, Eddie supposes. The pressure of Buck’s leg against his and that point of contact, warm and sturdy, on his shoulder. It has to be enough. 

Eddie nods a slightly belated response to Buck’s question. 

“Is there anything I can do? I mean, I know you said you didn’t want anything to drink but I can make coffee, or tea, or something, or…”

Eddie shakes his head. He closes his eyes. Despite his best efforts otherwise he can feel a pressure in his head, feel the prickling sensation of tears. He’s going to cry over, what, having a rough week? No. Absolutely not. 

“Hey,” Buck says. Eddie carefully opens his eyes, looks over again. Buck is looking back at him and he looks so fucking open and concerned and all Eddie can think is how easy it would be to just lean in a little, to rest his head against Buck’s collarbone but he can’t, isn’t supposed to, shouldn’t want to. 

And then Buck is leaning forward and Buck is slowly wrapping arms around him and it’s clear he’s just waiting for Eddie to pull away but Eddie absolutely is not going to do that. 

After a beat Buck apparently realizes this, too, and then he’s putting a hand on the back of Eddie’s head and running fingers through his hair and Eddie finally does rest his head against Buck’s collarbone. 

He can hear Buck’s heartbeat like this, steady and even. Almost immediately the anxiety buzzing beneath his skin goes quiet. There’s still a sort of pressure in his chest but he takes a few deep breaths, inhaling the familiar smell of Buck, and it feels like the weight pushing down on him has lessened. 

They stay like this for quite a while, Eddie leaning on Buck and breathing deeply and feeling the tension and stress fade away. Buck, for his part, just holds on, lets Eddie lean on him. His fingers are still in Eddie’s hair and it’s one of the nicest things Eddie has ever felt in his life. 

He thinks he’d probably be willing to stay in this position forever, but now that all of the overwhelming sensations have abated, Eddie’s well and truly exhausted. He can’t stop himself from yawning against Buck’s shoulder. 

“You tired?” Buck asks. 

Eddie sort of nods. He is tired, but he really doesn’t want to move. 

“Do you want the bed? I know the couch isn’t the best, so -”

Eddie cuts Buck off with a shake of the head. “Couch is good.”

“Do you…uh, do you want me to stay?”

He does. It takes him several long seconds to work himself up to nod. It feels like admitting something terrible at the same time as it feels like getting something he’s wanted for a very long time. 

They do some readjusting - or, mostly, Buck does some readjusting. Eddie is too tired to do much work. 

He ends up lying across the couch with his head pillowed on Buck’s legs. Buck’s fingers are once again carding through his hair. It still feels like the nicest thing in the world. Eddie feels…content, for the first time in what feels like ages. 

He is finally able to fall asleep.

thanks for reading! that's a wrap on whumptober 2022 and with that i am a completionist for four years running! it's been a slightly crazy month but i've had a great time and i hope you've enjoyed whichever fics you've read!!!! love you all sm <3

[koravelliumavast]

so my house is about 130 years old (cool house facts with maggie!) and whenever its super insanely windy sometimes the top floor will shake a bit. (actively doing this its fuckin crazy up here) It will also whistle through the windows when windy. But my personal favorite is that when there is a north wind that is quite strong (oh idk like right now with its being 25mph and gusts like 40mph) I have windows that face to the north with my door on the direct opposite side of those windows. Now if my bedroom door is not properly latched shut it will absolutely get pushed open slightly because of the wind. and if it is properly latched it will just rattle instead.

[dawnedon]

Dawn loves windy weather just as much as snowy, foggy, or stormy weather. Windy summer days are some of her most favorite, a feeling of nostalgia settling in. Blue skies with puffy, windswept clouds are her favorite about the summer season. Watching the clouds rocket across the sky, the cool breeze, shifting trees, she loves it all.

On the flipside, she loves windy conditions in storms and snow just as much. She can appreciate calm, soft snowfall and a gentle rainshower, but roaring winds whistling through the windows and making the house creak gives her an indescribable feeling of calm. She tends to sleep better in harsh storms like this, surprisingly, and takes that opportunity to either nap or sleep early if she can while it happens.

