#Bonds Left Unbroken

[101flavoursofweird]

Raymond for the character ask?

((Thank you!)

Raymond

Sexuality Headcanon: Ace, maybe?  Gender Headcanon: Butler A ship I have with said character: Raymond/This OC Targent Commander I made up— Grace Millar. Both grew up in a rural Scottish village. They met as children when Grace fell out of a tree and Raymond bandaged her up. Raymond fell for her, but Grace left him and her family to join an ‘archaeology cult’… Years later, Raymond encounters Grace again as a Targent commander who runs a harsh training facility for Targent cadets. Seeing Raynond rescuing a group of kids is a wake up call to Grace. She leaves Targent and returns to her family home, bequeathing her airship to Raymond and Desmond. (Grace’s full story can be read in Bonds Left Unbroken.) A BROTP I have with said character: character: Des & Raymond obviously but I do also really like Raymond & Rosa because it makes me laugh imagining these two chatting about their disaster employees/sons… Also Raymond & Keats A NOTP I have with said character: Raymond/Desmond as a romantic pairing A random headcanon: Raymond studied medicine in his younger years and he originally wanted to be a doctor  General Opinion over said character: We don’t know and great deal about Raymond’s past, and I really like that! He’s just this mysterious old Scottish gentleman who likes pun and can fly an airship and would rush into a gang of armed men to save his master son. 

[its-avalon-08]

it all fell down (ln4)

part6

multipart story! part1 part2 part3 part4 part5

✦ pairing - lando norris x female reader

summary : lando norris and y/n were friends for 20 years, fell in love and dated for five. until it all fell down. they left each others lives abruptly and never spoke again, until they met again in the most unexpected way. can they find their way back or will certain scars never heal?

A few weeks later, Y/N found herself at the Red Bull Formula One team’s headquarters. Her company had been invited for a special event, showcasing new collaborative projects. The idea of being back in the F1 world was both exciting and nerve-wracking, but it wasn’t race weekend, so she didn’t expect to run into Lando.

As she walked through the impressive facility, she spotted a familiar face in the crowd. Kelly Piquet, Max Verstappen’s girlfriend, was chatting animatedly with a few team members. Penelope, Kelly's adorable daughter, was playfully twirling around nearby. When Kelly’s eyes met Y/N’s, her face lit up with a warm smile.

“Y/N! Baby!” Kelly exclaimed, rushing over to embrace her. “It’s so good to see you!”

Y/N returned the hug, feeling a wave of nostalgia. “You too, Kelly. Oh my god it’s been way too long. I've missed you so much!”

Just then, Penelope ran up and wrapped her little arms around Y/N’s legs. “Auntie Y/N!” she squealed, looking up with bright eyes.

Y/N crouched down to give the little girl a proper hug. “Hey, P! You’ve gotten so big!”

Max Verstappen, standing a few feet away, turned around at the commotion and grinned when he saw Y/N. “Well, if it isn’t the famous Y/N,” he teased, walking over to join the group. “Long time no see.”

Y/N stood up, returning Max’s grin. “Hey, Maximus. Congrats on the last race, by the way. You were incredible. Cute little family you've got here.”

“Thanks Y/N,” Max said, giving her a friendly hug. “How’ve you been? We haven's seen much of you since- well yeah, missed you alot. How are you?”

“Busy, but good,” she replied. “It’s nice to be back in this world, even if it’s just for a bit.”

Kelly looped her arm through Y/N’s. “We’ve missed having you around. It’s not the same without you.”

Y/N smiled, her heart warming at the welcome. “I’ve missed you guys too. It feels like coming home.”

Penelope tugged at Y/N’s hand. “Come play with me, Auntie Y/N!”

Laughing, Y/N allowed herself to be pulled towards a small play area. “Alright, P. What are we playing?”

As she engaged with Penelope, Kelly and Max exchanged knowing looks, happy to see their friend smiling and relaxed. It was a moment of genuine connection and warmth, a reminder that some bonds remained unbroken despite the turbulence of the past.

Kelly watched Y/N with Penelope and then leaned closer to Max. “I hope today goes smoothly for her. She deserves a break from all of that. She is still hurting y'know baby?”

Max nodded, his eyes thoughtful. “Yeah, she does deserve a good day today. It’s good to see her smile again after we missed out on seeing it for months..”

Y/N lifted Penelope onto her shoulders, the little girl giggling with delight. “Alright, P, let’s go get some apple juice!” she said, feeling the joy of the moment lighten her heart.

As they made their way through the crowd, Y/N’s thoughts drifted. It feels good to be surrounded by friends again. Maybe I can finally put the past behind me. She smiled at Penelope, who was happily pointing out various sights around the Red Bull facility.

Turning a corner, Y/N suddenly collided with someone. Penelope squealed in surprise, and Y/N instinctively reached out to steady herself and the little girl. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked up and met Lando’s equally startled eyes.

Oh no. Not now, not here.

Lando’s surprise quickly shifted to a mix of emotions. Y/N? Of all places, here? And she looks as beautiful as ever, You're joking. His heart pounded in his chest, memories of their recent argument and their past flooding his mind.

Before either could react, Penelope squealed with delight. “Uncle Lando!” she exclaimed, leaning over Y/N’s shoulders to hug him. This caused Y/N and Lando to be pulled closer together, their faces just inches apart, almost as if they were embracing. Lando wanted to wrap his arms around the woman in front of him and never let go. He missed this, the feeling of being loved by Y/N.

“Penelope, careful,” Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper, her heart racing from the sudden proximity to Lando.

“Hey, P,” Lando managed to say, his voice strained. He gently ruffled Penelope’s hair, trying to focus on the little girl and not the overwhelming presence of Y/N so close to him. Why does this still affect me so much?

Penelope’s excitement was palpable. “Y/N is getting me apple juice! Come with us, Uncle Lando!”

This is not happening. Please, not now. Y/N could feel her pulse quicken, a mix of anxiety and the unresolved feelings she thought she had buried deep.

Lando forced a smile, though he could feel the tension radiating from Y/N. “Sure, P. Let’s get you that apple juice,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. Stay calm, don’t let her see how much this affects you.

They walked together, a somewhat awkward silence settling over them. Y/N could feel the weight of Lando’s presence beside her, each step bringing back memories she had tried so hard to suppress. Just focus on Penelope. Don’t think about him.

When they reached the refreshment table, Penelope squirmed off Y/N’s shoulders and eagerly grabbed a cup of apple juice. “Thank you, Auntie Y/N!” she chirped, then looked up at Lando. “Can we play a game now?”

Y/N forced a smile, her voice strained. “Why don’t you go show Max your juice, P? I’m sure he’d love to see it.”

Penelope nodded enthusiastically and ran off, leaving Y/N and Lando standing awkwardly by the table. The tension between them was palpable, neither knowing what to say.

Lando finally broke the silence. “Y/N… I didn’t expect to see you here.”

What are you even supposed to say in a moment like this?

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d be here either,” Y/N replied, her voice tinged with an edge she couldn’t quite suppress. Stay calm. Don’t let him get to you.

Lando looked down, his fingers drumming nervously against the table. “How have you been?” he asked, the question loaded with more meaning than he intended.

“Fine,” she said shortly, trying to keep her emotions in check. Don’t show him how much he still affects you.

The silence stretched between them, filled with everything left unsaid. Finally, Y/N took a deep breath. “Lando, about what I said last time…”

Lando shook his head, cutting her off. “It’s fine. You don’t have to explain.” But his eyes betrayed the hurt he still felt. I don’t think I can handle this right now.

Just then, Penelope returned, tugging on Lando’s hand. “Come on, Uncle Lando Auntie Y/N! Let’s go play!”

Lando forced a smile, grateful for the distraction. “Sure thing, P.”

As they walked away, Y/N watched them go, her heart heavy with the weight of unresolved feelings and the painful realization that moving on was going to be much harder than she ever anticipated. Maybe it’s time to face the past, no matter how much it hurts.

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[novaursa]

A Lion's Leap (flight of fancy)

- Summary: The king announces the betrothal of his youngest daughter, you, to Tyland Lannister. But even the Lannister Lord is taken off guard, as there has been some miscommunication regarding the proposal.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Previous part: peace is a Targaryen illusion

- Next part: unplanned, unbroken

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @misspendragonsworld

The dining hall was filled with the clinking of silverware and the low murmur of conversation as your family finally gathered for a quiet meal. Tyland, visibly relieved to have everyone safely back at Casterly Rock, was halfway through his meal, savoring the rare moment of calm.

Young Daemon and Alyssa, fresh from their impromptu dragon race across Westeros, were seated across from you, looking a little too smug and, frankly, a little too energized. You had just leaned over to refill Tyland’s goblet when Daemon piped up, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“So, Mother, Father,” he began casually, his tone far too innocent, “you’ll never guess who we encountered on our way to Storm’s End.”

Tyland paused, fork halfway to his mouth, giving his son a wary look. “Oh? Do tell.”

Alyssa leaned forward, grinning. “Uncle Aemond. He was on Vhagar.”

The entire hall seemed to freeze for a split second. Tyland’s fork dropped back onto his plate with a clatter as he processed what his daughter had just said.

“Uncle... Aemond,” he repeated slowly, as if hoping he’d misheard. “On... Vhagar. And what, precisely, did you do?”

Daemon shrugged, taking a bite of bread with the most casual expression in the world. “Nothing much, really. Just raced him a little. Played with him in the sky. You know, family bonding.”

Tyland’s mouth opened, then closed, as if he was trying to find the right response and failing spectacularly. “Family... bonding? With Aemond? While riding Vhagar?”

Alyssa nodded enthusiastically, barely containing her laughter. “Oh, yes. Vhagar looked a bit annoyed with us, actually. At one point, she even crashed into one of Storm’s End’s towers. It was a... close encounter.”

Tyland visibly paled, his hand slowly lowering the goblet he’d been about to drink from. “You’re telling me that you... you crashed Aemond and Vhagar into Storm’s End?”

Daemon snorted, trying to hide a grin. “Oh, it was just a nudge, really. Viseron and Grey Ghost were simply showing her who’s faster.”

Alyssa leaned in, looking far too pleased with herself. “Uncle Aemond didn’t seem to take it well. He was shouting, something about us ‘interfering with his duties.’” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Honestly, he could stand to loosen up a bit.”

Tyland pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. “Loosen up… loosen up. My children ‘nudged’ the largest dragon in Westeros into a tower and left their half-uncle seething. This is what they call a ‘casual encounter.’”

You hid a smirk, nudging him gently. “They’re just proving themselves as true Targaryens, Tyland. It’s tradition.”

Tyland shot you a look that was half-amused, half-pleading. “Tradition? This family’s ‘traditions’ are going to be the end of me.” He turned back to the kids, his voice a touch more serious. “And what if Aemond had, oh, I don’t know... retaliated?”

Daemon scoffed, waving a hand. “Oh, please, Father. We had it all under control. Besides, Aemond doesn’t scare that easily. Well, he does when Grey Ghost and Viseron team up against Vhagar.”

Alyssa snickered, giving her brother a fist bump. “Did you see his face when he realized we’d turned back west and left him behind?”

Tyland let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing his temples as if trying to ward off a headache. “Wonderful. My children are causing diplomatic incidents in midair and taunting their half-uncle on the largest dragon in Westeros. I can already hear the ravens arriving with complaints.”

You chuckled, placing a hand over Tyland’s and giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Look at it this way, love. They’re just proving that they can handle themselves—and maybe teach Aemond a lesson in humility along the way.”

Tyland looked at you, his mouth quirking in a resigned smile. “Handling themselves is one thing. Turning Storm’s End into a battlefield because they thought it’d be ‘fun’ is another.”

Daemon and Alyssa exchanged grins, entirely unfazed by their father’s distress. Alyssa leaned back, stretching her arms with a satisfied sigh. “Well, I suppose we should be proud, right? Not every day you send Vhagar and Aemond scrambling.”

Tyland shook his head, but a reluctant smile crept onto his face as he watched his children, clearly too proud to stay mad. “Only my children would consider taunting Aemond and Vhagar to be an afternoon sport.”

Daemon shrugged with a grin. “We aim to keep things interesting, Father.”

With a sigh and a chuckle, Tyland raised his goblet in a toast, the last of his frustrations melting away. “To interesting times, then. May we survive them.”

And as laughter filled the hall, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride for your children—and a little sympathy for Aemond, who was likely still picking pieces of Storm’s End out of his armor.

When Aemond returned to King’s Landing, the mood was anything but light. He stormed into the Red Keep, his one eye blazing with fury and his armor still flecked with bits of stone and dust from his less-than-graceful landing at Storm’s End. It was all he could do to grit his teeth as servants scrambled to clear a path for him, and more than a few cast nervous glances at the faint scorch marks on his cloak, courtesy of Vhagar’s impatient maneuvers.

By the time he reached the council chambers, where his mother, Dowager Queen Alicent, his grandsire Otto Hightower, and his brother, King Aegon, were gathered, Aemond was practically vibrating with frustration.

Alicent looked up, immediately noticing his disheveled appearance. “Aemond,” she gasped, rushing to him with concern. “What happened? You look as though you’ve flown through a storm.”

“Or into one,” Aegon snickered, lounging on his chair and looking thoroughly amused. He took in the state of his brother’s attire, eyebrow raised. “Care to explain why you look like a tower fell on you, dear brother?”

Aemond shot Aegon a glare that could have curdled milk. “Because a tower did fall on me, thanks to those meddling Lannister-Targaryen whelps,” he spat. “Tyland’s children. They intercepted me on my way to Storm’s End and decided it would be… amusing to taunt me and Vhagar.”

Otto leaned forward, his expression tightening. “Tyland’s children? Alyssa and young Daemon? What were they doing near Storm’s End?”

“Apparently using it as their personal racetrack,” Aemond growled, crossing his arms. “They swooped in, taunted me, and made a mockery of the whole situation. And Vhagar... well, she’s not exactly designed for their little games. The result was... less than dignified.”

Aegon burst out laughing, unable to contain himself. “So, let me get this straight—two Lannister’s on smaller dragons managed to rile up Vhagar and get you to crash into a tower?” He shook his head, chuckling. “Oh, Aemond, that is rich. I would have paid good coin to see that.”

