The One To Survive

Monday #StudyBuddies mapcrunch warmup 60 min - 30 min - 30 min

In honour of me remembering this tumblr exists, here's the latest art of Avalie! This one's called 'Me and the 21 creatures I called in my dreams' and is based off a comfort fic I wrote of her dealing with her nightmares!

I haven't really talked about her on this blog yet (I forgor) but she's a Sumerian forest spirit who was reborn as a human as a blessing to her mother! She has an anemo vision (guess who she lost LMAO) but can also influence the nature around her courtesy of her heritage.

There's a whole bunch of lore surrounding her- and my best friend's OC named Mayari (who's an AU version of Calen, Avalie's best friend in every universe (it gets super messy lol)) who was the one who granted the blessing- and is her second mother in every sense of the word.

I really love Avalie because she's such a sensitive person, and she doesn't try to hide it. She wrestled with it initially, sure, but eventually she realised that that aspect of hers was one of her greatest strengths. And through that she's built a life she loves with the people she loves in her reach.

I find it really inspirational (yes, even tho I created her so this might sound weird) and hope one day I too can reach for the stars just as she always does.

AMBROSIA pt. I This is a world where all daily life relies on the magic of this mystical honey known as ambrosia. However, magic is starting to disappear and a princess goes to track down the origins a magic A concept project

He's so pretty 😭🙏

marius

13th Hour

This one truly took so long to paint ;_; I've always loved paintings with lots of tiny hidden details but couldn't work on those very often because of my hand injury. But I decided to really indulge this time. Most of my paintings take 1-3 recording sessions but this one took 10 ahahaha

The character is Dante, a painter from my work in progress novel about artists titled 1000 Words Unframed. He's an eccentric one and likes to paint trompe l'oeil, aka illusions. Here he's painting a bunch of clocks onto his wall, but none of the clocks are accurate, some having 13 hours, one clock is a spiral, another is made of eyeballs lol. He is also a lover of cats, hence all the cat portraits and kitties hanging out. Here are some close ups of all the details!

Here's a timelapse of how I painted it. The bottles and table in the foreground started as 3D models in SketchUp. The rest is painted in Paint Tool SAI. The full HD image, 10 art videos, and PSD file will be DMed on Patreon.com/Yuumei on April 5th.

Caleb 100% does the silliest things to cheer up MC and has absolutely no shame about any of them

Even as a teenager, when other boys were too proud and insecure, he danced about the kitchen singing a song out of tune at the top of his lungs because his pipsqueak had a bad day at school

When MC was teased because she couldn't do makeup as a young teen, he practiced with her until she was good at it, letting himself be the guinea pig

He writes her notes and leave them around the house to cheer her up, usually with really bad little doodles that she doesn't have the heart to tell him are terrible (he knows, it's deliberate)

She fell in a puddle at the park just before her hs graduation and she was mortified because she put in such an effort to look good and now had to walk home covered in mud. Caleb doesn't hesitate and deliberately falls in afterwards so they're equally muddy together

He has a running joke, where he'd make more and more weird faces at her until she laughed - now, he only has to make one before she bursts out laughing no matter how down she is

Caleb's priority is always MC's wellbeing - he loves her so much, too much to bother about things like what people think of him when her opinion is all that matters 😭

Me whenever I post anything anywhere (unless I forget then I remember it after five billion business years)

me: I write for myself, not validation

also me after posting a fic *refreshes ao3 every five minutes*

(two things can be true)

Ummm so this hurt like five billion times more 😁 I hate it when people have plans and the other people involved in said plans die/ disappear, ya know? Like wow, what a way to be rude?

Falling into you

pairing: Caleb x reader

summary: Caleb was always there, but now, something’s changed. He’s different. You’re different. But neither of you can name it. Not yet.

word count: 4.8k

author's note: this is my first post in lads. Grammar mistakes? fuck i'd cry(but tell me, anyways). Also, I wrote it a little different. But, I mean, can you handle reliving the trauma you carry about Caleb? It is sweet though, ha.. The tension is intense. You better see it. Squint. Drown. Whatever you do. You better feel the tension.