[jrenvs3000w24]

Where is Music in Nature?

Hi everyone, hope you all had a great reading week! After reading some of your posts, it seems like music is definitely something that is important to most people, myself included. I listen to music while I'm driving, studying, cooking, and while just chilling by myself or with friends. It’s interesting to take a deeper look into nature and music and they not only overlap but also influence each other.

As many have already indicated, music is all around us, and specifically within nature! One idea that specifically stands out to me is on a windy day when you can hear the wind whistling through trees and blowing the leaves. Additionally, I also love to sit outside or by my window on a rainy day or evening and listen to the rain, bonus points if there's thunder and lightning. One area I found interest in regarding music in nature has been bird songs. After some research, I found that while some have speculated that birds singing is a form of communication such as our speaking there is truly little that is known about how their songs are perceived by one another (Fishbein et al., 2020). I find this fascinating as it could mean that bird songs are nothing more than musical to one another!

With regards to where is nature in music the first thing that comes to mind for me is the various playlists that I listen to while studying or when doing school work. I’m not sure if there's any other Apple Music users in this class (controversial but Apple Music > Spotify), however Apple Music offers some pretty good pre-made studying/focus playsists that I like to listen to while doing school work. The nice thing is that for the most part there are no lyrics, and one thing I’ve picked up on is that a lot of these songs include natural sounds such as bird chirping, water rushing or wind/wind chime noises, or they include musically made noises that mimic the true sounds of nature. As Beck et al., extends, inspiration is often taken from the natural world around us, specifically regarding music, and musicians use these sounds within their creative outputs. This excellently demonstrates how nature is in music, and specifically whereI have noticed nature shining through, that being in relaxing/focus directed musical outputs. 

As for a song that takes me back to a natural landscape, the song “Submarines” by The Lumineers reminds me of a road trip my girlfriend and I took in South Australia last spring. The song was playing in the car on our drive along the beautiful southern coast of Australia and now everytime I listen to that song I think back to that trip and the otherworldly landscape we got to explore. 

References 

Beck, L., Cable, T. T., & Knudson, D. M. (2019). Interpreting cultural and natural heritage: For A Better World. Sagamore Publishing. Fishbein, A. R., Idsardi, W. J., Ball, G. F., & Dooling, R. J. (2020).

Sound sequences in birdsong: how much do birds really care?. Philosophical transactions of the Royal Society of London. Series B, Biological sciences, 375(1789), 20190044. https://doi.org/10.1098/rstb.2019.0044

[lady-wren-of-tella]

The wind was loud, to say the least.

It whistled in the darkness, banging on your window, almost as if trying to wake you up. You resisted the temptation to get up, turning on your side.

Usually, you’d be able to sleep just fine, but with the moon shining through your poorly covered window and the windy weather, you could only toss and turn in hopes of sleep.

At this point though, you had given up and got up from your bed, donning a pair of fuzzy slippers as you trekked up the stairs. Living in a lighthouse had both its benefits and its downsides. 

When you reached the lantern room, you waddled up to the glass, pressing up against it. The light had stopped working but you hadn’t gotten to look at it, although you promised yourself you would.

The light of the moon briefly shone over the sea, raging and wild under the light for the brief moment it was illuminated. As the clouds lazily shifted, it finally revealed the full moon in all its glory. You could see the stars shining little diamonds in the sky.

You could see your breath and you had no doubt it was cold outside, especially on a windy night. It was on nights like these your mother would take you out to try to spot things in the dead of night, reminding you of the tiny island that was your world.

Squinting, you noticed a pattern of light. You could have shrugged it off as the waves simply bending the light strangely, but something you knew told you otherwise.

Reaching for a shawl at the bottom step, you stepped out of the house, face hit by the cold wind. Your shawl threatened to escape from your grasp as you left the confinement of your house, sand sifting through your toes as you ran down a path to the shoreline.

The lights had disappeared once again, but you frantically scanned the shoreline. You rarely ever saw the lights, and it could only mean one thing:

The arrival of something on the beach.

You stopped at the shoreline, dreadfully cold water licking at your toes, numbing them. The lights showed up again, circling a little before leaving you.