Aemond’s glare deepened, his face turning a shade of red that would have made a dragon proud. “Laugh all you want, but Lord Borros was less than pleased to find half of his tower crumbled on account of my... ‘landing.’ He was ranting about ‘disrespect to his castle’ and demanded to know how I would compensate him for the repairs.”

Otto sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. “Wonderful. So not only did you fail to complete your task without incident, but now we have a disgruntled Baratheon to appease.”

Alicent looked pained, glancing between her sons. “Aemond, I don’t understand why Tyland’s children would risk such an encounter. Surely they knew what... difficulties this could cause?”

Aemond threw his hands up in exasperation. “Difficulties? They were enjoying themselves! Laughing and darting around Vhagar like it was all a game. They even called it ‘family bonding’ as they maneuvered her into the tower.”

Aegon couldn’t help himself; he laughed even harder. “They called it ‘family bonding’? Gods, that’s brilliant. I’m beginning to like these two more and more.”

Otto’s face tightened with displeasure as he looked over at Aegon, his voice cold. “This is not a laughing matter, Aegon. These antics are not only reckless but a direct challenge to your rule. Tyland’s children mocking Aemond? What message does that send to our allies?”

Aegon shrugged, still grinning. “Perhaps that my dear brother needs to learn how to handle a bit of friendly family rivalry.” He smirked at Aemond, clearly relishing his discomfort. “Or at least learn how to keep his dragon from knocking down a tower.”

Alicent placed a calming hand on Aemond’s shoulder, though her expression was laced with worry. “Aemond, perhaps it would be wise to consider this an isolated incident. The Lannister children… well, they are still young like you. Surely they meant no true harm.”

Aemond huffed, his jaw clenched. “Young or not, they’re Tyland’s children, and they need to learn respect.” He shot Otto a look of simmering anger. “And if they’re this bold now, who’s to say what they’ll do next?”

Otto nodded, looking thoughtful. “We’ll need to consider this carefully. An alliance with the Baratheons could be at risk if Lord Borros feels slighted by the royal family’s behavior.”

Aegon snickered, leaning back in his seat. “Perhaps we send Aemond back with a new tower for Lord Borros. Maybe he can make it there without another collision.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, and he looked ready to launch into a full-blown tirade. But before he could, Otto raised a hand to silence him. “Enough. We will handle the Baratheons diplomatically. And Aemond,” Otto added with a warning look, “perhaps it’s time to rethink how we engage with our kin in these... unexpected encounters.”

Aemond muttered something dark under his breath, but nodded reluctantly. Meanwhile, Aegon, still thoroughly entertained, leaned over to Alicent with a smirk.

“Mother, I do believe these Targaryen-Lannister whelps might just become my favorite relatives,” he whispered, chuckling as he watched Aemond sulk in his chair, stone dust still clinging to his armor.

And so, with a mix of frustration and laughter, the council dispersed, leaving Aemond fuming and Aegon thoroughly amused. Aegon couldn’t resist one last jab as they exited the hall. “Next time, dear brother, try keeping up with our nephew and niece, eh?”

The sun was setting over the gardens of Casterly Rock as you strolled arm-in-arm with Tyland. For once, everything seemed peaceful. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers, and Tyland was even smiling, a rare look of pure contentment on his face.

“Isn’t it nice?” he murmured, squeezing your hand as you walked down the garden path. “Just the two of us, no interruptions, no sheep falling from the sky…”

You chuckled, leaning into him. “Yes, it is rare, isn’t it? Just us.”

He paused, looking down at you with a soft smile. “I’ve missed these moments with you. Sometimes it feels as if we’re surrounded by chaos—dragons, children, Targaryen family politics…”

“Ah,” you teased, “but you love it. Admit it. Life would be dull without a little Targaryen chaos.”

Tyland gave you a look that was half amused, half resigned. “Perhaps I could manage with a little less of it.”

Just as he leaned in, ready to kiss you, a loud rumble shook the ground, followed by a resounding crash that echoed through the garden. Tyland froze, his shoulders slumping. “Please tell me that was just thunder,” he muttered, though he didn’t sound remotely convinced.

You turned toward the noise, sighing. “That was definitely not thunder.”

As if on cue, Viseron’s massive, bronze-scaled head appeared over a nearby hedge, his golden-green eyes gleaming with mischief. He was holding something in his jaws, and as he lowered his head, it became clear it was… the statue of some old Lannister ancestor, now missing its head.

Tyland groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, for the love of… not again, Viseron!”

Viseron let out a low rumble that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, dropping the statue in the middle of the garden path with a heavy thud. Dust flew up, coating a few delicate rose bushes, which made the dragon’s antics all the more pronounced.

“Lovely,” Tyland muttered, waving a hand to clear the dust. “It was one of our finest statues, and now it’s... well, it’s headless.”

Viseron, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, nudged the statue’s decapitated head closer to Tyland, as if offering a gift. The dragon’s eyes sparkled with a hint of defiance, almost as if he were daring Tyland to scold him.

You covered your mouth to stifle a laugh. “I think he’s trying to say he’s... helping.”

Tyland gave you a long-suffering look. “Helping? How is this helping?”

You shrugged, grinning. “Who’s to say he doesn’t just appreciate a little remodeling?”

Viseron gave an indignant huff, his nostrils flaring as he nudged the statue head even closer, nearly knocking Tyland off his feet. Tyland stumbled backward, clutching your arm for balance, and muttered, “At this rate, he’ll take down all of Casterly Rock.”

You laughed, patting Viseron’s massive muzzle. “Well, maybe he thought your ancestor looked a bit too... serious.”

Tyland shook his head, clearly torn between annoyance and reluctant amusement. “He’s giving the courtyard a ‘Targaryen touch,’ isn’t he?”

You nodded, patting Tyland’s arm. “Consider it a new kind of alliance, love. Lannister architecture meets Targaryen... flair.”

Viseron let out a satisfied rumble, seeming very pleased with your endorsement. He lifted his head back up, looking around the garden with an air of triumph, as if assessing what else could use a bit of “improvement.”

Tyland held up a hand, his voice rising slightly. “Oh no, that’s quite enough for one day, Viseron. Unless you’re planning to take on the pruning, I’d suggest you... find a quieter way to amuse yourself.”

But Viseron only tilted his head, giving Tyland a pointed look that seemed to say, You can’t stop me, before lumbering back through the garden, his tail knocking over a few decorative urns as he went.

You laughed, pulling Tyland close as you watched the dragon disappear. “There’s never a dull moment, is there?”

Tyland sighed, glancing down at you with a rueful smile. “Not with you, my love. And yet... I suppose I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As you watched Viseron disappear back into the depths of the gardens, causing a few more ominous crashes along the way, you turned to Tyland with a gleam in your eye. “You know,” you began, your voice playful, “since Viseron seems to have taken over the garden, why don’t we go somewhere he can’t interrupt? Silverwing’s nearby… we could go flying together.”

Tyland’s face went pale, his eyes widening in horror as he took an instinctive step back. “Flying? Now? With you… in your condition?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Tyland, I was on dragonback through both of my previous pregnancies.”

He swallowed, trying desperately to come up with a reasonable excuse. “Yes, but… that was different. You were… well, not at war, or… necessary travel. Right now, we’re just… at home. Grounded! Quite literally. No need to be… airborne.”

You laughed, taking his hand. “Come now, Silverwing is as gentle as can be. She adores me, and besides…” you leaned in closer, “she loves you too.”

Tyland gave a strangled sort of laugh, his expression dubious. “Loves me? I’m convinced she’s been eyeing me as a mid-afternoon snack ever since we fled King’s Landing.” He shuddered, clearly remembering the many close encounters with your dragon’s intense, unblinking gaze. “The last time she looked at me, I swear she was… sizing me up.”

“Tyland,” you teased, rolling your eyes, “Silverwing is not going to eat you. She’s sweet and patient. She’d never harm a hair on your head.”

“That’s what you think,” he muttered, his tone a mixture of resignation and barely hidden dread. “But every time I’m near her, she looks at me like… well, like she’s reconsidering.”

You stifled a laugh, looping your arm through his and giving him a reassuring pat. “She only looked at you that way because you were so tense the last time. You know, dragons pick up on fear.”

Tyland gave a resigned sigh, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting Silverwing to suddenly materialize behind him. “Fear or not, I can’t shake the feeling she’s just waiting for the right moment.”

“Well,” you said, unable to hide your amusement, “there’s only one way to get over that, isn’t there? A nice, peaceful flight together.”

Tyland’s jaw tightened, and he gave you a pleading look, as if hoping you might reconsider. “Are you… entirely sure we can’t just go for a stroll instead? A grounded stroll. A quiet one. No dragons involved?”

“Tyland,” you said, leaning in close and giving him a playful nudge, “you’re my husband, the father of dragons. It’s time you embraced your destiny.”

He looked at you, his face a mixture of exasperation and reluctant fondness. “A stroll with Targaryens and their dragons always ends in flight, doesn’t it?”

You only grinned, taking his hand firmly as you began leading him toward the nearby cliffside where Silverwing often sunbathed. “Come on, love. She’ll be thrilled to see you. You might even find you enjoy it.”

Tyland let out a long-suffering sigh, following you with all the air of a man resigned to his fate. “If I end up in her stomach, please tell the children I fought bravely.”

You laughed, giving his hand a squeeze. “Trust me, by the end of this flight, you’ll wonder why you ever hesitated.”

But as Silverwing lifted her head, greeting you with a gentle rumble, Tyland shot her a wary glance, muttering under his breath. “Yes, thrilled to see me. Or thrilled at the thought of finally having me to herself in the sky…”

And despite yourself, you couldn’t help but laugh as the three of you prepared for another unforgettable Targaryen-Lannister adventure.

As you and Tyland made your way toward the rocky cliffs where Silverwing was basking in the afternoon sun, Tyland’s steps grew slower and more hesitant. He shot you a sideways glance, his brows knitted with apprehension. “You know,” he murmured, “I think Silverwing looks perfectly comfortable here on her own. Perhaps it’s best we don’t disturb her…”

You laughed, tightening your hold on his arm and pulling him forward. “Tyland, she’s a dragon. If she didn’t want to be disturbed, we’d know it.”

Silverwing lay sprawled across the rocks, her scales gleaming in the sunlight. Her head was resting on a ledge, one massive eye closed in what seemed to be a blissful nap. But as you approached, that eye cracked open, and she fixed her gaze on Tyland.

Tyland tensed, immediately taking a step back. “Ah, see? She’s looking at me again,” he whispered, his tone slightly panicked. “It’s like she knows I didn’t want to come.”

You rolled your eyes, tugging him closer. “She’s just curious, that’s all. Besides, she likes you, Tyland. She knows you’re part of the family.”

“Part of the family? Or part of the menu?” he muttered, eyeing Silverwing as she let out a slow, rumbling sound that echoed through the rocks.

As if sensing his discomfort, Silverwing tilted her head slightly, her eye narrowing with what almost looked like amusement. You stroked her snout gently, murmuring a few soft words in Valyrian, and Silverwing let out a low rumble, her gaze shifting from you to Tyland and back again.

“See?” you said, giving Tyland an encouraging smile. “She’s perfectly relaxed.”

Tyland looked anything but convinced. “Relaxed, yes. She’s probably thinking about how best to… savor the experience.”

You stifled a laugh. “Tyland, Silverwing is a dragon of peace. She’s sweet, gentle, and not at all inclined toward… dining on family members.”

He gave you a skeptical look. “Then why is she eyeing me like that? I feel like she’s assessing my… flavor profile.”

Ignoring his theatrics, you took his hand and led him closer to Silverwing, who watched his approach with mild interest. As he neared, Tyland took a deep breath, clearly trying to keep his composure. “Right,” he muttered under his breath. “Just a harmless, massive dragon. Nothing to worry about.”

Silverwing let out another low rumble, lifting her head slightly as if inviting you both to approach. You gave her a reassuring pat, then turned to Tyland, smiling. “See? She’s being welcoming.”

Tyland swallowed, casting a wary glance up at Silverwing. “Yes, welcoming. Very… welcoming. But forgive me if I don’t interpret ‘welcoming’ as hovering one’s teeth at face level.”

You laughed, motioning for him to take your hand as you prepared to mount Silverwing’s saddle. “Come on, love. It’s not so bad once you’re up there. Just… hold on tight.”

With a mixture of resignation and reluctance, Tyland climbed up behind you, his arms locking around your waist with a grip that could probably bend steel. “I’m holding on, alright,” he muttered. “You’ll be prying me off when this is over.”

Silverwing adjusted beneath you, her wings stretching slightly as she prepared for takeoff. Tyland’s breath hitched, and he muttered something about making peace with the gods. “I swear,” he whispered into your ear, “if we make it back alive, I’ll never complain about garden strolls again.”

You chuckled, reaching back to squeeze his hand. “Relax, Tyland. Silverwing’s going to give you the smoothest ride you’ve ever had.”

Silverwing let out one final, rumbling sound, as if to say Let’s show him, before launching into the air with a graceful leap. Tyland’s startled yelp was lost in the wind as you both soared over Casterly Rock, his grip tightening as he clung to you for dear life.

The servants and guards of Casterly Rock had grown somewhat accustomed to the unusual since the Targaryen family had made their “extended visit.” They’d endured dragons sunbathing on walls, sheep being used as airborne toys, and the occasional charred walls. But today’s spectacle was a new level of… chaotic entertainment.

As Silverwing soared above Casterly Rock, carrying both you and a very vocal Tyland, the courtyard below erupted with activity. Servants peered up, shielding their eyes against the sun, while guards squinted, some rubbing their temples as if questioning what they were seeing.

“Is that… is that Lord Tyland?” one guard murmured, his brow furrowing as he strained to see. “Is he… screaming?”

Another guard, stifling a grin, nodded. “Aye. Clear as day, that’s our lord up there. Not quite as regal as I’d have imagined him on dragonback, though.”

“Looks more like he’s holding on for dear life than enjoying himself,” a maid observed, her eyes wide with a mix of horror and amusement. “I didn’t even know Lord Tyland could scream that high.”

Meanwhile, Alyssa and young Daemon were in the courtyard, preparing to take off on their own dragons. They both looked skyward, watching with glee as Silverwing swooped and glided above, their father’s increasingly desperate yelps echoing down to the assembled crowd.