The best part about growing up with your childhood friend is that you never have to explain yourself. You have someone who’s seen you throw tantrums and fall apart, someone who’s laughed at your worst haircut and stayed up with you through exam stress and friendship heartbreak. They know every embarrassing detail—every weakness—each tiny cross.

And if they’re still by your side after all that, they’re more than just loyal.

They’re home.

And when someone feels like home, you don’t question it. Not the comfort. Not the closeness. Not even the way your heart slows when they look at you like you're the only person in the room. Because it's always been this way.

Until one day, you do question it.

Because Caleb feels different somehow. It’s like watching someone you’ve known your whole life move through a dream—familiar, but just out of reach. You don’t recognize him through his expressions or the way his voice sounds deeper now.

You recognize him through your memories. Through the echo of every moment that once made you feel safe.

And now, he feels like both. Familiar and unfamiliar. Comfortable and unsettling.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, brush paused mid-stroke, and say out loud, “This is normal. A very normal thing to happen. We’re now grown-ups, afterall”.

Your voice sounds flat. Unconvincing. One glance at your face and anyone could see—you’re lying to yourself. You don’t believe it for a second.

It’s confusing. It’s disorienting. But that’s okay.

Because the readers of your story? They already know what’s coming. This is your laughable, syncronising, and heart wrenching canon event.

The chapter where you realize you’ve fallen in love with your childhood friend. (Like Caleb hasn’t been manifesting it for years.)

Stage One: Blind Spot

"You know, it’s sort of weird…” you say, tearing the wrapper off a bar of chocolate, letting the crinkle fill the comfortable silence of the kitchen.

Caleb’s back is to you.

He stands near the stove, shoulders relaxed but still carrying that quiet strength that never leaves him—even when he’s home. His blue shirt clings just right, outlining the sharp taper of his waist, the sculpted lines of his back, still faintly damp from a recent shower. The scent of soap and smoke and something so distinctly him lingers in the air between you.

He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t need to.

“Mmm? What is?” he murmurs, focused on his task—cutting mushrooms with those clean, practiced movements. Precise. Calm. Familiar.

He’s making Baoshao mushrooms—your favorite. Of course he is.

You lean in beside him, your hip brushing the counter as you scan the ingredients. Everything’s arranged perfectly, like always. Banana leaves, fresh garlic, spices. Your eyes catch on a small heap of cilantro and you blink.

“You’re using cilantro,” you say slowly. “But you hate cilantro.”

He chuckles, low and unbothered. Then he shifts his weight and rests his elbow on your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world—like you don’t feel your skin tingle every time he does it.

“But you love it, don’t you?”

You bite off a piece of chocolate, staring him down. “I do not like it.”

“No?” he says, sounding almost amused.

“I don’t like you being selfless,” you mutter.

That gets him.

He pauses, knife hovering mid-air, then glances at you with that half-lidded expression he does so well. Calm, unreadable. Dangerous.

You frown and turn to reach for the cilantro, but his hand wraps around your waist before your fingers can touch it. In one smooth movement, he turns you toward him, pressing you back against the counter.

And you’re caught. Trapped.

Your breath stutters.

His arms on either side of you, body close enough that you feel the heat rising off him in slow waves. His scent fills your lungs—citrus and cedarwood and something deeper, something you can’t name. Your heart pounds, your hands still gripping the chocolate like a lifeline.

This isn’t how brothers hold. This isn’t how they look at you.

“C’mon, pipsqueak,” he says, eyes locked on yours. His voice is low, almost teasing—but there’s a flicker beneath it. “What’s this sudden concern for?”

He leans in, and you forget how to breathe. “You’re getting my hopes up,” he whispers, eyes dropping to your lips.

Your stomach flips. Hopes up…?

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Because he leans in even closer, dips his head—and takes a bite out of your chocolate bar. His lips brush your fingers, and his tongue, careless and warm, lingers for half a second too long against your thumb.

You freeze.

Then, like always, Caleb steps back. Unbothered. Calm. Like he didn’t just dismantle your nervous system with one touch.

“You get dramatic when you’re hungry,” he says, reaching for the banana leaves like the conversation never happened.