The pattern of lights appeared again, disappearing just as quickly. You readjusted the shawl you had on and ran after them, following them in hope to see what it was.

Quickly though, you realized what a futile chase it was, losing them halfway as they drifted down the expanse of the shoreline. There was another wooden path, leading a downward slope to the edge of the island, near the rocks. The rocks were dangerous, but you wanted to at least see the little lights one more time before they disappeared once more.

The wind seemed to blow colder near the rocks, and they were blocked off to you as a child for a good reason, but it never stopped you from visiting

You climbed upon the rocky cliffs, poking at the bottom of your feet yet you still clung on, dropping onto all fours as you attempted to access the edge. From your view, you could also see the illuminated waves, spraying salty water against your body.

As you scanned the ground, the water lit up, and you let go of your shawl, only realizing once the lights disappeared. 

The lights flashed again, and a herd of white seals jumped out the water, their splashing distorting the lights reflected on the water.

Your eyes followed them as they continued further down the shore. Suddenly, one of them stopped, staring at you as you watched it break off from its crew. It had pitch black eyes, the only thing lighting them up being the shine of the stars reflecting in its eyes.

You stepped closer to the jagged edge, hand outreached.

“You should keep an eye out for seals. They’re natural killers, hiding under the show of beauty. Quite interesting as creatures, wouldn’t you think Y/n?”

You blink, looking at your mothers hidden face. Her features were muddled by her white hair blowing over her face and you couldn’t make out much other than the sound of her voice. She was clutching your hand, staring out into the ocean.

“What do you mean mama?”

“I was told legends by my grandmother. Legends of the selkie. They’re beautiful creatures, but they’re neither here nor there, only in a category that solely belongs to them. They are enchanting, but they are also dangerous.”

“Mama?”

She let go of you, walking towards the ledge of the rocks.

“Promise me you’ll stay away.”

“What?”

“Stay away. They bring nothing but sorrow, it would be better to be dead than to be left heartbroken by one.”

You snapped back, but before you could regain your balance, a spray of salt water surprised you.

Your lungs felt like they were on fire.

The sting of the salt caused you to kick frantically as blood pounded through your body, the weight of your clothes only dragging you down. In that moment of weakness, you began flailing your arms, trying to push yourself up.

You opened your mouth to scream, only for icy cold water to fill your lungs as darkness webbed over your eyes.

Your system had finally given up, shutting down as you drifted to the bottom. The moon shone, distorted, the last thing you thought you’d see before you went.

Something wooshed around you, growing bigger and blurrier as your eyes shut and you let go.

It felt like an eternity.

The air breached your lungs once more, forcing you to breathe in and expel all the salty water that had.

You clutched the sand, lungs raw and aching as you coughed and coughed.

The moon glared harshly on you, the cold chill cutting your bones as you screwed your eyes shut once more. The sand dug into your side, like a thorn, irritating your already tender skin.

You couldn’t stand it, curling into yourself to try and spark some warmth. As you struggled to open your eyes, something shuffled next to you, placing a hand on your neck.

“She’s alive. You guys can rest.”

Your eyes cracked open, blurry and shaky. As you tried to focus, the shadow came into view, kneeling closer to you. You turned to them, vision slowly becoming clearer and clearer.

The stranger had beautiful brown hair that fell over his dark eyes, a sharp contrast to his skin, pale in the moonlight. He wore what seemed like a fur coat, moon illuminating individual stands on its sides, giving him an ethereal look. It felt almost like looking at a painting.

“They are enchanting, but they are also dangerous.”

“You took quite the dive there didn't you? You’re no good at swimming, almost quite like a newborn pup.” The look on his face spoke amusement, and although you tried to speak, nothing came out as he pushed you down.

The smell of salt and brine wafted from all directions, overwhelming you as more shadows appeared in the distance and got closer. He reached his arms out and pulled your eyelids over your eyes, humming a melody as a strange sense of comfort washed over you, despite the cold and rough surroundings.

You could feel his hands weaving through your hair, running circles on your scalp that made you tingle, exhaustion overcoming you as you tried to fight the feeling.

The sound of waves crashing against the shore matched the rhythm to his tune, and before you knew it, you had drifted off into a deep sleep.