“Do you think Father’s enjoying himself?” Alyssa asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Young Daemon shrugged, grinning. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it once he’s back on solid ground. Besides, Mother’s with him. What could go wrong?”

One of the stable boys shook his head, unable to suppress his laughter. “Your father looks like he’s just seen the Stranger himself up there. If he survives this, I’m betting he won’t be eager to go flying again anytime soon.”

Just then, another particularly loud scream floated down, followed by what sounded suspiciously like “Put me down!”

A few of the castle cooks, who had ventured outside to witness the commotion, exchanged knowing looks. “He’s braver than I gave him credit for,” one said with a chuckle, “but I wager he’ll be needing a strong drink after this.”

The older castle steward, who had seen his fair share of Lannister antics over the years, folded his arms, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Well, it’s not every day we get to see our lord acting like a nervous kitten. He’ll be back with his feet on the ground soon enough. Though… I don’t suppose anyone’s told him about the dragons his children are preparing to take out next?”

At that moment, Alyssa mounted Grey Ghost, giving a final check of her saddle before looking up at her father with an impish grin. “Good luck, Father!” she shouted, her voice barely carrying to the airborne figures. “You’ll be a true Targaryen in no time!”

Young Daemon climbed onto Viseron, offering his own enthusiastic wave. “Hang on tight, Father! The second flight’s always the hardest!”

The guards stifled chuckles as Tyland’s scream floated down again, this time with a barely coherent, “This isn’t… necessary!”

One of the handmaidens leaned in toward her friend, snickering. “I’ve never seen Lord Tyland look quite so… vulnerable. Poor man thought marrying a Targaryen would be the end of his adventures. Little did he know.”

The steward chuckled, shaking his head. “I dare say he’ll survive. And I suppose we’ll be dealing with dragon antics for a long while yet. Best get used to it.”

As Silverwing circled once more, Tyland’s final desperate shout of “Ground! I need ground!” echoed over the entire castle, met with the resounding laughter of his children and the barely concealed smiles of every servant and guard below.

In the end, Casterly Rock’s staff had one more tale to tell about their lord and his Targaryen wife—a tale that would undoubtedly grow in amusement with every retelling.

[sandumilfshou]

i have the burning need to write one of those "came back wrong" fics for wwx when they find him again after the first three months in the burial mounds during the sunshot campaign but like. i need to make it REALLY bad

his body shattered when he hit the ground, and resentful energy is the only thing keeping him together. it's so agonising he's learned a way to deaden himself to the chronic pain, to the point that he can get sliced by a sword and literally not feel it, even when he's being patched up again afterwards.

he can barely eat. everything tastes like ash. the smell of meat reminds him of the carrion he was forced to consume to survive. jiang yanli starts preparing vegetarian soups for him filled with even more spice just so he can taste something.

he can't put weight on, but also isn't losing any, and he's pale with sunken cheeks and when he changes to clean himself every single joint seems like its one wrong twist away from bursting through his paper-thin skin.

wwx took in nearly all of the resentful energy in the burial mounds to keep himself alive, to hold him together. there are a thousand ghosts living under his skin, constantly screaming and chattering and whispering, not a single second of true silence. when they're packed in so close to his soul sometimes he forgets that he isn't a we, speaks in plurals and has memories and knowledge that the teenage head disciple of the yunmeng jiang should never have acquired.

that amount of resentful energy would be enough to poison anyone's mind, but only wen qing has read the studies conducted on the effects of consuming human flesh on the living. wei wuxian's brain is slowly deforming, proteins folding all wrong as the prions wrack the entire organ. he has seizures, hallucinates, unpredictable mood swings.

it's clear to literally everyone that wei wuxian is a literal dead man walking. even after the sunshot campaign is finished and he goes home to yunmeng, there is no chance of him getting better, even if they purged all the resentment from him and let his skeleton break apart again. he rescues the wen remnants and brings them back to lotus pier, but wen qing can't fix this. all his siblings and friends can do is watch as each day the wwx they know and love continues to disappear, until all thats left is a skeletal figure unable to move, periodically laughing and mumbling to himself, trapped entirely in delusion as his brain continues to destroy itself.

wwx still dies horribly. but this time he dies surrounded by his loved ones, all tied together by their love for wwx, forming strong and unbreakable bonds.

and eventually, when a young depressed boy still gives his life for revenge, wwx is given a second chance in a body that is whole and unbroken with a brain that works properly, and his siblings and lan zhan and wen qing and all the others welcome him home.

[rainforestakiie]

AdamsApple Month Harvest!

Devil's Night~

gosh, i'm so happy. i really love this idea. it is inspired by @things-arent-what-they-seem66's AU of adam and lilith switching places.

i know harvest is over but i have a few more things to write!

hope you all enjoy it!

part 01 - part 02

@adamsappleweek

Hell felt different now. Smoke hung heavy, thicker than usual, as though mourning in silence, and the very ground under Lucifer’s hooves pulsed with a faint, restless throb, like a wound struggling to close. He stood in solemn stillness, his back perfectly arched, hands folded over the twisted surface of his apple-wood cane, fingers tapping rhythmically as if to an unseen clock counting down something. His gaze, red and yellow like smouldering embers, fixed on the lifeless form of Adam sprawled on the darkened ground, surrounded by a shimmer of golden liquid and the soft glint of fallen feathers.

Adam lay motionless, eyes shut, lips the colour of a fading bruise. Lucifer’s throat tightened. Part of him wanted to whisper thanks to his daughter, Charlie, for guarding Adam’s body from the ravenous cannibals of the underworld, but he knew if he opened his mouth, his voice would crack, betraying him.

The silence pressed in, cold and oppressive, creeping into his bones. Hell was hot, stifling, but Lucifer felt chilled to his core—a hollow, biting emptiness that gnawed at him. His gaze remained unbroken, staring with a strange, desperate hope that this was some twisted joke. Perhaps any moment now, Adam would shift, laugh in that carefree, Edenish way of his, and sit up, as vibrant and stubborn as ever. But Adam remained still, silent, chest unmoving. An uncontrollable shiver ran through Lucifer, twisting painfully in his stomach.

He had never truly believed Adam could die. He had always assumed—no, convinced himself—that Adam would outlive them all, his spirit too relentless to surrender. And somewhere, hidden in the darkest corners of Lucifer's heart, was a naïve sliver of hope that Adam would eventually come back to him. That the bond they had once shared in Eden, a bond so profound it had nearly eclipsed the heavens themselves, would find a way to mend. They would rebuild, somehow. It would be different, yes, but they would laugh together again, walk side by side once more. Those stolen moments in Eden, when Lucifer was Adam’s guardian angel and Adam, his purpose… those memories clung to him, a bittersweet poison he couldn’t let go of.

Back then, Adam had been his everything. His duty, his joy, his reason to exist. Lucifer remembered the thrill that had sparked through him, the first time he heard the voice of God declare his purpose. He was to be Adam’s protector, his guide, his companion in that boundless garden. And he had thrown himself into that role, relished it. He had loved Adam in a way he hadn’t understood at the time. The garden had been theirs alone. No one else existed in that timeless paradise, only him and Adam, with eternity stretched out before them like a golden promise.

But then Lilith entered the garden, and everything had unravelled. He thought he had loved her, thought she understood him, saw him for who he truly was beneath the wings and heavenly light. He had let his heart slip through his fingers, foolishly entrusting her with every secret, every fractured part of himself. He had given her everything: a home, a family, the taste of power. Yet, for her, it was never enough. She wanted more, always something beyond his reach, until she had finally abandoned him and Charlie the moment something more alluring came her way. The emptiness she left was raw, a void gnawing at him even now.

He had tried to convince himself he deserved it—that he was vile, selfish, the snake of Eden. He had thought he deserved every torment she dealt him, every moment of betrayal. He had hurt Adam, and that wound, though buried, had never fully healed. He could still see Adam’s green eyes, filled with tears and betrayal, piercing through the centuries. That look had seared itself into Lucifer’s soul, a scar he tried endlessly to ignore. The first betrayal had been shattering. But there were others. With each one, he had watched something precious in Adam’s eyes die, replaced by a steely resolve, a silent ache that mirrored Lucifer’s own.

During their last battle—the one that had forever severed the fragile thread between them—Lucifer had let slip a remark about Eve. He had done it to provoke Adam, to elicit some reaction, any reaction, just to feel Adam’s gaze on him again, even if it was filled with fury. But Adam’s reaction hadn’t been what he’d expected.

That fleeting hint of betrayal in his eye—the exact shade Lucifer knew so well—had cut deeper than any physical blow could. Adam hadn’t been blind to it, hadn’t let it slide as Lucifer had hoped. The anger had transformed into something colder, something Lucifer couldn’t quite name, but it lingered, long after they parted.

Now, standing here, watching Adam’s motionless form, Lucifer felt the full weight of those mistakes crashing over him, a tidal wave of remorse he could no longer fend off. Every unspoken word, every fractured promise, every fleeting glance they had shared in Eden came flooding back to him with agonizing clarity. The irony was sharp—Adam, his purpose, his only joy, lay gone, and Lucifer was left adrift, lost in a void he had fashioned for himself. The garden, their laughter, their whispered secrets beneath the endless, star-strewn sky… all of it had turned to ash, leaving Lucifer alone with nothing but the ghosts of memories that would never fade, haunting him like shadows he could never escape.

Lucifer clenched his eyes shut, the whispers of memories swelling in his mind, pressing into the silence until they filled the air around him. He could hear it all—every laugh, every teasing remark, every stolen moment under Eden’s endless skies. The phantom echoes of their laughter rang through his ears, so vivid it felt as if Adam were right there beside him again, as though any second he’d feel Adam’s hand slap his back or hear him call his name with that familiar, playful lilt. He could almost smell the dewy grass and the scent of fresh, untainted earth that had once been their playground, their sanctuary.

They had been so close, he and Adam, so tightly bound by a friendship that felt eternal, unbreakable. Lucifer’s heart had belonged entirely to Adam in those days, every bit of him dedicated to his charge, to his purpose. Adam had been his light, his reason to be, his only true companion in the vast, bewildering beauty of the garden. And yet, Lucifer had lost it all, torn it apart with his own hands, with his own selfish heart. He’d destroyed something precious, something he thought could never be lost. He’d always believed they’d somehow find their way back to each other. That one day, Adam would look at him with those green eyes, softened with forgiveness, and they’d be… something again. Friends, perhaps. Or more.

A soft, broken sniff escaped him, and he forced his eyes open, the agony tightening in his chest as his gaze fell once more on Adam’s still, lifeless body. His sharp teeth clenched as his hooves trembled beneath him. He took a faltering step forward, his legs weak, as if the weight of centuries was pressing down on them, the memories and regrets dragging him down. His knees felt brittle, ready to buckle as he moved closer. His eyes burned, a stinging heat prickling at them, growing worse with each step until he found himself standing directly over Adam’s body. He looked down, his chest tight, his breath ragged, hardly daring to believe this was real.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice barely a rasp, clinging to some thread of hope that seemed to slip further from his grasp. His gaze was fixated on Adam’s chest, willing it to rise, to betray some hidden breath.

“Hey, oi… this isn’t funny.” His claws tightened around the apple-wood cane, his knuckles whitening, desperate to ground himself against the unrelenting horror of the truth. “Adam, this isn’t funny. Stop… stop playing around.”

His voice cracked, shaky and hollow. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths as he searched Adam’s face for any sign of movement, any flicker of those warm, golden eyes. But Adam remained still, lips tinted blue, his skin pallid under the dim, smoky light. Lucifer’s hands trembled, and with a sharp intake of breath, he dropped to his knees, his cane clattering to the ground beside him.

“Please…”

The word slipped out, soft and broken, barely a whisper. He reached out a trembling hand, his fingers brushing against the cold skin of Adam’s cheek. The chill bit into him, a harsh, unyielding reminder that this wasn’t a nightmare he could wake from. He closed his eyes again, unable to bear the sight of Adam like this, and the memories surged back once more, flooding him with bittersweet echoes.

“Do you remember, Adam?” he murmured, voice barely holding together, his hand resting gently against Adam’s cheek. “Do you remember… the nights we’d talk until the stars began to fade? When we’d chase each other through the trees, laughing like nothing else in all creation mattered?”

His voice wavered, choked by the memories, by the weight of a love he’d buried so deeply he’d almost forgotten how much it hurt.

The memories of Eden shimmered behind his eyes—memories of Adam grinning, his face lit up with that carefree, boyish charm that Lucifer had adored. Memories of Adam leaning on him, both talking under the vastness of the heavens, lost in their own world, a world they had once believed would never end.

But it had ended. He’d been the one to end it.

And now, here he was, left alone with nothing but his regrets and the fading whispers of a love that could never be repaired. His shoulders sagged as he leaned closer, his forehead almost touching Adam’s. He spoke again, his voice barely more than a breath, as though he feared the silence would shatter beneath the weight of his words.

“Adam, I’m sorry,” he whispered, the confession torn from him like a piece of his soul. “I’m so… sorry.”

But Adam remained silent, cold, unyielding, and for the first time, Lucifer understood the full extent of his loss, the emptiness that would haunt him for eternity. His hand slipped from Adam’s cheek, his head bowing as the first, silent tear fell.

Lucifer shuffled closer on his knees, inch by inch, his face warming with a painful flush as his eyes misted over.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked, voice quivering as he leaned over Adam’s body.

His fingers trembling as they reached out, brushing just the edge of the bloodstained fabric. He wanted to touch Adam’s hand, to feel that familiar warmth once more, but he couldn’t bring himself to close the distance. His breath hitched, his hands hovering, shaking, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

“I was supposed to be your guardian, Adam,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath. “I was made for you… to protect you, to be whatever you needed, whatever you deserved.”

He swallowed, his chest tight as the words clawed their way out, raw and unfiltered. “But I failed you. I failed you in ways I can’t even… can’t even justify.”

His fingers trailed across Adam’s robe, tracing the familiar folds, the dark stains of blood, each one a reminder of how far they’d fallen from what they once were.

He took a shaky breath, his mind dragging him back to the painful memories, to Lilith.

“She was… God, she was everything to me then,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I thought… I thought I loved her. I thought she saw me in a way no one else ever had. I thought she understood me. She was fierce, and powerful, and beautiful, and I thought—”

His voice broke, and he looked down, the shame tightening like a vice around his heart. “I thought she would stay. I thought… I thought she wanted me, that she wanted what we could build together. I cut off my own wings for her, gave up everything I had, my power, my place in heaven. And then, at the first chance she got, she left. Left me and Charlie as if we were nothing.”