You stand there, blinking. Chocolate still in your hand. Pulse thundering in your ears. Something in your chest trying very hard to make sense of what just happened—and failing.

Because Caleb is just Caleb.

He’s always been there. Always been your home.

Your friend.

Your brother-but-not-by-blood.

But that look in his eyes just now? That warmth in your stomach?

It felt like something else.

And that part of you that leaned into it, just a little, just for a second? That part is louder than ever.

Still… it’s probably nothing. A weird blip in the system. You’re not the type to get emotional anyway.

Right?

Stage two: The flicker of Awareness

The thing about bad days is… you don’t always see them coming. They don’t crash into you like a wave. They seep. Slow and quiet. A missed text. A stupid argument. A little silence that lingers too long and starts to sting. By the time you realize something’s wrong, it’s already settled into your chest like fog.

You hadn’t planned to go outside today. Not after the fight with your best friend. Not after pretending to be okay all day. But a certain extrovert with full energy had shown up anyway. No warning. No questions. Just a casual knock, and a stupid smile.

Might wanna read the room, Caleb? You were in dumps!

Sigh.

The air was thick and warm, full of sugar and smoke and the sound of other people’s joy. It should’ve been nice. It might’ve been, if you hadn’t felt so off in your own skin.

“Ugh, it’s too hot,” you muttered, half-hoping he’d hear your misery.

But Caleb didn’t answer. You turned your head and suddenly—a ridiculous red sun hat flopped down over your eyes. It looked goofy, you looked exactly like a kid tailing with an adult.

Before you could protest, he pulled out a bright floral jacket from his bag.

“Nope. Not wearing that,” you said, backing away.

He just grinned. “Fine by me,” he said, draping the absurd thing over himself. “You gotta protect yourself against the sun in this weather, or you are making yourself into a heating pan to fry an egg.” The floral jacket, didn't even fit him. But, Caleb managed to look like he was content with it.

“You’re insane,” you muttered, trying not to smile.

“But you’re smiling,” he said, without looking at you.

He always notices.

Somewhere between the games and the food, the ache in your chest loosened. It didn’t vanish—but it dulled. Like maybe, for a few hours, you could just be someone who didn’t have things falling apart at the edges.

It was just you and Caleb enjoying the peak of being an adult. And that’s obviously playing unlimited gamed without the supervision of a greater adult!

Before you know it, it’s evening and despite a deeper darkness seeking-in, there were still a lot of people in the fair.

"Caleb, hurry!", you excitedly, call for him. Yet, when you turn around you see him no where around you. “Oh, no.”

You had somehow, lost him.

One second he was beside you, making some dumb joke about winning you a plushie. The next—gone. Swallowed by the crowd. You turned too quickly, panicked too fast, and ended up bumping into a stranger. Their heel slammed into your foot, hard.

You winced, hobbling back and tried to breathe.

And, as you find a place with a lesser crowd, you looked down.

The strap on your sandal had snapped.

And your toe—bleeding.

Of course.

You stared at it, teeth clenched. Embarrassed. Angry. Alone. Your phone had no signal. There was nowhere to sit. The crowd pressed too close. Everything felt too loud. Too much.

Your eyes burned.

You weren’t sure why.

It wasn’t just the sandal. Or the crowd. Or the pain.

It was the quiet way the world moved on without you. Like your bad day didn’t matter to anyone but you.

You blinked hard. Inhaled. “Stop it,” you whispered to no one. “You’re not a kid anymore.”

But the tears slipped through anyway.

It’s as if all the things you had forgotten were coming back to you at once. The tears kept rushing in, and you couldn't help as a sob escaped your lips. It felt embarrasing, and overwhelming.

It hurt.

And then—just as suddenly as he disappeared—Caleb was there.

His hand landed gently on your head. Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just there. Steady.

You didn’t even have to look up to know it was him.

“There you are,” he said softly. “I told you the hat was essential. Like a little red alert I could follow.”

You turned.

And before you could stop yourself, you leaned in.

Pressed your forehead to his chest, fingers curling into the front of that stupid jacket. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t say anything. He just wrapped his arms around you like it was the easiest thing in the world.

He always does.

“You okay?” he murmured, chin resting lightly against your temple.

You nodded. Lied.