REJEHEHEHHEHEHEHEJ this is what i have so far, its hilariously long

AHHHHHHH OH MY FUCKING GOD I LOVE IT!!!

the way you write second person pov + just general descriptions makes if so easy to imagine yourself in the character’s shoes. plus, your description of setting is so so so vivid omg

please please please keep sending me what you do with this

[biglisbonnews]

The Secret Ingredient in a Slovenian Valley's Food and Wine Is Wind On a warm spring day in Slovenia, in an elegant manor surrounded by vineyards, 150 vintners gather to celebrate the wines of their small but fertile valley. They’re here to taste and discuss wine for the Flavors of Vipava Valley festival. As the afternoon goes on, a soft whistle begins to whisper through the trees. At first the attendees barely notice it, then it gets louder, rushing up the hill. The Vipavans lift their glasses in approval, for this very wind is one of the special ingredients that makes their wine distinctive. It’s not just any wind. The burja, as it is known, is a cold drop of air that pours down from the Alps into the Vipava valley, where it meets the thermal air rising from the Adriatic sea. It blows for just under a third of the year and has reached hurricane speeds of 200 kilometers (about 124 miles) per hour. It has knocked trucks off the road, swept people off their feet, and once lifted soil from fields and planted seeds on the other side of the valley. Records have mentioned it dating back to ancient Rome, and it has defined local life, architecture, food, and wine ever since. “When we build houses here we don’t have technical inspections, we just wait for the first burja to arrive,” Primoz Kante, a Vipava resident, says. Winemakers welcome the harsh wind like an old friend. Many rely on the burja to keep their grapes dry and free of mold. This dryness, alongside other factors such as terroir and unique local grape varieties, produces a distinctive buttery flavor in white wines that Slovenes call masleno. Ivi and Edvard Svetlik produce a heady amber wine in the Vipava valley. They macerate their grapes with the skins, seeds, and stems. They don’t add any chemicals, and it is only the burja that does the work of drying the grapes. While it is common practice for winemakers to use pesticides on their vines and sulfites to stop the fermentation process, in Vipava, the wind means that hardly anyone needs to spray their vines with pesticides or fungicides.The resulting wines are natural and organic. Ivi Svetlik believes the lack of chemicals in this process “makes you feel better inside.” Even the hangovers are more bearable, though this could also be the cool breeze in the face. Primož Lavrenčič even named his wine estate “Burja” in tribute to the wind that has long brought the region good fortune. He proudly tells the legend of how the burja came to the defense of the valley in 394 AD, when it was said to have blown the Roman army’s arrows the wrong way. Lavrenčič’s Burja Bela blend of Malvazija, Rebula, and Vipavec grapes even tastes as though wildflowers, pollen, and pine resin blown in the wind have seeped into the essence of the grapes. With windy wine comes windy food. In Vipava and in the nearby Italian city of Trieste, where the burja also blows, locals hang hams in their attics and leave them to be dried by the wind blowing through the open windows. Unlike prosciutto, which is smoked, the flavors of wind-dried ham are more natural and delicate. At Faladur, a restaurant in Vipava, Matej Lavrenčič fries his wind-blown hams into a rich crackling that he sprinkles over a fermented turnip stew called jota. Lavrenčič also produces burjiata mozzarella (pronounced bor-yiata), his take on the exceedingly creamy Italian burrata but named in tribute to the burja and often hung up alongside the hams. He serves his with olive oil from this region; visitors will notice that his olive trees have their branches on only one side, the other half bare from bracing against the burja. But this once-powerful wind is weakening. Before, the burja was so strong that residents piled rocks on their roof tiles or, in Trieste, attached ropes to city walls to keep themselves from being whisked away. No longer essential, these protective measures are starting to disappear. Peter Lisjak, a local producer of wind-blown ham and wine, worries that rising temperatures from global warming are to blame for the wind losing its strength. Even with a weakened wind and an uncertain future, Vipava residents remain grateful for their star ingredient. As Lisjak says, “the Burja is good for us.” https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/burja-wind-vipava-valley-wine

[lostinwildflowers]

Late Nights and Lonely Calls

Zeke Yeager x Reader

Summary: Zeke has to spend a late night in his office, and he sees how much he misses you in the whimsical charm of the night.