He let out a bitter laugh, empty and hollow. “But maybe… maybe I deserved it. I had it coming, didn’t I? For what I did to you.”

His gaze flickered to Adam’s face, hoping desperately to see a flicker of forgiveness, but Adam remained still, cold and lifeless. Lucifer clenched his teeth, forcing himself to keep going, to lay everything bare before him.

“You saw us, didn’t you?” he whispered. “Back in Eden. You saw Lilith and me… together. And I knew. I knew it wasn’t fair to you, that you didn’t understand. You didn’t deserve that, Adam. You didn’t deserve to be hurt like that, to be left alone, wondering what happened to me, wondering why everything changed.”

He looked away, ashamed. “And I can’t explain myself. I wish I could. I want to, but… I don’t know what happened. I was so… blinded. I couldn’t see you, couldn’t see what was right in front of me. I was too wrapped up in her, in what I thought I felt for her.”

His voice dropped to a whisper; his words laced with regret. “But before Lilith, it was always you. It was always you, Adam. I was so… so sure I loved you, I just didn’t know it then. I loved every moment we spent together. I would have done anything for you, anything to make you happy. And then Lilith appeared, and it was like… I lost sight of everything, even myself. And I’m so sorry, Adam. I’m so sorry for hurting you like that. I can’t… I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

His breath came faster, his heart racing as he leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching Adam’s.

“Please,” he gasped, desperation bleeding into his voice. “Please believe me, Adam… please, just believe me.”

But Adam didn’t move. His chest remained still, his lips unmoving, his eyes closed. Adam was gone, lost to him forever, and there was no forgiveness left to give.

And the truth was, it didn’t end there. He knew that. It had only gotten worse. With every betrayal, every hurtful word, he had crushed any possibility of Adam ever forgiving him. The garden’s peace had been shattered the day he offered Eve the apple of knowledge, sealing their fates, twisting their lives in ways they could never repair. And… he’d done worse, so much worse. Seducing Eve, leading her astray beneath the same tree where he and Lilith had once been together—it was a cruelty he couldn’t justify, a cruelty he could barely comprehend. God, what had he been thinking? What kind of twisted satisfaction had he found in that, in taking from Adam everything that mattered?

He had shattered Adam’s life piece by piece, and yet, even then, Adam had been forced to face him time and time again. When Heaven and Hell would meet, when Sera dragged Adam into those dreadful meetings, he’d seen the reluctance, the pain in Adam’s eyes, how he didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to face either him or Lilith. But he had no choice. And Lucifer… he hadn’t been kind. Neither he nor Lilith had shown him an ounce of mercy. They had ridiculed him, humiliated him, found twisted joy in watching him squirm, powerless and betrayed. And why? Why had he been so cruel? What purpose had it served?

He looked down, his heart aching as he remembered those meetings, the way Adam had silently endured every word, every insult, sitting there, taking it, never once fighting back. Adam had suffered, and Lucifer had watched, almost revelling in it, as if punishing Adam would somehow heal the cracks in his own broken heart. As if hurting Adam could numb his own pain. But he had only hurt himself in the end, lost the one person who had ever mattered to him.

And when the Extermination finally came, when the heavens unleashed their wrath, Lucifer had known, deep down, that they deserved it. Every drop of blood, every scream, every life lost—he and Lilith had brought it upon themselves. They had forced Adam’s hand, driven him to the breaking point. And now, here he was, kneeling in front of Adam’s lifeless form, begging for forgiveness that would never come.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to Adam’s cold chest, his voice barely a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his words broken and raw. “I’m so sorry… I’m so… so sorry…”

And there, in the quiet, he finally allowed himself to cry, his tears falling like ashes, a silent lament for the life he had destroyed, for the love he had lost forever.

With trembling hands, Lucifer finally reached out, his fingers brushing over Adam’s chest, desperate to feel any sign of life, any hint of warmth. But there was nothing. No steady drum of a heartbeat, no soft rise and fall of breath. Just silence, a vast and hollow silence that ripped through him like a jagged blade.

His eyes widened, hot tears spilling down his cheeks as memories surged to the surface. In Eden, he had often rested his head against Adam’s chest, lulled by the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat. It had been one of his favourite things, to lie there and listen to that soft, steady pulse. It had felt like… like home. It had felt like safety, like something real and lasting. He had loved it, loved Adam, loved him more than he had ever been able to admit.

But now—now there was nothing. Just silence.

Lucifer's throat tightened as he leaned down, pressing his face against Adam’s chest, willing the warmth back, willing that familiar heartbeat to start up again. He held his breath, straining his ears, hoping, begging for the faintest thump of life. Just one beat, one inhale, anything. But there was nothing. Nothing.

Nothing.

A sob wrenched from his throat, harsh and broken, as the realization finally crashed over him, too powerful to deny. Adam was gone. Truly gone. There would be no laughter, no teasing words, no forgiveness. The connection he had always felt with Adam, that subtle warmth in the back of his mind that told him Adam was alive, was… gone. Severed, leaving only an aching, freezing emptiness in its place. For the first time in eons, Lucifer felt truly, utterly alone.

He clutched at Adam’s robes, his claws slicing through the fabric as he buried his face deeper into Adam’s chest, his sobs tearing through him, raw and desperate.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a broken breath. “Please… please come back. Adam, please… I’m begging you. Just… just come back.”

But Adam lay silent, unmoving, his body a hollow shell. His soul, the vibrant light that had filled Lucifer’s darkest moments with hope, with warmth, was gone. Lost to him forever.

Lucifer clutched harder, his claws rending the cloth, his entire body shaking with the force of his sobs.

“I’m so sorry, Addie,” he choked out, the nickname slipping from his lips as if by instinct, a final, broken plea to the friend he had loved and failed. “I’m so… so sorry.”

He lay there, crushed beneath the weight of his own grief, pressing his face into Adam’s chest as if he could somehow force life back into him, as if he could somehow undo all the harm he had done. But the silence was deafening, a cruel, unyielding reminder that it was too late. Adam was gone, and no amount of sorrow, no amount of regret could bring him back.

Lucifer’s cries echoed through the barren, smoking expanse of Hell, raw and unrestrained, like a wound torn open, bleeding out all the pain and love he had carried for so long, hidden even from himself. And for the first time, Lucifer understood the full measure of his loss. There would be no redemption, no second chance. The love he had been too proud, too blind to claim was gone, leaving him hollow, shattered in a way that no amount of time could heal.

And there, alone in the endless silence, Lucifer wept, clutching Adam’s lifeless form as if he could somehow hold onto him, even as everything he had ever loved slipped through his fingers, leaving nothing but an aching void where his heart had once been.

Lucifer’s body was numb, every muscle trembling and strained as he finally stepped back from Adam’s grave. Beneath the smoky sky of Hell, in his hidden garden—a small oasis of fragile memories and forbidden nostalgia—Adam now rested. The garden had been Lucifer’s sanctuary, his one secret, private place built from the remnants of Eden that still clung to his soul. It was his slice of paradise in the darkness, a testament to the life and love he’d lost. Lilith had scoffed at it, her distaste a constant reminder of their fractured souls and desires, but he had never let go. The garden had been everything to him.

Slowly, Lucifer lowered himself to his knees, his hand hovering over the freshly turned earth. His claws brushed the soil, and as his fingers spread, a stream of red carnations and roses bloomed from the earth, unfurling over Adam’s grave like blood-red whispers. The blossoms curled around his fingers, soft and warm, almost as if they carried Adam’s presence.

"I’m so sorry, Addie,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, hoarse from days of weeping. He traced the petals with delicate care, caressing the earth as though it were Adam himself. “I wish things had been different. I wish I’d known… I wish I’d understood what you truly meant to me back in Eden.”

Lucifer’s voice cracked, and he closed his eyes, the weight of his regret pressing down like an ocean. He had always thought he had time, always thought he could mend things one day, that somehow, he could make Adam see the love he had hidden, buried deep under pride and mistakes. But there was no longer time—just this garden and a grave he had made for the only one who had ever really understood him.

“I turned you into something you weren’t,” he continued, his tears flowing freely. “You were gentle… so full of life. That angel who became a soldier, who destroyed so much—he wasn’t you. He was my shadow, my mistake. You deserved so much better.”

He wiped a tear away, though more kept coming, unbidden. “I wish I could have made you happy.”

He struggled to his hooves, his body exhausted, but as he rose, a glint of gold caught his eye. He paused, his heart lurching painfully. A golden feather lay on the ground, dusted with earth yet still gleaming faintly in the dimness. He bent down and picked it up with reverent fingers, holding it to his chest as his vision blurred with fresh tears. Adam’s feathers had always captivated him, their radiance beyond anything he had seen. They had been perfect, beautiful… like Adam himself.

With a shaking breath, Lucifer held the feather close, pressing it against his heart as though it could fill the empty void that Adam’s loss had left behind.

“I love you, Addie,” he whispered to the flowers, to the silence, to the golden thread of memory still tethered to his heart. “I know you never believed me… but I did. I do. Even if I ruined everything, even if I hurt you. I love you.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he bowed his head, clutching the feather as if it were his lifeline. He had made terrible, unforgivable choices—choices that had cost him Eden, that had shattered whatever Adam, and he had once shared. And now he was alone, doomed to live in a Hell he could never escape.

A quiet, desperate plea escaped his lips, broken and raw. “I wish… I wish I could die too. To be anywhere but here, to be free… but Hell won’t let me go.”

Lucifer’s shoulders slumped, weighed down by endless despair, and he closed his eyes, cradling the feather as though it were Adam himself. He cast one last lingering look at the grave before he disappeared in a shuddering burst of golden flame.

He reappeared in his chambers, the cold and darkness pressing in on him as he sank down onto his bed. Around him, rubber ducks filled the room in bright, absurd little heaps, mocking him with their silly smiles. They were his only companions now, his only solace. Adam was gone. There was no one left.

Lucifer crawled into the pile, uncaring as the ducks scattered and tumbled around him, and clutched Adam’s feather to his face, breathing in its faint, lingering scent. He curled up tightly, his wings folded around him as he nestled into the feather, as if trying to burrow into the memory of the man he had lost.

In the silence, he closed his eyes, willing the pain to ebb, but it only sharpened, growing more intense as he nuzzled the feather, desperate for any remaining trace of Adam. He lay there, alone, his broken heart bleeding into the darkness, haunted by the love he had lost and the choices he could never undo.

Lucifer’s eyes felt gritty, his head pounding as he slowly stirred from a cold, fitful sleep. The darkness seemed alive, pressing in on him like a weight, filling his chest with a pain that twisted and grew until he whimpered, his claws clutching at the thick blankets tangled around him. As he drifted into sleep, his mind unravelled into strange, painful visions—memories and dreams stitched together into a haunting tapestry.

He saw Adam, standing in Eden’s sunlight, looking as he had in the earliest days—soft, serene, his golden wings shining as he laughed, his warm gaze fixed on Lucifer. Lucifer reached out, heart swelling with a desperate need to close the distance, to be with Adam again in their paradise. He stumbled forward, calling out promises he’d failed to keep, promises to do better, to be better for Adam. But Adam only stood there, smiling that same distant, heartbreaking smile, as though Lucifer’s words were a faint echo.

The harder Lucifer tried to reach him, the further Adam seemed to drift, like a mirage on the edge of his vision. Lucifer’s six wings beat furiously as he tried to fly, but the space between them widened, and his strength faltered. He stumbled, his robes—once pure and pristine—dragging him down as he fell to the earth. Mud splattered over him, and when he looked down, he saw his hooves—his demonic, twisted form reflecting back at him. One of his eyes had turned red, dark and unholy, a cruel reminder of what he had become.

Adam stood there, golden and radiant, watching him with unreadable eyes before turning, his wings folding as he started to walk away.

“Wait,” Lucifer gasped, his voice raw, clawing at the earth to pull himself forward. “Please, Addie, wait! Don’t leave me!”

But Adam only grew smaller, his image fading until there was nothing but a memory slipping away like sand through his fingers. Lucifer screamed into the darkness, his voice breaking with grief.

With a strangled gasp, he jolted awake, heart pounding as he sat up, clutching his chest. His chamber was dim and quiet, the dark blankets draping over him like the weight of his despair. His skin felt clammy and wrong, as though he were covered in a thin layer of despair he couldn’t shake. Curling forward, he hugged his knees, his claws digging into the quilt as choked sobs slipped from his lips. The pain of loss, of loneliness, stabbed into him like shards of ice.

Suddenly, a gentle, almost ethereal touch grazed his shoulder, soft and warm. Lucifer froze, his body going rigid as a familiar voice broke the silence, filled with tenderness.

“Luci… did you have a nightmare?”

He dared not breathe. His pulse roared in his ears as he slowly turned, his gaze locking onto a pair of golden eyes—soft, kind, impossibly familiar. For a moment, he could only stare, feeling as if he’d slipped into yet another dream. The face before him, full of compassion and warmth, was one he’d thought lost forever.

“A-Adam?” he stammered, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes grew wide, disbelief painting every line of his face.

Adam looked at him with gentle concern, his golden eyes glowing faintly. “Hey, Luci… you look pale. Are you alright?”

He raised a hand to touch Lucifer’s face, but Lucifer jerked back, as if burned. His heart raced, his mind reeling as he scrambled backward, his gaze darting around the room.

He blinked, noticing that the cramped piles of rubber ducks—his bizarre, lonely treasures—were gone. In their place were shelves filled with carefully arranged, exquisite little ducks, each displayed with precision and care. His chamber seemed larger, familiar yet somehow transformed, warmer.

"Luci?" Adam’s voice brought him back, and Lucifer turned to see Adam still sitting there, his eyes filled with a soft, steady patience. He was so close, so real—Lucifer could almost feel the warmth radiating from him. Adam poked his cheek playfully, brows knitting in confusion.

“Are you alright? Did you hit your head?”

Lucifer’s breath caught. He stared at Adam, searching his gaze for some sign, some confirmation of what he was seeing.

“What… what’s going on?” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Why are you… why are you here? Why are you in my bed?”

Adam chuckled softly, his expression as open and pure as it had been in Eden. “Luci, how hard did you hit your head?”