He pulled back only enough to glance down at your foot—and stilled.

“What happened?” he asked, already crouching.

You shrugged. “I tripped. It’s nothing.”

But he looked up at your face, and whatever he saw there made him go quiet.

The next thing you knew, he’d turned around and crouched, arms steady.

“Get on,” he said, like it was obvious.

You hesitated. “Caleb, I can walk—”

“Not with that toe, you can’t.”

“I’ll survive.”

He looked over his shoulder, gaze soft but unwavering. “I know you will. But I’m not letting you limp through a fairground like some tragic drama heroine. So get on.”

You did.

Because he always had ways to get you to do things.

His back was warm. Broad. Familiar. You rested your cheek against it, letting yourself breathe. Just for a minute. Just long enough to forget you were supposed to be holding everything together.

He didn’t talk much after that.

But he listened.

He always listens. To the stuff you say. And the stuff you don’t.

And somewhere between the games and the silence and the ridiculous sun hat, you felt something shift. Not between you, exactly. Just… inside you.

Like the way your heart fluttered when he reached back to steady your legs. The way his hand lingered, gentle, firm. The way you wished the walk back would last longer.

It wasn’t new. But it felt new.

You wanted to say something. Maybe ask if he’d always been this warm. This easy to lean on.

Instead, you whispered, “Will you still give me piggybacks when you have a girlfriend?”

It came out before you could stop it.

He slowed a little. “Huh?”

You immediately backtracked. “Forget I said that. I’m being weird.”

There was a pause. Then:

“Pipsqueak,” he said, voice softer than it had any right to be, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He didn’t make it a joke.

And you didn’t laugh.

You just held on tighter, heart knocking a little too loudly against your ribs.

Because maybe—for the first time—you let yourself believe him.

And that tiny voice inside you, the one you’d ignored for years, whispered something new:

He’s always been there.

But maybe you’re starting to see him.

Stage three: The need to express

The attic smells like dust and summer and forgotten stories. You wrinkle your nose and push open the crooked window to let the light in, the breeze stirring motes into lazy spirals. Caleb’s behind you somewhere, muttering about the lack of proper ventilation like the grown-up he pretends to be.

“You sure this isn’t a health hazard?” he calls, lifting a heavy box with one hand and wiping his forehead with the other.

“Quit complaining, you said you wanted to help,” you reply, shoving aside a pile of old notebooks. “I just need to find that album. The one with all the polaroids.”

“You mean the one where you gave me devil horns in every photo?”

“They were accurate portrayals.”

He laughs—loud and honest, and it fills the room in a way that makes your chest ache, though you can’t explain why.

You were distracted, half-kneeling on a rickety step-stool, sifting through a box labeled Childhood Trash, when you hear it.

“Oh?” Caleb’s voice, playful. “What’s this?”

You turn your head, and he’s holding a thin red notebook with your name doodled all over the cover. It’s not the album.

It’s your old account book.

Your heart drops.

“Oh my god—give me that—” You nearly fall off the stool trying to snatch it, but Caleb dances out of reach, flipping it open with an evil grin.

“May 14th: Caleb said he’d save the last candy but he ate it. Betrayal. 3 points deducted from friendship score.” He snorts. “You had a point system?”

“Stop reading it!”

“June 2nd: Caleb forgot my birthday until noon. Very upsetting. Only made up for it with strawberry pocky. 6 points lost, 4 recovered. Net friendship score: shaky.” He’s laughing now, eyes crinkling.

You lunge for him.

The stool wobbles.

Stupid.

You yelp—too late—and pitch forward. A sudden arm catches you mid-air, and the two of you crash backward, tangled and breathless, landing squarely on the sagging attic couch behind him.

For a second, there’s only stillness. The dust floats around you like suspended time.

You’re sprawled half on top of him, one knee pressing into the cushion, your hand fisted into the front of his shirt. His arm’s around your waist, steady and secure. He hasn’t let go.

And you… haven’t moved either.

Because suddenly you’re noticing everything.

The way his chest rises beneath your hand. The way his voice dips low when he says your name, barely above a whisper. “Hey. You okay?”