Word Count: 0.95K

Warnings: slight angst, happy ending

A/N: I'm on a ROLL! Here is a little Zeke drabble while I have time and the energy to write! I didn't mean for this to get so angsty, but I hope y'all enjoy some Modern AUish Zeke! Also, thanks @bluebellhairpin for helping me fuel this brainrot a little while ago :) -Birch<3

The sounds of a keyboard clicking slowly made the sound of the clock on the wall sound like an orchestra, ticking in a constant rhythm while the keyboard ran to its own drum. The wind was whistling just outside of the window, blowing by every minute or two as a reminder of how windy the chilly night was.

City lights twinkled below the office building putting on a simplistic concert, accented by the glow from car’s headlights as they moved through red and green stoplights. The leery musical was led by the sighs and taps of a lone man sitting at a keyboard, blue eyes straining against the light from the screen in front of him.

The clock on the wall read 1:38 in the morning, with the moon rising high in the sky, casting a cooler glow throughout the room lit up by the harsh gleam of office lights.

The tall and bearded blonde lets another sigh fall from his lips, a sign of his clear exhaustion, as well as the growing black and blue bags hanging under his half-lidded eyes. It seems that the words on his computer screen blur together, as his fingers whimsically dance across the keys, tapping out letters and the occasion number, spamming the backspace when words didn’t seem to flow together.

Pages upon pages of documents laid around him on the large oak wood desk he sat at, and the document he was typing on was just barely at an essay’s length. The sound and crack of thunder halt the music of the night, the keyboard stopping all sound while the clock drug on.

Zeke takes a glance toward the window, spinning away from his desk for a second to see the illuminations of small raindrops sliding down the glass on his office windows. He lets his palms rub at his tired blue eyes, trying to rid himself of the exhaustion that seemed to slowly be catching up to him.

As he turns back to his computer, he sees his phone screen light up with the time and some notification that he could care less about. And that’s when he sees a text, one that came in a few hours ago, and a wave of guilt flushes over him as he picks his phone up to view it.

It’s from you. It’s a simple text, one that he knew either meant you were mad, tired or some awful combination in between. He knew he had barely gotten to talk to you at all today, it had been busy, busy, busy. It was hard enough to get himself a lunch break by himself, let alone have time to enjoy sitting down and talking to you.

That’s when he decides to leave you a voicemail, you’d at least get to hear his voice when you woke up, and even though he’d get to sleep at his apartment that night, he might get to see you the following day.

He dials your number as fast as he can find it, which is slow, considering his vision blurs out every time he blinks, fighting off the pulls of sleep as he searches for your contact and photo.

Zeke pauses for a moment, looking at the photo he had saved under your contact. It was one he had taken of you when you were out on a date, sunglasses atop your head with the sun setting just behind you.

It was one of his favorite memories with you, and although you always told him how it was your bad angle and that he should change it, he never could. It was just so you that he kept it with him, especially when he had to stay late at work and didn’t get to see you on nights like this.

After a moment of gazing at your picture, he hits dial, bringing the ear up to his phone as he stands up from his chair, walking a few steps to stretch his sore muscles. He lets the phone ring and ring and ring by his ear, his head throbbing at the annoying and repeated sound.

Zeke’s eyes latch onto the clock, and as he gazes at the time, the voice machine begins its automated message. He takes a deep breath, waiting for the tone as he leans against the wall, praying you won’t be too mad at him.

"Hey sweetheart, I know it's getting late. It's, uh... Just after 1:30 in the morning and I just got done with paperwork. I'm sorry I couldn't text or call earlier, I had a bunch of meetings. Sorta figured you would be asleep by now, but I just wanted you to know I love you. I'll see you in the morning, princess."

As he pulls the phone away from his ear, he ends the call, the feeling of loneliness and guilt creeping along his skin and into his chest. He knew you deserved better than him, you shouldn’t be waiting for him to come over when in reality he’s going to be stuck at work for another 5 hours.