He reached out, his hand brushing Lucifer’s hair with a tenderness that made Lucifer’s heart ache.

Lucifer swallowed, his mind racing. This couldn’t be real—it was impossible. But as he looked into Adam’s golden eyes, feeling the soft warmth of his touch, he felt something long dead flicker within him, fragile and terrified of breaking.

“Addie…” he breathed, reaching out, his fingers hovering just inches from Adam’s cheek, too afraid to touch. The reality of Adam’s warmth, his nearness, felt like a forbidden dream. "Is it… really you?"

Adam smiled softly, the warmth of his presence settling around them both like a balm. "It’s me, Luci. I’m here.”

Lucifer’s heart skipped, his chest tightening with an emotion he hadn’t felt in eons. The ache that had haunted him for so long began to soften, the darkness retreating just enough to let in a flicker of hope.

Lucifer’s body surged forward with a frantic energy, scrambling onto the bed with a clumsy urgency. His usually pristine golden hair was a dishevelled mess, wild locks sticking out as if echoing the storm of emotions within him. Reaching for Adam’s hands, Lucifer clasped them tightly, his fingers trembling. He let out a shaky, half-choked laugh that dissolved into a sound halfway between wonder and despair.

“You’re… you’re alive! Addie, you’re alive,” he whispered, his voice thick with disbelief, each word a shuddering breath as though speaking might shatter the fragile reality before him. His heart, long numbed by guilt and despair, throbbed now with a vulnerable intensity.

Adam’s golden eyes, warm yet puzzled, met his with a quiet concern, his gentle gaze unchanging, almost cautious. But Lucifer couldn’t stop. Words spilled from him like a dam bursting, rushing forward in an almost feverish cascade.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so—so sorry. Please, forgive me. For everything I did, everything I didn’t do. I never wanted to hurt you; I just… I just wanted us to be close again. I ruined it all, Addie. I don’t deserve—”

His voice cracked, the words piling up, unable to keep pace with the grief he’d buried so deep.

As Lucifer leaned forward, trying to draw closer to Adam, he suddenly stopped, his chest jolting as something solid pressed against him, keeping him just out of reach. His brows furrowed in confusion, and he glanced down, seeing the curve of the blankets bulging slightly, pressed firm against his stomach. Whatever was hidden beneath them felt solid, almost weighty, and he instinctively reached to pull the covers back, baffled.

Adam giggled softly, a rosy blush colouring his cheeks. “I think I’ve gotten… bigger,” he murmured, an air of shy humour in his voice.

Lucifer blinked, his gaze darting from Adam’s face back down to the mysterious curve beneath the covers. It was then he noticed how strikingly different Adam looked: healthier, more radiant, his cheeks free of the hollow shadows and weariness Lucifer remembered. Adam’s skin seemed to almost glow, and atop his head were two delicate horns, a soft shade of blue that stirred memories of his own former self, back before the fall.

Adam fidgeted slightly, his expression shifting to one of slight embarrassment.

“You don’t think I’m… fat, do you?” he asked, eyes dropping self-consciously, though they glimmered with a touch of humour.

Fat? Lucifer thought, dazed. He remembered a time he’d teased Adam about putting on weight, but now his throat tightened with remorse. Shaking his head, he murmured, “No, Addie. You’re not… you’re not fat. You’re beautiful, like always.”

He leaned forward, but again that mysterious object kept them apart. Growing impatient, Lucifer carefully drew back the quilt, eyes widening as the reality settled over him.

The rounded swell of Adam’s stomach was unmistakable, pressing against the soft blue fabric of his shirt. It wasn’t the softness of excess but rather a firm, natural curve—like a promise, a secret harbouring a fragile new life. Lucifer’s mouth dropped open as he stared in shock.

“You’re… you’re pregnant,” he whispered, a high, incredulous pitch to his voice, awe and disbelief mingling in his words. “How—how did this happen?”

Adam laughed, a soft, musical sound that seemed to fill the room with warmth. His cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink, and he reached down, placing a gentle hand over the curve of his stomach.

 “I think you know exactly how, Luci,” he teased, voice tender, but with a knowing light in his eyes. “Six months ago… don’t you remember? It was after our anniversary.”

Anniversary? What did that even mean?

Lucifer’s mind spun, the ancient gears in his head struggling to find traction. His brow furrowed as he tried to grasp Adam’s words, though they slipped through his understanding like sand. The weight of confusion pressed on him as he blinked furiously, shifting his gaze to steady himself, to ground himself in Adam's presence.

"It was just after our 300th anniversary," Adam murmured softly, a warm hum that filled the room. He wore a gentle, almost shy smile as he glanced down at the small but unmistakable swell of his belly. "It was… a bit of a surprise. Neither of us expected it—not after Charlie. But we’re happy, aren’t we?”

Adam’s gaze lifted, and Lucifer caught the flicker of vulnerability there, the unspoken fear that nestled in his husband’s eyes. The usually composed Adam looked almost… fragile.

His voice quivered, softer now, as he asked, “You’re still happy, aren’t you, Luci? About the baby?”

Adam’s hand drifted protectively to his stomach, his brow creased with worry. “You… you haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

Lucifer’s throat tightened. The question held weight—no, not weight. A gravity. He didn’t fully understand what was happening, but he could see how much it mattered to Adam. Whatever was going on, he would figure it out. Somehow. Later.

"Of course, I’m happy!" he said, his voice cracking slightly, and he winced at the sound of it. Still, he moved closer to Adam, his hand instinctively reaching out to rest on his shoulder. He let his fingers slide to Adam’s stomach, his touch cautious, reverent. “I’m… I’m so very happy about… our baby.”

Adam released a slow breath, his tension ebbing away. He leaned into Lucifer, who quickly wrapped his arms around him, supporting him as though he were cradling the most delicate treasure. For a moment, Lucifer felt unsure, but Adam's warmth, his trust, softened something deep within him.

"I love you, Luci," Adam whispered, his voice thick with sleep and sweet with affection. His eyelids fluttered, and he yawned softly, pressing closer to Lucifer. "I’m so happy we… fell together.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened. Fell together. The words struck him as if he were hearing them for the first time. He took in their room—a chamber he knew well, yet tonight it was somehow transformed, bathed in a serene, tender shade of blue. Every edge of the room softened, a haven unlike any place he'd ever known.

"Luci…" Adam murmured, tugging him down toward the bed. "I’m tired. Let’s go back to sleep.”

Lucifer nodded slowly, lowering himself beside Adam. His gaze stayed glued to his face, mesmerized by the peaceful smile that lingered on Adam’s lips, the faint glow of pure contentment that radiated from him.

“I love you, Luci,” Adam whispered, eyes finally closing, his breathing slowing as he drifted into sleep.

Lucifer swallowed, the words catching in his throat as he reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as he gently stroked his hand along Adam's arm. "I… I love you too," he whispered, his voice fragile yet earnest.

Adam sighed softly in his sleep, and as Lucifer held him close, he felt something blossom inside him—something ancient, eternal, but also achingly new. An inexplicable longing settled over him, as if he were relearning the meaning of love in the warmth of Adam’s steady breaths, the rise and fall of his chest.

ucifer lay still beside Adam, watching his husband slumber, mesmerized by the soft rise and fall of his chest, the faint smile lingering on his lips even in sleep. Lucifer didn’t know how long he lay there, simply unable to look away. He couldn't. Not when, in the life he remembered, he had just been kneeling by Adam's corpse, his face drenched in tears. What was going on? Adam had died… hadn’t he? Lucifer had buried him, laid him to rest in the heart of Eden, his most cherished garden, a place he had never allowed anyone else.

Carefully, Lucifer slipped from the bed, ensuring he didn’t disturb Adam. He swung his legs to the floor, glancing down and feeling the faintest flicker of surprise. He was shirtless, and instead of his usual dark pajamas, he wore an unexpected pair of bright, duck-themed boxers. They were… adorable? He squinted, not recognizing them at all.

He padded softly across the room, his hooves sinking into the plush carpet that covered the floor. This, too, was new—a rich, comforting shade that he’d never seen before in his chamber. His gaze drifted to the walls, noticing how they were no longer draped in the austere, heavy tapestries he remembered. Instead, they were painted in soothing colors, warm and soft, lending the room a sense of calm he hadn’t known he craved. Lucifer frowned, his chest tightening, feeling both out of place and strangely at home.

His eyes caught on a golden-framed portrait on the wall. He knew this painting well—or at least he thought he did. The original painting had been a bittersweet reminder of his life with Lilith and their young daughter, Charlie, back when she was just a toddler. A painful relic. But as he approached, he realized this was… different.

Adam stood beside him in the painting, taking Lilith’s place. His face radiated joy, his arm around their daughter. And Charlie—her hair wasn’t the familiar gold from his memories but a soft hazel, like Adam’s. Lucifer’s heart skipped a beat, his pulse thundering in his chest as he stared at this family that, impossibly, seemed his own.

He tore his gaze away and slipped out of the chamber, the quiet of the corridor wrapping around him like a gentle mist. As he wandered through the halls, he noticed more and more differences. The cold, intimidating decor Lilith had favored was gone, replaced by something warmer, softer, and infinitely more welcoming. The walls, once adorned with shadowy tapestries and harsh colors, now bore gentle hues, punctuated by warm lights that cast a peaceful glow along the polished floors. Lucifer felt his chest tighten, an ache he couldn’t quite name blooming within him. The more he saw, the more he found himself… liking it. It was a home, not just a fortress.

Eventually, Lucifer found himself at the door of his office—the room where he’d spent countless hours handling his duties as King of Hell. He reached out, grasping the door handle, and pushed it open. The moment he stepped inside, he froze. His office, once chaotic and piled high with endless, neglected paperwork, was now spotless. Everything was in perfect order, from the neatly stacked files to the immaculate desk. His neglected paperwork—months, no, years of backlogged duties he’d ignored in his grief—was nowhere to be seen.

His eyes drifted to a shelf by the window. A collection of small, duck figurines, each carefully placed inside a glass box, caught his eye. They looked rare and almost precious, and as Lucifer studied them, he felt an unfamiliar sense of warmth, almost amusement, stirring within him. There was something endearing, something so distinctly Adam about their presence here.

Slowly, Lucifer moved to his desk, trailing his clawed fingers along its smooth surface before picking up a small picture frame. He lowered himself into his plush chair, his eyes fixed on the photo. In the picture, he was cuddling up to Adam, who was visibly pregnant, his belly round and full. Adam looked radiant, though there was a hint of tiredness, even fragility, in his face. But they both looked… happy. So happy it made Lucifer’s chest ache.

He set the frame down carefully, his gaze flicking around the office once more. Books he recognized lined the shelves, yet they seemed to have been meticulously organized and, shockingly, read. The daunting pile of work he had once allowed to fester was not only done but years ahead. How… had that happened? He swallowed, feeling an odd mixture of awe and unease.

Standing up, he left the office and drifted back into the corridor. His eyes caught on more paintings adorning the walls—scenes of a life he had never lived, and yet somehow they felt achingly familiar. One painting showed him standing beside Adam, each with an arm around Charlie, who was beaming with happiness, her red and yellow eyes bright with love. Another showed them all on a picnic under a willow tree, Charlie tugging at Lucifer’s hand as she laughed. There was one where a teenage Charlie, looking every bit like her mother, was rolling her eyes at Lucifer, though her mouth held a small, affectionate smile.

Lucifer’s steps slowed as he studied each painting, heart thudding as he took in the thousands of moments they depicted. They painted a life he had never dared to dream—a life where he had fallen not with Lilith, but with Adam, a life where they had been damned together and yet had somehow found a way to build a family, a future, a love that shone even here, in Hell. In this life, he had watched Charlie grow, had raised her with Adam by his side, had been part of her life even in her teenage years, when she’d likely rebelled against them both. And she looked so… happy. Every image radiated the joy she’d shared with them, a warmth that lingered in her gaze, a trust and love she had for her parents.

In his own life, there had been no paintings of those years. No laughter, no memories captured of a teenage Charlie by his side. He had lost her trust, had watched her pull away, leaving him with only the shadow of what might have been.

But here… here she was, smiling. Bright-eyed. Free.

Lucifer's breath hitched, a wave of raw emotion rising within him, fierce and unfamiliar. He reached out, fingers grazing the frame of a painting where they all stood together, a family complete, unbroken by the pain that had shadowed his own life.

How was any of this possible? Had he been given another chance, a glimpse into what he could have had? Or was this some cruel illusion, designed to haunt him? As he stood in the corridor, surrounded by memories of a love and a family he had never truly known, he realized that he didn’t care whether this was real or not. This life, these moments—it was a world he wanted to live in. A world where he was loved and had chosen love in return.

He inhaled slowly, his gaze lingering on one last painting—one where he and Adam were dancing, eyes locked, laughter spilling from their lips. In that moment, Lucifer vowed that, however this had happened, he would not let this world slip away. Not again.

Lucifer returned to his chamber, standing outside the heavy doors as he drew a deep breath, his heart pounding wildly at the thought of what awaited him within. He reached out, his hands trembling slightly, and pushed the door open, slipping quietly inside. His hooves felt strangely unsteady, and his fingers twitched at his sides as he approached the enormous, inviting bed.

There, nestled in the tangle of blankets and quilts, was Adam, still fast asleep. The sight made Lucifer pause. Adam looked so peaceful, his expression soft and untroubled as he burrowed further into the cozy warmth of the bed. It was endearing, seeing him like this, utterly relaxed. Lucifer felt a pang of something sweet and gentle, something he hadn’t felt in far too long.

Adam looked… perfect, like he belonged here, like he had always belonged in Lucifer’s bed, in his life.

Swallowing the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm him, Lucifer reached down, gently pinching the corner of the blankets, lifting them, and sliding himself under. He moved slowly, carefully, until he was right beside Adam. Close enough to feel his warmth, to catch the faint scent of him. And then, with a trembling hand, he reached out, brushing his fingers against Adam’s cheek. The skin was soft, warm, alive.

He’s really here.

He could feel the gentle heat radiating from Adam, the slow rise and fall of his chest, each breath a quiet reminder that Adam was, impossibly, still with him. And as he lay there, watching, he heard something else—a soft, sleepy hum, an occasional quiet laugh, as though Adam were lost in a pleasant dream.