You nod, but your voice doesn’t come. Because your gaze is stuck—on his hand, where it holds your waist. That faint, silvery scar on his wrist.

The one from when he climbed the fence for you in seventh grade to rescue your dumb sketchbook. You’d forgotten about it. But it’s there. Always has been.

Your eyes flick up. To his lips.

He’s not smiling now. Not teasing.

Just watching you.

Like you’re something fragile.

You feel his thumb brush your cheek—so softly, you could almost pretend it didn’t happen. But it did. A slow stroke, calloused finger grazing your skin like he’s memorizing it.

“Caleb…” you whisper, and you’re not sure if it’s a warning or a question.

But he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t move.

His hand lingers at your jaw, fingertips gentle. And his gaze…

It lingers.

Not just on your face. But on you. Like you’re not the same girl he’s known all his life. Like he’s seeing you for the first time.

You swallow.

Because you’re seeing him, too.

The soft yearning in his eyes. The weight behind it. The way he always offers you the last bite. The way he listens—not just hears. The way his presence fills a room without ever demanding it.

Your face is so close to his now. Just one breath away.

You lean forward.

Just a little.

Then freeze.

Because this isn’t nothing. This isn’t teasing. This is—

Caleb’s hand shifts, slides to cup your jaw. His thumb grazes the corner of your mouth, like he’s already read your thoughts.

And he murmurs, quiet and dangerous:

“I still owe you six points, don’t I?”

You exhale, trembling, torn between laughter and something deeper.

And suddenly, you realize—

You don’t want the points.

You want him.

Stage four: The Leap of Faith

It took ages to admit it—not just out loud, but to yourself. That maybe your childhood friend wasn’t just a friend.

You used to think feelings like this came in lightning strikes. One moment of clarity. One spark of sudden, overwhelming love. But this… this has been quieter. Slower. A steady ache, like light seeping in through the cracks. Like warmth you only noticed when it was gone.

And now you were older. A licensed Deepspace Hunter under the elite UNICORNS unit. Trained. Hardened. Supposedly brave. You fought shadows and monsters, crossed danger zones without flinching. So what was one confession?

If he was home today, you decided, you’d tell him. Just tell him. If he wasn’t—well, maybe it was the universe’s way of telling you to keep pretending.

The sun hung low when you stepped off the transport, casting soft amber light across the familiar neighborhood. There was the old tree you used to climb. The mailbox Caleb once painted purple because you dared him. Everything looked just the same.

Except you. You weren’t the girl who bit his hand when he stole your last candy. You weren’t the girl who cried when he left for his first mission without you.

You were someone who could say it now.

Maybe.

The door creaked as you stepped inside the house. The smell of roast pork greeted you first—warm, rich, nostalgic. And then—

“Grandma, I’m home,” you called out.

The old woman looked up from her place on the couch, her eyes lighting up. “Ah, sweetie,” she said, delighted. “You haven’t been visiting since you joined the Hunters. Did you miss me?”

A soft laugh escaped your lips as you walked toward her. “Of course I did. Is that roast pork? I’ve been learning how to cook. Want to be my taste tester?”.

She sniffed the air with dramatic flair. “What happened to the girl who couldn’t even boil water? I should’ve sent you into the battlefield sooner.”

Her words made you smile—but it wasn’t them that made your heart jolt.

It was his voice, coming from the kitchen.

“She still can’t boil water,” Caleb said, stepping out with a tray in his hands. “But hey, she tries.”

Your breath caught.

He wore a black jacket over a soft white tee, sleeves pushed up. His hair was a little tousled, like he’d run his hands through it too many times. And he looked just the same. Exactly like the day you last saw him. Too much like home.

“I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow,” you said, unable to hide your awe.

He raised a brow. “What’s wrong with coming home early to spend time with you and Gran?”

Then, casually, like it didn’t shake your entire chest, he reached out and ruffled your hair. “Go wash your hands. Let’s eat.”

The three of you sat together as the old TV played something soft in the background. The warmth of the food, the low hum of conversation—it felt like a piece of your past was stitched back into place.

You glanced at Grandma. “How’s your health? Still getting headaches?”

She waved you off gently. “It’s normal for people my age. As long as I take my medication, I’ll be fine.”