It wasn’t fair to you, and he felt terrible about that. And so he sits back down at his oak wood desk, the song of the clock beginning to tick in time with the howling wind outside, and he writes.

The note is simple, and it’s necessary. He grabs everything he can from his office, and with one last look, he decides it’s going to be his last late night and his last lonely call. You deserved more, and he was going to give that to you, tomorrow morning, at least.

Taglist: @xxdragonwriterxx @tejxswini @mysterystarz @mortedeveles @vs-redemption @kal0psi-a @gin-no-g @starstruckkittensweets @kitacharm @sukosie @shirari @animated-moon @mitzwinchester @elitparadox @yumeyooa @angels-main

[thefanficmonster]

Sleepless Nights

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None

Genre: FLUFF, Comfort, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: During an unusually windy night, Y/N finds herself unable to sleep while her boyfriend is streaming in the other room, unaware of the terror revving outside thanks to his headphones. So, Y/N does the only thing she can in order to finally get some shuteye.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your request, I had such a blast writing it! I’m so sorry it has taken me so long to complete and post it but here it finally is and I hope you’ve stuck around long enough to read it! If you have, please enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

It’s that time of year again - the city is terrorized by the loudest, most intense winds that wield the strength of a mythological creature and sound like the wails of hell’s sufferers. You may find my description of this natural occurrence rather dramatic and over the top but that’s because you aren’t here to hear and see this horror show going on. Trees have been uprooted from the ground and have fallen on top of cars, damaging them expensively. Chimneys all around are whistling hauntingly as the gusts of wind pass through them, the sound sending shivers down my spine.

Winds have never sat right with me and I often found myself lacking shuteye during the night if they were wilding outside while I tried to sleep even as a kid. My parents thought I’d grow out of it as the years went by but I never did apparently, seeing as how I’m wide awake at close to 2AM on a workday. I have to be at work by eight in the morning and if I don’t catch some z’s soon I might just show up looking like a zombie.

This is not the first time such an occurrence has happened. However, on those past occurrences, I wasn’t alone in bed, twisting and turning under the covers so I could extinguish the sound that’s violating my head. On those occasions, I had someone lying in bed next to me with his arms wrapped around me tightly or with his hands covering my ears. That person isn’t with me right now though. He’s in a room two doors away, streaming Among Us with his friends.

I’ve had Corpse ditch streams to comforting me during anxiety-inducing windstorms like this one but I can only assume he cannot hear what is going on outside since I haven’t heard a single word from him. Of course, comforting me isn’t his job and I’m not the type of girlfriend to be clingy and in need of her boyfriend to be there for her 24/7. Quite the contrary actually - I’m independent and rarely ask for people’s help, Corpse’s included. However, there’s one thing I need help with and this is it - falling asleep at a time like this. That’s a task I cannot manage on my own.

And so, against my better judgement and putting aside my embarrassment surrounding my fear, I kick the covers off me and get up, stretching my arms above my head as I walk out of the bedroom Corpse and I share and into the hallway which is pitch black as the rest of the apartment. The only light is coming from underneath the door to Corpse’s recording room but even that is so faint I can only guess it’s coming from his computer screen.

With an uneasy sigh, I make my way down the hall, flinching when a particularly strong gust of wind rattles the windows. This apartment building is old makes noises of its own on the regular, the last thing it needs is these attacks it’s now forced to endure because the weather outside is crappy as all hell. Take an already noisy building and pelt it with gusts of wind, yeah that equals a sleepless night for me.

The recording room door isn’t shut all the way as usual. Corpse prefers keeping it open a crack so he can enter and exit it without making noise in the middle of the night as to not wake me up, seeing as how I’m quite a light sleeper. It also allows me to enter and exit it soundlessly whenever I want to either bring him a snack or spook him. There’s no in-between: I either bring him something to eat/drink, or I scare the daylight out of him. The latter usually happens when he’s playing a horror game though so it’s rare which is why he hasn’t started shutting the door as to be alerted of my schemes before I give him a mini heart attack.