Lucifer’s heart fluttered, a warmth spreading through him. He realized he was smiling, his own breath catching in his chest as he whispered, “I want to see more.”

He inched closer, and as he did, Adam shifted, instinctively snuggling into him, pressing against him with the innocent trust of someone who felt safe, completely at ease. Lucifer’s heart swelled, and he couldn’t resist the urge to nuzzle into Adam’s hair, letting its softness tickle his face, breathing in his scent.

“I want to see more, Addie,” he murmured, his voice low and full of wonder. “I want to see more, Addie. I want to see what else is different.”

He let his fingers trail gently through Adam's hair, the silky strands slipping through his claws as he breathed in the familiar, comforting scent of him. It was an intimacy he’d never quite allowed himself before, a closeness he hadn’t known he craved until now. He nuzzled his face into Adam's hair, letting the warmth settle into his bones as he wrapped his arms around Adam, holding him like a lifeline.

“I want to see how our lives have changed… together,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, but the words felt monumental, a promise spoken into the quiet stillness of the room.

As he lay there, breathing in sync with Adam, Lucifer felt the exhaustion of countless lifetimes begin to ebb away, replaced by a warmth that wrapped around him like a blanket. A life like this… it was something he’d never allowed himself to even imagine, but now, in this quiet moment, it felt possible. Real. His eyelids grew heavy, and his breathing slowed, matching Adam’s as he drifted closer to sleep, nestled against the man who had always been his tether.

Just before sleep took him, a thought drifted through his mind—a wish, a quiet yearning, Please… let this be real.

And as he surrendered to slumber, Lucifer felt the unfamiliar but deeply welcome sensation of feeling safe, cocooned in a warmth that he wanted to last forever.

When Lucifer awoke, his whole body felt uncommonly… good. There was no lingering ache, no dull exhaustion pressing on his bones, and the familiar cold pang that usually twisted in his chest was… gone. He shifted within the warm embrace of the blankets, savoring the comfort of the bed. A soft, contented yawn escaped him as he rolled onto his back and opened his eyes, taking in the hazy morning light filtering into the room. He blinked a few times, rubbing his face with one hand, feeling well-rested in a way he hadn’t known in what felt like ages.

But then he noticed something amiss—his side felt unusually cold, the spot beside him vacant. Lucifer frowned and rolled onto his side, sliding his hand across the sheets in search of the warmth he expected to find there. Only emptiness met his touch.

His heart leapt into his throat, panic flaring in his chest as he scrambled upright. The sheets tangled around his legs, and before he could steady himself, he stumbled, crashing to the floor in a tangle of quilts and limbs. He winced as his chin hit the ground, but the urgency pulsing within him was far too strong to let that stop him. Ignoring the faint ache, he quickly scrambled to his hooves, his gaze darting around the chamber, anxiety tightening in his chest.

The room was just as it had been last night—spotlessly tidy, softly inviting, as if crafted to hold a sense of peace he’d longed for but never believed he could have. Yet something was wrong.

Where was Adam?

Just as he was about to rush out the door in a desperate search, it swung open, and there stood Adam, looking somewhat startled as he took in the sight of Lucifer, wide-eyed and slightly dishevelled, in the middle of the room. Adam’s golden eyes flickered over the mess Lucifer had made in his hurried rise from bed. He blinked, then met Lucifer's gaze with a concerned, puzzled expression.

“Um… a-are you okay?” Adam asked softly, his brow furrowing as he took in the room and then settled his eyes back on Lucifer.

Without hesitation, Lucifer crossed the room, grasping Adam’s hands as if afraid he might vanish if he didn’t hold on tight. “Where were you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with relief yet tinged with the lingering panic that had clawed at him moments before.

A sheepish smile curled across Adam’s lips. “I had to… you know, pee.”

He gestured toward his round belly, and the explanation clicked into place in Lucifer’s mind. Oh. Of course. That made perfect sense. Lucifer’s face flushed, and he released a small, embarrassed whine, his head dipping as he let out a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice softened with self-consciousness. “I woke up, and you were gone, and I just… I thought…”

Adam reached up, his hand gentle as he cupped Lucifer’s chin and tilted his face up to meet his gaze. The warmth in Adam’s golden eyes melted away any lingering fear, the softness of his expression like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. He smiled, a soft, loving curve of his lips that made Lucifer’s heart skip a beat.

“I’m fine,” Adam reassured him, his voice gentle and soothing. “I’m not sick or anything. You’ve got to stop worrying so much.”

Lucifer trembled under that affectionate gaze, his own heart beating so fiercely he was sure Adam could feel it through his hands. Then, without warning, Adam leaned in, his lips brushing over Lucifer’s in a brief, feather-light kiss that sent shockwaves through Lucifer’s entire being. Adam’s lips were warm, softer than he’d imagined, and the brief press of them against his left him frozen, every thought scattering like dust on the wind.

When Adam pulled away, Lucifer’s face burned crimson, his mind still reeling. He’d just had his first kiss with Adam—a kiss he had never dared dream would happen. It was perfect, in every way he’d never imagined it could be.

“I love you,” Adam murmured, his hands giving Lucifer’s a gentle squeeze. “But remember, I’m not made of china. I’m just… pregnant.”

He smiled with a playful glint in his eyes, as if inviting Lucifer to relax, to let go of his worries.

Lucifer nodded slowly, his face still a bright, unmistakable red as he absorbed the warmth of those words. Adam had kissed him. He had actually kissed him. And, more importantly, he’d said… I love you.

Lucifer could barely breathe, the words echoing in his mind, wrapping around his heart and lighting something within him that he’d thought long dead.

Before he could respond, Adam chuckled softly, stepping back and giving Lucifer a teasing smile. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“Maybe I have,” Lucifer murmured, more to himself than to Adam, his voice still laced with wonder. This felt like a dream, a vivid and impossibly sweet vision he feared would dissolve if he blinked too hard.

Adam laughed, shaking his head as he rubbed his belly. “Well, this ghost is starving. Come on, Luci—let’s go see if there’s anything good in the kitchen.”

He started to shuffle toward the door, glancing back with a playful smile, and Lucifer, still reeling, followed.

As they walked through the halls, Lucifer's gaze lingered on Adam, unable to look away from the quiet beauty of this life. He was here, in a world that felt too beautiful to be real, and for the first time in what felt like centuries, he allowed himself to believe it was possible.

Lucifer followed Adam down the hallway, lingering a step behind, still grappling with the strangeness and sweetness of this new reality. As they entered the kitchen, Lucifer paused, taking in the space with a faint frown. The room was cozy, modestly sized, a far cry from the grandiose kitchen in his dominion. Here, everything seemed designed for warmth rather than grandeur—cabinets of warm wood, a sturdy stove, countertops speckled with flour dust and softened by the morning light filtering in through the window.

He barely had time to absorb it all before Adam made a beeline for the cupboards, his movements full of purpose and energy. Lucifer watched, feeling a strange fondness wash over him as he saw Adam pull out ingredients with practiced ease, his hands working with a confidence that seemed almost ritualistic.

“Adam, you’re pregnant,” Lucifer began, stepping forward and watching Adam stack flour, eggs, and milk on the counter. “You should be resting.”

Adam glanced over his shoulder, an easy laugh escaping him as he shook his head.

“You know I don’t like to rest, Luci. I need to be doing something—always,” he said, his golden eyes dancing with amusement.

Lucifer’s chest tightened. He didn’t know that. He didn’t know this about Adam. The realization settled over him, heavy and unsettling. There were layers, entire dimensions of this man, that Lucifer hadn’t known in his former life. His voice softened as he reached forward, taking Adam’s hand in his own.

“We could just… call for a servant to do it. You don’t need to strain yourself.”

Adam’s brows arched. “Servant? What servants?”

Lucifer blinked, caught off guard. “I… well, I mean, I assumed…”

He trailed off, searching for an explanation. “I could conjure whatever you want to eat. It’d be nothing.”

But instead of agreeing, Adam laughed again, a sound so pure and sweet it made Lucifer’s heart clench. Adam reached up, gently patting Lucifer’s cheek. “Oh, Luci, you always know how to make me laugh. But you know I don’t like it when you use your magic for things I can do myself.”

Lucifer’s gaze held a flicker of confusion. He wasn’t joking, yet somehow, without even intending it, he’d managed to make Adam laugh.

“But, I just… I really want you to rest,” he muttered, shifting his weight, his hooves shuffling on the floor. “You’re six months pregnant, Adam. You should be taking it easy.”

Adam’s gaze softened; his expression so tender that Lucifer felt his resolve begin to melt away.

“Luci, we’ve talked about this,” Adam murmured, reaching for his hand and lacing their fingers together. The warmth of Adam’s hand in his own was grounding, an anchor in this unfamiliar world.

“Cooking… it makes me happy,” Adam continued, his voice filled with gentle reassurance. “It’s how I show my love. And I know you get worried, but you don’t have to. I’m alright. I’m stronger this time.”

Lucifer swallowed, his gaze lingering on their intertwined hands. The love and confidence in Adam’s tone soothed something restless within him. This Adam was gentle but unwavering, full of strength yet tender—a warmth Lucifer hadn’t dared let himself imagine before. Lucifer took a shaky breath, squeezing Adam’s hand, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I… I guess I just want to make sure everything’s perfect for you,” he whispered, his voice raw with an honesty he hadn’t realized he’d been holding back. “This… everything about this—about you—means more to me than I can even say.”

Adam’s smile widened, and he reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair back from Lucifer’s face. “I know, Luci. And that’s exactly why it already is perfect.”

Lucifer’s face flushed, his heart racing as he let Adam’s hand slip from his, watching as he returned to the counter with that gentle, devoted smile. Standing there, seeing Adam pour love and care into every movement, Lucifer felt a new determination settle in his chest.

He would protect this, Lucifer vowed silently to himself, this world, this life, this love.

He would do whatever it took to keep it safe, and perhaps, just maybe, let himself believe he truly deserved it.

Lucifer slipped around Adam with practiced finesse, his fingers closing around the bowl before Adam could react.

"How about I make breakfast for a change?" he suggested, his voice smooth and enticing as he flashed Adam a charming, radiant grin—the kind that could melt anyone’s heart.

Adam raised a sceptical eyebrow, not in the least bit swayed. He snorted, reaching to reclaim the bowl. "Oh, really? And what exactly would you make, hm?"

With a playful wink, Lucifer twirled out of Adam’s reach, holding the bowl just out of reach.

"Only my specialty... pancakes!" he announced with an exaggerated flourish.

Adam’s laugh was pure and warm, bubbling up despite his efforts to keep a straight face. “Pancakes, you say? But Luci, you can’t cook."

Lucifer's face morphed into a mock expression of scandalized surprise. "What? Of course I can! I'm an amazing cook!"

Adam laughed harder, clutching his side as if to contain the joyful sound.

“Oh, Luci…” he managed between giggles. “Have you forgotten what happened the last time you tried? Whatever that was supposed to be, it ended up… well, let’s just say it was a bit of a disaster. Black as a hockey puck."

Lucifer pouted, folding his arms in playful indignation. Then, as he caught sight of Adam’s still-giggling face, he let his pout melt into an amused, toothy grin. Ah, so it seems his other self couldn’t cook to save his life. How fascinating.

His eyes glinting with devilish excitement. “But, trust me, I’ve been practicing.”

Adam narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms as he tried to look stern, though his smile betrayed him. "Alright, alright. I suppose I’ll give my lovable husband a chance."

Lucifer practically skipped with joy. "Wonderful! Now, go sit down, put those feet up, and let me take care of everything!"

He leaned in and pecked Adam on the cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin linger against his lips. "Trust me, Addie—you’re going to love this."

Adam let out a resigned sigh, but his eyes were filled with affection as he settled himself at the small kitchen table, resting his hands on his belly. His sceptical smile followed Lucifer as he moved back to the counter, fully claiming the kitchen as his temporary domain. As he glanced back, Lucifer��s heart skipped—a sight that, for all his centuries, felt thrilling and entirely new.

Determined to impress, Lucifer turned to the stove, summoning a light flicker of flames with a single snap of his fingers. He poured flour and cracked eggs with careful focus, hoping his newly claimed cooking confidence wasn’t just bluster. As he whisked the batter, he stole a glance over his shoulder to see Adam watching him with quiet amusement.

There was a softness in Adam’s gaze as he observed Lucifer’s every move, as though watching someone he loved and trusted implicitly. And for the first time, the weight of that trust hit Lucifer with stunning clarity. Here was a man who knew his every flaw and, despite everything, still loved him fully, without hesitation.

After a few moments, Lucifer poured the batter onto the sizzling pan, smiling as the pancakes began to rise and golden, filling the kitchen with the faint, sweet scent of vanilla. He added a bit of flair, flipping each pancake high into the air, turning just enough to catch Adam’s eye. Adam’s chuckle was immediate, and the warmth it sparked in Lucifer’s chest was indescribable.

When the pancakes were finally done, Lucifer arranged them on a plate, meticulously layering them with a pat of butter and a drizzle of syrup, along with a handful of fresh berries he found tucked away in the fridge. He set the plate down before Adam, who looked at him with eyebrows raised in surprise and amusement.

“There you go, Addie,” Lucifer said, sliding into the seat across from him and looking at him expectantly. “The finest pancakes in all of Hell, made by yours truly.”

Adam lifted a fork, spearing a bite of pancake with a hum of approval as he took his first taste. A look of surprise flashed across his face, quickly replaced by delight. "Oh, Luci… these are actually good!"

Lucifer preened under the compliment, his grin widening. “See? What did I tell you? Only the best for my beautiful Queen~”

Adam leaned forward, reaching across the table to brush his hand over Lucifer’s. "Thank you, Luci. It’s perfect."

Lucifer’s heart skipped again, his pulse thrumming in a way it hadn’t in centuries. He squeezed Adam’s hand, the realization dawning on him all over again: he was living in a world he never knew he wanted, with a love he’d never dared believe he deserved.

In this life, every moment was something precious, and he vowed then and there to cherish every single one.

As Lucifer watched Adam from across the table, every glance, every subtle movement of his was a treasure. He leaned forward, his chin resting on his hand, careful not to let his curiosity spill over into suspicion. He wanted to drink in this new life, to savour the unfamiliar tenderness between him and Adam, and he was desperate for more details.

"So, what’s the plan for today?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

Adam’s face lit up immediately.