“But didn’t the doctor suggest observation in the hospital?” you frowned.

Grandma gave Caleb a pleading look. He stepped in smoothly.

“Already on it,” he said, placing his chopsticks down. “I submitted an application for long-term care. It’s a nice, quiet ward. Just her style.”

You blinked at him. “Wait. When did you do all that?”

“Caleb’s always been decisive,” Grandma chimed in before he could answer. “If I need to be in the hospital, visit me, alright? Oh, and talk to Zayne too. Maybe have lunch with him.”

You almost choked.

She was still trying to set you up—with Zayne of all people. While you were preparing to confess to Caleb.

“Even the world’s busiest guy has to eat. I haven't seen him in a looong time. We should invite him over for a dinner, right?”, Caleb added smoothly, looking straight at you with that unreadable smile.

You tried to recover, chuckling nervously. “Yeah. And we can kidnap him if he refuses.”

Caleb smirked, Grandma laughed, and for a brief second, things felt light again.

Then your watch beeped—sharp, sudden.

A crimson glow.

Wanderer alert.

You stood quickly. “I’m going to check it out. Just a quick patrol.”

“You sure?” Caleb asked, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah. I won’t be long.”

You stepped outside, adjusting your gear, boots thudding softly against the pavement. The afternoon light was golden, casting long shadows on the sidewalk. But the warmth didn’t reach your chest this time.

“Hey! Wait up!”

You didn’t even turn around. “Caleb.”

He fell into step beside you.

“What kind of hunter lets their childhood friend tag along to work with them?” you said, exasperated.

“I’m not tagging along,” he said, voice perfectly straight. “I’m going to the store. To buy vinegar.”

You blinked at him. Then pointed at the store right across the street.

You huffed, half-laughing, half-defeated, and nudged him toward the store.

You continued down the street, scanning the neighborhood with practiced ease. There was no unusual energy. No ripple in the atmosphere. No Wanderer lurking in the shadows.

Everything was calm.

Too calm.

And maybe that was why, when you turned to look for Caleb again, your chest pulled tight. Because the quiet gave your mind space to wander. And in that silence, your heart drifted—

Back to the attic.

Back to the moment when everything nearly changed.

Back to the almost-confession.

And everything you couldn’t say.

Caleb’s voice breaks the stillness, teasing but gentle. “I still owe you six points, don’t I?”

The words hang between you both like a delicate thread, something playful, but it doesn’t land like it usually does. No, not this time.

You exhale, your breath uneven, as you fight the mix of emotions swirling inside you. There's a lightness to it, yes—like laughter that never fully escapes—but something deeper lingers just beneath the surface. It wraps around you like the warm summer air, suffocating yet comforting at the same time.

You want to laugh, to push away the growing tension, but it’s impossible. Not when his eyes are on you like that, so soft, so sure.

You don’t look away from him, and you feel it, the weight of his gaze on you, pulling you closer, not physically, but in a way that has your heart racing and your pulse quickening. You want to move, to break the distance, but your body’s betraying you, your feet rooted to the spot, as if the universe itself is pausing for what comes next.

He notices, of course. He always does.

“Are you… okay?” His voice is quieter now, something like concern threading through it. His hand moves ever so slightly, the warmth of his fingers brushing against your arm. The touch makes you shiver, a slight tremble running through you. It’s not cold—no, it’s warmth, and yet it freezes you in place.

You lean closer without thinking. The air between you crackles with that unspoken promise. You barely register it, but your fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeve, a tight, anxious grip.

And suddenly, it’s too much. The tension is thick, so thick you could cut it with a knife. Every inch of your body is on edge, every nerve alight with the anticipation of something you can't put into words. Something you’re afraid to touch, even though you know it’s there, right beneath the surface.

For a split second, you both stay still, neither of you daring to move. You don’t even blink. Your lips part slightly, but no words come out.

And then, just when you think you might close the gap, just when you think you might finally be brave enough to bridge that space between you… he pulls you into his arms, holding you close.

His embrace isn’t hurried or desperate, but it’s enough to make your heart skip, to make every part of you ache with what could’ve been.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice warm, but with an edge of something softer, something that makes your chest tighten even more. “I didn’t mean to rush you.”