And so, I tip-toe my way in his recording room, squinting my eyes when I’m faced with the beaming computer screen opposite the door though it’s partially blocked by the hunched over Corpse who is still unaware of my presence. So, in order to avoid freaking him out, I deliver a couple of soft but audible enough knocks to the door frame to grab his attention.  My attempt proves successful as I see him yank off his headset and whirl around in his chair to face me.

“Am I being too loud?“ Even in the dark, I can make out the lines of his face contorting into an expression of guilt.

I give him a lopsided smile as I strut over to him with lazy steps. Just as I part my lips to speak, a strong gust of wind shakes the building, producing a wailing-like sound that immediately forces me to freeze up, the smile disappearing from my face.

Corpse’s face shifts expressions again, this time exhibiting a compassionate, comforting smile, “That’s what it is, isn’t it? You can’t sleep?” I shake my head, biting my lip as I feel my cheeks heat up. “Come here.” He mutters, opening his arms invitingly.

Without a single doubt, I come closer, not putting up a fight when he pulls me into his lap. I let my legs hang off either side of his hips, wrapping my arms around his neck as I hide my face in the crook of his neck breathing in his scent mixed with the cologne that has lingered on his hoodie and hair.

“Wait a sec...“ he mumbles, pulling away from me briefly. I’m confused for a second, but then I feel the pair of wireless headphones he covers my ears with and I give him a grateful smile, already feeling myself beginning to relax at the warmth of his body against mine and the soothing comfort of his touch. However, when the lo-fi music starts playing through my headphones - a playlist he’s complied for me whenever I have sleepless nights such as these for whatever reason - I’m a complete goner.

And so I find myself drifting off with the mixed sounds of lo-fi beats, Corpse’s whispers and his heartbeat and honestly, not to be cheesy or anything, but I’ve never heard a sweeter lullaby in all my life.

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[lexa-griffins]

Pumpkin Spice Craving

Day 2 of Clextober 21 - Pumpkin Spice

Read on AO3

It’s late at night. Or early in the morning if Lexa felt like pretending she’s awake early instead of late. It’s dreadfully cold outside, autumn settling in harsher this year, windy grey mornings with rainy and freezing afternoons that extend through the night, the work around their tiny farm rushed in the early hours of the day so they can enjoy a cozy afternoon inside by the fire. Lexa enjoys it, a step up from the scalding hot summer that had just passed, and that left her uncomfortable and sweaty every second of the day.

Although, the baby might be more to blame than the actual weather.

Just shy of thirty-four weeks, Lexa finds comfort to be something scarce and short-lived. She misses the sight of her painted toes, the ability to walk more than five steps without needing to catch her breath. Although the cravings are the ones Lexa finds herself hating the most; never has she ever craved food so bad she feels like crying if she does not taste it.

They are manageable for the most part, weirder than they are inconvenient, and even if Clarke will scrunch her nose at Lexa’s request for pancakes drenched in syrup and pickles, she’s always nothing but ready to prepare whatever her pregnant wife asks for without so much as a complaint.

A particularly violent gust of wind hits the window of their bedroom, whistling between the tree tops and making the old glass shake. Clarke moves in her slumber beside her, eyebrows frowning at the sound before she finally settles closer to Lexa, hand gently finding its way on to her bump. Lexa stares at her lovingly, and debates whether she should even try and awaken her peacefully sleeping wife for a simple craving.

She could make it herself; they should have everything she needs in the pantry. It would take time no doubt, the narrow stairs that lead into the hall being a challenge in itself, but it is doable before the alarm clock rings. Or so she hopes.

Happy Clextober!

[shy-little-carrie]

Do wifey and Ransom love each other? Maybe she gets into a car accident and he realises just how much he cares for her? 🤷🏽‍♀️

And you are not even here to hear me... pt.1

What's gonna happen if two of the most spoiled idiots in the whole Boston are forced into arranged marriage? They hate each other, they can’t stand each other and they can’t hold their hand off each other. This is a story of Ransom Drysdale and his Wifey.

Wifey AU - Masterlist

Warnings: car accident

I am sorry for all the mistakes, written on my phone.

taglist is open, send me an ask or DM!