“Charlie invited me to her hotel!” He beamed; eyes sparkling. “I’m really excited to go!”

The mention of Charlie sent a thrill through Lucifer. His grin spread wide, his mind spinning with questions. Charlie had opened her hotel here too—had it succeeded? What was it like in this world? Was her vision the same as in his own? His heart pounded with anticipation.

"That's wonderful, Addie," he said warmly, eager to learn more but reining himself in. "You know, I’d love to see Charlie too. It’s been… too long."

Adam tilted his head, a bit of confusion creasing his brow.

“You’re… okay with me going, right?” he asked, a hint of apprehension in his voice. “I didn’t want you to be upset.”

Lucifer chuckled, surprised. “Why wouldn’t I be? She’s our baby girl, after all. I’d never stop you from seeing her.”

Relief washed over Adam’s face, and he released a soft laugh. “Oh, that’s good! I was worried you’d get mad…”

Lucifer’s smile slipped ever so slightly, something prickling at the back of his mind. “W-why would I be mad?”

Adam’s gaze dropped to his lap, his expression clouding over.

“It’s just… after the last time I left the mansion…” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

A pang of protectiveness surged in Lucifer, but he held himself back, sensing it was a sensitive subject for Adam. He offered a gentle smile instead, brushing his fingers over Adam’s hand.

“Well,” he said softly, “You’ll be with Charlie. I’m sure she’ll keep an eye on you.”

Adam’s face brightened at that, a grin breaking through the worry. “That’s true! Charlie’s got a good head on her shoulders. Besides, I miss her so much. She’s been so busy with… with the redeemed souls.”

Lucifer’s breath caught. Redeemed souls?

His eyes widened just slightly, the implications overwhelming. Had Charlie actually managed to redeem souls in this world? How had Hell—how had Heaven—reacted? His mind buzzed with a thousand questions, each one more urgent than the last. But he kept his expression calm, pretending as if this was all perfectly normal.

“I really wish you could come too…” Adam’s voice pulled him from his racing thoughts, his words laced with a faint sadness.

Lucifer felt his chest ache, wanting to join him, to witness this new version of Hell alongside his family.

“Why can’t I?” he asked, his tone almost teasing.

Adam arched a brow, giving him a knowing smile. “Luci, you know you can’t just cancel another meeting. I know how you feel about running Hell, but with all the changes going on, it’s… important, right?”

Lucifer quickly nodded, mimicking the confidence he assumed his counterpart would’ve had.

“Of course,” he said, his voice steady. “I can’t neglect my duties.”

Adam let out a quiet sigh, his eyes dropping to the plate of half-eaten pancakes. “Just… don’t work yourself too hard, alright? We hardly have time together as it is, and… I miss you.”

There was a vulnerability in Adam’s tone that struck something deep within Lucifer, a quiet ache that told of lonely nights and missed moments.

He reached across the table, letting his hand rest over Adam’s. “I promise, Addie. I’ll make time. For us.”

Adam’s eyes softened as he squeezed Lucifer’s hand.

“You better,” he teased gently. “Because once this little one’s here, they’re going to want a lot of time with their father.”

Lucifer's heart clenched at the mention of the child—their child. A sudden wave of protectiveness and tenderness washed over him, and he fought to keep his voice steady. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Adam's smile returned, warmer and brighter. "Good. You’d better keep that promise, Luci.”

They finished breakfast in comfortable silence, the weight of unspoken words lingering in the air. As Adam cleared the plates, Lucifer couldn’t help but steal another glance, his mind awash with the marvels of this new life. This world was everything he hadn’t known he wanted, a world where love and redemption were not merely ideas, but truths shaping their lives.

He’d do anything to stay here, to see what other beautiful moments were yet to unfold.

...there was only one problem.

What has happened to the other Lucifer?

[101flavoursofweird]

Ooh, I can help! I don’t know if it’s the first time the line was ever mentioned, but Layton does mention it to Angela (Descole in disguise) during Chapter 8 when they’re trying to raise to city in the ruins below the monument, and DescAngela asks where the Mask of Order is.

Layton also mentions that the engraving was in the same message Randall deciphered on the stone tablet when they were teenagers… but I’m not sure if or when it’s mentioned during the flashbacks.

Another question for anyone with an encyclopaedic knowledge of Professor Layton and the Miracle Mask, when was the line “Only the bearers of Chaos and Order may reveal our legacy. It is always the two halves that make the whole.” First said?

I am currently looking for this and will reblog if I find it, but if anyone could help I’d be grateful!

[poiibbtt]

Bound by Names

Pairing: Haku x Reader (You)

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Subtle Romance

Word Count: ~2,500 words

Synopsis: After Chihiro is freed, you find yourself drifting away from Haku, believing that with his newfound freedom, he no longer needs you. Struggling with loneliness and exhaustion, you distance yourself, despite the bond you once shared. One night, after a rough encounter in the bathhouse, Haku finds you injured and broken, leading to a quiet, heartfelt conversation that forces both of you to confront the feelings left unsaid.

The river was always quiet at night. You had known this place for as long as you could remember, the soft hum of water flowing endlessly, a comforting rhythm beneath the chaos of the spirit world. You and Haku had grown up together, both bound by the strange rules of this place, but you always had each other.

Though Haku had grown distant over the years, especially after he began working under Yubaba, you could still remember those early days, when he would sneak away from the bathhouse just to sit by the river with you. Back then, it was easier. Life was simpler. But things had changed.

You watch him now, hovering by Chihiro’s side. She’s different—human, lost, and frightened. Haku has taken it upon himself to protect her, just as he always protected you, and you can’t fault him for that. But as you stand in the shadows, watching from afar, there’s a heaviness in your chest. It’s not jealousy. It’s the realization that you’ve started to miss him—miss the way things used to be.

You shake your head, trying to dismiss the thought. It’s not fair to compare. Chihiro needs Haku. And besides, he’s always been this way. He has a way of making people feel safe, of being their anchor when the world becomes too much. You know that better than anyone. After all, you’ve been the one to patch him up when his dragon form was injured, when he returned from Yubaba’s dangerous tasks, battered but unbroken.

But lately, you’ve been feeling more alone, and that’s what hurts the most.

The first time you realized something had shifted between you and Haku was after Chihiro called him by his true name.

You were there, hidden in the shadows, when Chihiro gave Haku the gift of remembering who he truly was. You saw the moment it happened—how his eyes widened in shock, how his entire being seemed to glow with the realization of his true identity.

Kohaku River.

The name echoed in your mind, and you felt your stomach drop. It wasn’t just a name—it was his freedom. You knew it before anyone else did. Haku could leave now. He could leave Yubaba’s clutches, leave this world, leave you. And once Chihiro was free, he would have no reason to stay.

The thought festered in your heart, though you never voiced it. Instead, you did what you always did. You stayed in the background, watching as Haku continued to help Chihiro, wondering if he realized what this meant for the both of you.

As the days passed, you found yourself avoiding him. It wasn’t intentional at first. You told yourself you were busy, that the bathhouse and the spirits demanded your attention. But deep down, you knew the truth. You were pulling away because you didn’t want to face what was coming.

If you distanced yourself now, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much when he eventually left.

Tonight had been particularly rough. One of the spirits you were tasked with serving was more aggressive than usual, and in the chaos, you found yourself slammed into a pillar, the sharp edge cutting deep into your side. You winced, feeling the warm trickle of blood beneath your clothes, but there was no time to stop. Not when the bathhouse was in full swing. Not when Haku was nowhere to be seen.

You managed to slip away to the riverbank once the night grew quieter, clutching your side as the pain throbbed. The wound wasn’t life-threatening, but the dull ache mixed with the exhaustion and the loneliness in your heart was becoming too much to bear.

Sitting by the river, you stared into the water, trying to steady your breathing. The night was quiet, but the emptiness inside you was louder than ever.

You had hoped to disappear quietly into the night, but fate had other plans.

Haku appeared beside you, his presence as quiet and calm as always. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said softly, kneeling beside you.

You didn’t look at him, keeping your eyes on the river. “You shouldn’t have,” you replied, voice tight.

Haku’s gaze sharpened, noticing the way you clutched your side. His expression darkened as he knelt closer, pulling your hand away gently. “You’re hurt.”

You tried to pull away, but the pain made it hard. “It’s nothing,” you muttered, turning your face away from him. “You should leave.”

“Let me help you,” he said, his voice low, filled with concern as he carefully peeled back the fabric to inspect the wound. Despite your resistance, he started to patch you up with practiced hands, hands you’d once seen mending his own injuries. But now, they were focused on you.

“No.” You shook your head, your voice breaking, filled with a mix of frustration and sorrow. “Haku, you need to leave. You’re free now. You don’t need to stay here anymore.”

He continued tending to your wound, ignoring your words for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady but filled with something deeper. “Is that what you want? For me to leave?”

Tears welled in your eyes as you struggled to speak. “You deserve to go,” you whispered. “You deserve to be free, to live without worrying about anyone else… without worrying about me.”

Haku’s hands stilled, and for a long moment, the only sound between you was the river’s soft flow. “You really believe I’d leave you behind?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost hurt.

You swallowed hard, not trusting your voice, but nodded slightly. “You should.”

Haku didn’t let go. Instead, he finished tending to your wound before sitting back on his heels, his gaze locked on yours. “There’s something you don’t understand,” he said quietly.

You frowned, the ache in your chest growing as you tried to meet his eyes. “What?”

“Chihiro helped me remember my name, yes,” he began, “but that’s not all I remembered.”

You blinked, confusion spreading across your face. “What do you mean?”

“I remembered more than just my own name,” Haku continued, his voice soft but firm. “I remembered your name too.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding in confusion. “My… name?”

Haku nodded, his gaze unwavering. “When Chihiro helped me, something else came back. Something I had forgotten until now. I didn’t just regain my freedom. I remembered that I’m bound to you too.”

Your mind was spinning. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I took your name too,” he said softly. “I’ve always been tied to you. That hasn’t changed, and it never will.”

Tears blurred your vision as you processed his words, the overwhelming realization sinking in. “You… took my name?”

“Yes,” Haku said gently, his hand resting over yours, his touch warm and reassuring. “I’m not leaving you. I never planned to.”

For the first time, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The loneliness that had been suffocating you began to ease, if only a little. Haku wasn’t leaving—not without you.

“I thought…” You couldn’t finish the sentence, the words catching in your throat.

“I know,” Haku whispered, his hand squeezing yours gently. “But you don’t have to push me away. We’re in this together.”

The weight of everything that had happened—the distance, the fear of losing him, the pain of seeing him with Chihiro—began to lift, just a little. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt less alone.

[k-nayee]

Phantom Code Alien Romulus | ii

wc: 1.3k a/n: Just a heads-up! This mini-series was originally a one-shot but ended up longer than expected. So once I post the final chapter (when Andy chases Navarro and Bjorn after the facehugger incident), that will be the end of the Phantom Code series. Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

Traveler M.List

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ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

After that night, your parents reluctantly agreed to help Mr. Carradine.

Your mother, with her skills in engineering and maintenance, took it upon herself to make sure he stayed functioning.

She would spend hours reading over schematics; surveying the company's scrap yards, marking down the locations of parts that could be used to keep him working.

Your father also played a part in keeping Andy safe.

He and Mr. Carradine would go out at night, scavenging for the parts your mother had identified, risking everything to ensure that Andy stayed hidden.

It was a dangerous game, but they played it for the sake of family.

You ended up spending a lot of time with the synthetic, learning everything you could from your parents.

They taught you about his systems, his coding—everything they knew—so that you could if they were no longer around.

Soon you became proficient, able to handle most of the routine maintenance on your own.

As for the crush you had on him, it faded as all childhood infatuations do. You grew older, wiser, and understood that Andy was a synthetic being—an android, not a human.

But that didn't erase the fondness you felt for the android. You found yourself flushing at the small, thoughtful gestures he made, even if they were merely a result of his programming.

Life at the moment was getting better...

...until it wasn't.

It was a bitter winter, the cold seeped into every corner of the colony.

Pneumonia claimed your mother and the Carradines; leaving behind you, your father, and the Carradines' daughter—Rain.

As for her, she had become more distant after that, retreating into herself.

The reminders of what she had lost were too much for her to bear, and the bond between your families began to unravel with each passing day.

Your father did his best to fill the void left by your mother's absence, but it was clear that he was struggling. He became a sort of pseudo-guardian to Rain, checking in on her when he could, trying to keep the connection alive.

But Rain wasn't interested in the connection. The only thing that kept her tethered to you at all was Andy.

After your mother's death, you inherited her role of maintaining.

You would visit Rain's home, check up on his functioning and giving her the occasional lesson in how to care for him herself.

These visits were often brief, filled with awkward silences and the ghost of what had once been.

Like now: alone with Andy, muttering to yourself during a tricky repair—a habit gotten from your mother as a way to keep thoughts organized as you tinkered with circuits and lines of code.

"W-why...do you talk...to yourself?" Andy's voice stuttered, catching slightly before he could finish the question.

You blinked in surprise and looked up. He was already staring at you—his eyes, usually still, flickered slightly.

The intensity of his dark gaze seemed to pierce through you, making your heart skip.

"I... uh..." You stammered, feeling heat creep up your neck. "I-I guess it helps me keep track of what I'm doing. Talking out loud, I mean. It's easier for me to...organize my thoughts that...way?"

Your explanation felt clumsy, and you half-expected him to nod and move on, but he didn't. His stare remained unbroken.

"I... see," he said with a noticeable pause between words, voice crackling as if struggling to process each syllable. "C-can you... explain... what you're doing?"

His request caught you off guard, and you weren't quite sure how to respond. It made your stomach flip in an unfamiliar way.

"Um... y-yeah sure," you finally said, offering a small, shy smile as you tried to ignore the way your heart was racing. "Yeah, I think it would help."

So you took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves as you turned your attention back to the task. You began to explain what you were doing, talking through each step in greater detail than before, as if teaching him as you went along.

It was awkward at first; your words came out stiff. You stumbled over explanations, acutely aware of Andy's gaze on you.

But then, something shifted.

As you got deeper into the explanation, the nervousness faded and was instead replaced by the familiar focus you always felt when working.

The more you talked, the more you lost yourself in the technicalities of the process. And soon enough, you found your rhythm again.