You stay in his arms for a moment longer than you expect, your breath slowing, his steady heartbeat against yours grounding you, and for a moment, the world feels smaller, just the two of you, wrapped in this suspended reality.

But even as his hands find their way to your back, even as he pats you gently, you can feel it. The unspoken words. The almost-what-could-have-been.

His words linger, not pushing, not demanding. “Take your time,” he says, his voice the same soft, sure thing it’s always been. “I’ll always be here. Whenever you’re ready, you can come back to me.”

It’s like a promise. It feels like a soft thread tethering you to him, pulling you back to reality just when you’re teetering on the edge of something you’re not quite ready for.

But you know he’s right. You’re not ready. Not yet. But you might be someday.

The street is quiet in the afternoon sun, the world still turning even when your heart hasn't caught up.

“Found your big bad Wanderers?” Caleb’s voice cuts into your reverie, gentle but teasing, like always.

You blink, startled—had you really zoned out that long? “False alarm,” you murmur, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll report it to the agency later on.”

But his eyes don’t leave you.

They dip lower, scanning over your arm—over the place where the skin is faintly grazed from your last mission, the one where the man with protocore syndrome scratched you. The makeshift wrap isn’t hiding much, and you can see the moment his expression changes. Jaw tensing. Eyes darkening.

“That’s not from today,” he says quietly, and then—flatly, “Who hurt you?”.

”Uh... This, I was petting a cat and...“, You hesitate, avoiding his eyes.

Caleb doesn’t laugh. He just stares at you.

“A straycat, huh,” he mutters, crossing his arms. “Guess I’ll go find that cat and teach it a lesson.”

You sigh. “I’m telling the truth.”

“No, you’re not,” he replies softly.

The silence that follows is heavier than you wanted to admit.

You look down at your wrist, fiddling with the edge of the cuff, avoiding his gaze. “We already have enough on our plate, Caleb. There’s no need to stress you and gran about this.“

He nods slowly, but you can see something flickering in his eyes. Not anger, exactly—just something tired. Something… hurt.

“I understand why you’d hide it from her,” he says, voice low. “She’s old. She’d get anxious.”

Then his gaze flicks back up to you. There’s a faint crease between his brows, and his voice breaks just a little.

“But why hide it from me?”

Your breath catches.

He lets out a soft laugh, like it doesn’t matter—but you both know it does. “Isn’t it better to trust me now that…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Just sighs and offers you a sad smile. “Never mind.”

He gestures toward the house. “If you’re going to come back home, maybe hide that better, yeah?”.

And just like that, he turns, walking ahead, the door creaking open as he steps inside.

You stare after him, your heart aching with the weight of unsaid things. He thinks you don’t care anymore. He thinks maybe you’ve outgrown him. But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know you were going to tell him tonight. About everything. About how nothing’s changed. About how everything has.

You look down at your wrist, pull your sleeve lower, and follow. You take a breath. One step forward—

And then everything erupts.

A deafening roar, a blast of heat. The ground lurches under your feet, flinging you backward like a rag doll. Your ears ring instantly, a high-pitched whine swallowing the world.

You don’t even realize you’ve hit the ground until you taste blood.

Smoke. Heat. Light. Everything’s on fire—your thoughts, your skin, the sky itself. The house is a glowing furnace, collapsing inwards, wood splintering and walls caving in.

You push yourself up—arm trembling, ribs burning—just enough to see shapes in the smoke, all flickering gold and black. The air is too thick to breathe.

Then something glints near you, half-buried in the rubble.

A broken chain.

His necklace.

You reach for it, fingers scraped and bleeding. It’s the only thing you can hold onto.

Pain pulses behind your eyes. You try to stay awake—just a moment longer—but the world is tilting, too loud, too hot.

Your hand curls around the metal—

And then, nothing.

Darkness claims you before you hit the ground again.

masterpost for writers creating their own worlds, or even just characters

names that have specific meanings

meanings of any names

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random name generator

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list of latin words

english to latin translator

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greek mythology database

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list of legendary creatures

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feel free to add in any links!

harumasa