“Is she coming?” Linda asked, checking her watch again, only making Ransom roll his eyes. He would never admit it, especially in front of his own mother, but the truth is, he is a bit nervous too. You two agreed to go on a lunch with Ransom's beloved mother.

The agreement was clear, we'll meet in the restaurant around two to have lunch. So where the fuck are you? One thing Ransom is sure about is, you are never late, and when you are late, you always let him know. Maybe you were just busy at work or…

His thoughts are interrupted by a taxi that stops in front of the restaurant. He watches you through the window. Your stunning figure in dark blue dress as you get out of the taxi, smiling at the driver before you close the door. It's windy - what is not a big surprise in this time of the year - but what is surprising for Ransom is, how beautiful you are when you scrunch your nose as the wind blows your hair into your face and you clumsily try to settle it back.

“There she is…” Ransom smiles, standing up as he wants to meet you halfway, so he can steal a few kisses and moments alone before you join him and his mother at the table.

“Oh god!” Linda gasps just when the Ransom freezes in the spot for a couple of seconds, absolutely terrified watching the scene in front of his eyes, feeling like he is in some fucking slowmotion scene in a movie.

Just when you close the door and walk into the road to run across it so you can join them in the restaurant, out of nowhere there is a car. Someone would say it's your fault, as you were fighting with your hair you had no chance to check the road before you step on it.

It's just a second, second that seems like hours, maybe even days, for Ransom.

Whistling brakes.

Screams of shocked people.

The sound of breaking glass.

He runs out of the restaurant towards the car, towards the car your helpless body is laying on. It was just a second as the car hit you. breaking the front glass with your head you ended up laying on the front hood of the whine honda.

“Wifey, god… honey, can you hear me?” Ransom asks the moments he reaches you, his hands softly reaching over your neck to check your heartbeat as he leans forwards to check if you're still breathing. “Please, say something.”

It's pointless, and he knows it. The only thing he can do is stand next to the car, gently caressing your cheek, not even sure if he heard right when the man next to him calls the ambulance. “Wifey…” she whispers again, his eyes filling with tears as you just lay there, absolutely immobilized and unconscious. He is not an idiot, for sure he knows he shouldn't be moving with you. There is a high chance you have something with your head or spine. But god, how much he wants to hide you in his arms.

He doesn't pay attention to anything, the only thing he is focused on is your shallow breathing, making sure you are still there… even when you're not. His eyes now filled with tears and he leans forwards again, watchfully kissing your temple as the quiet sob is released from his throat. “Wifey please, don't do this to me, someone just called the ambulance. Please…”

Not even sure what he is asking for, he keeps whispering his begs into your ear. Ignoring people taking photos or saying bullshits around you, his whole universe is now focused on the goddamn woman laying on the car, covered with blood.

“Please move, we need to get to her…” someone drags him away. Not someone. Linda. She holds his bicep, pulling him backwards so the paramedics have a free way to check on you and move you into the ambulance. He is not sure what is worse, if the way they move your body without any sign of life or the way your lifeless eyes open and his eyes meet yours. The moment he meets your eyes he realizes you are not there. He can't see the little sparkle of joy every time he looks into your eyes. There is nothing.

“Tufts medical center,” one of the paramedics shouts towards Ransom, before they close the door, locking you in the car causing he can no longer see you. Another few desperate sobs leave his throat and even when he never thought he would come to this, he tightly squeezes his mother's hand.

“They will help her, let's go, we should call her parents, and lawyer in case things go wrong…” Linda says her words bring Ransom back to reality and he turns at her. He knows exactly what she means. This is an arranged marriage. In case you die today, she needs a lawyer to make sure money stays safe. The fact she didn't even look concerned about, but she already thinks about the money makes him feel sick.

You are the only good thing that ever happened in his life, and you are the reason that makes him forget what a bunch of bastards his family really is.

“I love her.. I fell for her, harder than anyone ever fell for someone. She is my life now, so if you want to walk into hospital with a group of lawyers and bury her alive, I have to ask you to stay out of my fucking life forever. She is my life now…” he spits into his mother's face, pushing Linda away as he finally starts to cry, turning around to get into his car so he can drive himself to the hospital.

For the first time in his life he finally said what he feels and you are not even there to hear him.