"So that's why we need to adjust this part here," you continued as you worked, "If we don't, it could lead to a power imbalance, which would mess with your central processing unit."

Andy said nothing, simply watching as you spoke. There was no reaction from him, other than an involuntarily twitch of his fingers and the occasional sudden jerk of the head.

Suddenly aware of how much you were talking, embarrassment crept in, he probably didn't understand half of what you were saying.

"I-I'm sorry for rambling! I didn't mean to go on and on like that. I know it's probably boring to hear me—"

"Don't... be," Andy interrupted, his flat and stilted tone cutting through your self-consciousness. "I... like the... sound... of your voice."

The words jolted you.

You knew he meant it innocently—he was an android, after all, and couldn't possibly understand the implications of what he'd just said.

But that didn't stop the shiver of excitement that ran down your spine, the way your heart seemed to flutter in your chest.

"O-Oh," was all you could manage, your face getting hotter by the second.

]You tried to brush off the feeling, to remind yourself that he was just a machine, but it was harder than you expected.

Because, despite everything, Andy was attractive—stunning, even.

The way his dark smooth skin contrasted with the gentle coils of his hair, the way his (kissable) lips parted ever so slightly when he listened—it was impossible to ignore.

Then there were his eyes. Oh, his eyes.

Always seemed to hold more than they should, that he was seeing something in you no one else did. It was enough to make your breath hitch.

To make you wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than you'd known.

But what you didn't know was that Andy was learning. Every word you said, every concept you explained, he absorbed it all with the precision of a machine.

He wasn't just listening to the sound of your voice—he was processing everything, storing the knowledge you shared, and soon enough, he understood coding just as well as you did.

Maybe even better.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

Your relationship with Rain was...complicated.

It was one of those things that fell into a comfortable middle ground—neither too close nor too distant.

You weren't best friends; not the kind who shared secrets and dreams, who leaned on each other through thick and thin.

But you weren't strangers, either.

It was a kind of relationship that only existed because your parents knew each other, a connection formed out of circumstance rather than choice.

And so, most of your interactions with Rain were brief—exchanging greetings in passing, a nod, a polite smile.

Rain had her own life and friends—Tyler and his sister Kay, Bjorn and his adoptive sister Navarro. They were always together, a tight-knit group that seemed to share everything with each other while you stayed on the outskirts.

You didn't mind; being on the outside let you to observe without getting too involved, and that suited you just fine.

You actually got along with them all—except for Bjorn that is. You never particularly liked him.

He was brash, loud, and often rude with a temper that flared up at the smallest provocation. He seemed to delight in teasing you, making offhand comments that would get under your skin.

To you, Bjorn was an asshole, plain and simple. And you did your best to avoid him whenever possible.

But life has a way of forcing people together, especially in the wake of tragedy.

[bengiyo]

The Sign Ep 12 (Finale) Stray Thoughts

It's been too long, so I barely remember where we are. We left at Tharn somehow maybe saving Phaya and getting stuck in a cave to maybe say goodbye because Chalothorn threatened him or whatever. Chart got caught for being undercover. The rest of the gang was lost in the woods. Anyway, let's finish this.

Wait, how are they successfully tracking anyone? I thought there was no phone service.

Oh lord don't start death flagging with promises about rings.

Damn, I feel bad for Chart. That final kick delivery was actually pretty good.

Bestie said they didn't need rope to get them out of the hole. The power of the Warrior's Bond and Yai's arms was enough.

I watch too much American action. The bullet stuff is giving recent Fast films.

Well, there goes Khem.

Why would they let Tharn run after them alone? He literally loses every fight.

Mhmm, see, Chalothorn had to intervene.

Montree still being afraid of Tharn came across clearly.

Damn, y'all ain't even shower before going back home?

Here we go. One last look at Babe's waistline before it ends.

Oof, the only thing Tharn responded to was an admission of his love.

Finally, 🍑

Oh, I liked that shot of the water leaking through the bed to show that Tharn was gone.

I feel like the grandma has always known more than she let on.

Did we really repeat the exact same death scenario? Chalothorn, you really suck at this. The circle remains unbroken.

I know Phaya's doctors have got to be frustrated that he keeps drowning.

Is Dao in France to cut down on filming schedule conflicts?

I love when dramas show the passage of time with facial hair.

So... Chalothorn just...got over it off screen?

Oh, a second season tag and Saint cameo. I guess?

Final Verdict: 5.5, Great Gowns, Beautiful Gowns. Overall, I just don't think the elements of this show ever really came together. I think the first two episodes of training and mythology teasers, along with the Lieutenant Tam mystery, made me expect these elements to circle and eventually converge in a more cohesive way. I also feel like some of the side stuff didn't really work. I thought some of the mythology about the Naga and Garuda was really interesting, but I didn't exactly feel the cycle they were stuck in playing out in this drama. I'm also hugely annoyed about the core angst evaporating off screen. So, in the end, I'll mostly remember it as copaganda.

That being said, I thought the cast chemistry was solid, and I really liked the execution and use of the CGI. I like that IdolFactory keeps trying more things, but I do think we need to get stronger script writers and editors in the room with a stronger say on the planning front.

[eglerieth]

Concerning Hobbit-Friends

nearly every other free people in Middle Earth have such a concept ( ie, Elf-friend, Dwarf-friend, etc.) so I decided that hobbits do it too. Any hobbit can name someone hobbit-friend, but that’s not a guarantee that their fellow hobbits will consider them their own friend. The exception is if the Thain or Mayor formally names someone hobbit-friend on behalf of all Shirefolk, which has only happened once.

here is a list of known hobbit-friends:

• Gandalf. Obviously. He’s the OG hobbit-friend, upon whom all others are based

• Tom Bombadil: he was given the title by Farmer Maggot. It is unknown if Maggot was the only hobbit to name him hobbit-friend, or if others had done so in the past and his proclamation was redundant.

• the entirety of Thorin’s company: Bilbo named them all hobbit-friend when he left Erebor, in the middle of his “tea at four” speech. This included a posthumous hobbit-friending of Thorin, Fìli, and Kìli.

• multiple Breelanders: throughout the long history of Bree and the Breelands, when hobbits and Men lived side by side, there were many individuals named hobbit-friend by their neighbor for various reasons. The line of Butterburs in particular have held the title unbroken from father to son, usually proclaimed by drunk hobbits in the Prancing Pony wanting to thank and honor their host.

• Boromir: thus named by Merry and Pippin. Pippin was honoring that bond/title when he swore allegiance to Denethor.

• Gimli: Frodo named him hobbit-friend when they were mourning Balin together in Moria and Frodo saw his heart.

• Treebeard: sort of named himself such unwittingly when fitting hobbits into his worldview out loud. Merry and Pippin just accepted it, thus binding it.

• Quickbeam: named such by Merry and Pippin as a throwaway comment that nonetheless had all the meaningfulness necessary.

• Thèoden: named such by Merry when he swore himself to him. He intended to teach him about pipeweed; that was a gift for a hobbit-friend not given to merely anyone. The horn Merry was later given was to honor it, and it was later given much honor in return in the Shire.

• Aragorn: surprisingly, it didn’t happen on the quest. He was their friend, sure, but not specifically a hobbit-friend. But as time went on the hobbits in the Fellowship began to treat him more and more like one, and he was finally formally proclaimed hobbit-friend by Thain Paladin himself on behalf of the Shire after he gifted the hobbits Westmarch and passed the law forbidding Big Folk from entering the Shire. The first king of the Fourth Age was long remembered in the Shire for being the first and only Man to be hobbit-friend to all hobbits. Not even Gandalf was accepted by all, *cough*-Disturber-of-the-Peace-*cough*

Finrod: the only person to be named hobbit-friend in Aman. Proclaimed by Bilbo and Frodo, and then again Sam before he realized it had already been done. He earned the title by connecting with them deeply and helping them around the Undying Lands. Come on, guys, you knew he was gonna have to complete the trifecta of races he’s Friends with.

[willowalmondstar]

“It’s not awkward for you to live there?”

At the end of the day, it was a free house, but you did not think Alex would accept that answer gracefully. She was right, after all, even if awkward did not fully capture it. Elizabeth helped raise Alex, whereas the druid was just a wise friend to you. The hours you spent together were in pursuit of knowledge and magic to save the world; it slipped your mind to ask her favorite color, or how she grew up. Those were details you learned after her end. (She liked green, and was shy as a child.)

It did not feel right to share the real answer with Alex; that sometimes you stared at the walls for hours, because you still had not redecorated, and never intended to, because she had filled every space on her walls with photos and trinkets. Everyone still referred to it as Elizabeth’s house, not yours, and you thought of it the same way. The house was spacious for one person, but you barely spent time in it. You were only there to sleep, when Linda had enough research to do that she did not let you stay over, or when Avalon was in one of his moods and locked you out for the night, or when even Ydris found you too boring or on-edge to play with. 

Last week, Anne had asked you how long you had been on Jorvik, and was unsettled by how you stared at her blankly, unable to answer. A summer. It was only ever supposed to be a summer. It was funny, really, that when she described how time felt on Pandoria, you could almost relate—another thing you would never admit to.

After her release, you and Anne spent a lot of time together. As expected of two young adult girls, you were often found chatting over coffee at the Firgrove cafe, or giggling over hair choices in the Goldenleaf salon. You both raised Concorde, though some days Anne had to take a break and remind herself that she really was retraining her horse as a foal, and this was not another Pandoric time-loop nightmare. In the beginning, Concorde stared at you, and reminded you that Elizabeth bonded with another incarnation of him. You told him you were sorry. He refused to listen to you for the rest of the day.

Anne once confided in you that she felt like the odd woman out in the Soul Riders, and after you understood her better, you told her the same. It was the first secret you let off your chest. There were only supposed to be four Soul Riders, but there you were—a poor replacement for Anne when you first started training, and now no longer a stand-in at all, but something else undefined. The druids did not know what to do with you. They kept you close, in Elizabeth’s house, trained you at the northern paddock, and gave you the missions any one of them could have handled in an afternoon. Alex, Lisa, and Linda treated Anne like she had never left, and you like you had always been part of them. Neither you nor Anne felt comfortable with it, but you could not blame them. They did not even notice they were doing it, and was that not beautiful? They saw the five of you as unbroken sisters, like you were invariably meant to end up this way. Neither you nor Anne would shatter that image. They drew strength from it, and with the ever-looming Garnok threat, with shadows around every corner, every bit of magic you could sap from one another was priceless.

Living in Elizabeth’s old house was a blessing. The druids did not exactly pay a wage for Soul Riding, but they did not make you pay rent to live in a poor dead woman’s house on their homeland, either. You could pay for food by helping out Farah, and anything extra you did around the island helped buy research books for Linda or even some new guitar strings for Lisa.

You did not need Elizabeth’s ghost to keep you company. Your horse was everything you needed, in the end, and you had your Soul Sisters to fill in the gaps. The druids supported you, and the grass in Jorvik grew only to carry your feet. Surely, any doubts you felt were spurred on by Garnok alone, Aideen curse him.

Yet, everything kept her alive. Concorde did not speak of it, but his eyes lingered on things that bled with her memory. The Soul Riders knew that when Alex could not be found anywhere else, she would be by Elizabeth’s grave in Doyle’s Abbey; often with Maya, usually practicing her lightning magic. She asserted that her mentor’s criticisms always made her better. The roses bloomed with the scent of her perfume. Your neighbor crocheted on a bench in Valedale using the yarn you gave them from Elizabeth’s extensive collection. The house creaked with the memory of her footsteps. You asked Fripp, hesitantly, if her spirit could still be around; you had to free lost souls often enough that it was a valid concern. He told you not to worry, but when you next came to her cabin, it smelled strangely of herbs and your fingers tensed with the presence of ancient magic. He did not bring it up again.

“No, it’s not awkward. I couldn’t imagine a stranger living in her home; could you?”

Alex smiled at that. “You’re right. I’m glad it’s you. You keep her alive.”

And that was the best you could’ve asked for, all things considered.

[pokemon-card-of-the-day]

Pokemon Card of the Day #3215: Arcanine (Detective Pikachu)

Arcanine had an interesting Ability, one that made Pokemon bulkier than they would be otherwise. You'd think this would be cool, but it only worked if Arcanine was Active. This basically left it to chipping away while softening Bench damage territory, which wasn't actually a common role. Also this was a Detective Pikachu card so any role even existing made it look pretty decent in that context.

120 HP was not a rare number at all for a Stage 1. This plus Security Guard meant a Pokemon had to hit at least as hard as Pikachu & Zekrom-GX or Gardevoir & Sylveon-GX to get the KO, and a Water Weakness wasn't the worst thing. There were a few Quagsire decks and maybe a Keldeo-GX but it was one of the weaker types at that point. The Retreat Cost of 3 was unfortunate due to needing to be Active to do anything, so pivoting back in the right spot would require some help.

Security Guard was an Ability that worked whenever Arcanine was the Active Pokemon. All of your Pokemon took 30 less damage from your opponent's attacks, making Arcanine a bit bulkier and making sure the Bench was harder to take down. It wasn't a ton of protection, but could certainly change KO numbers so it was nice to have.

If you had a Pokemon like this, it needed a reasonable attack. Sharp Fang didn't really achieve that, doing just 90 damage for a Fire and 2 Colorless Energy. Attacks in good decks were doing 120-150 or so for that a lot of the time, and Arcanine had the Ability but it wasn't one that was strong enough to make up for the slower progress here.

Arcanine had an interesting idea, but being limited to when a weak attacker was Active really hurt it. The basic concepts were eventually put on a GX attack on Lucario & Melmetal-GX (only for Metal-types, though it lasted the rest of the game), and Bench protection could be provided by the soon to be released Mew in Unbroken Bonds, even from the Bench itself. Arcanine was not going to find a spot in any serious decks due to how it was built, but the basic concept was good.

[takashimakato]

I miss you

Fanfiction Based off art by (@bonithica-art )

Years had woven a heavy tapestry of loss and time since the world said goodbye to a Beatles' guitarist, an event that left an indelible mark on each member, casting shadows on their hearts. For Paul, the loss was a tempest of sorrow; John wasn't just a bandmate but a cherished friend whose absence was a void no melody could fill.

In a room saturated with memories and the echo of bygone days, Paul found himself in the company of Ringo and George, their faces etched with lines of years and experience, yet their spirits undiminished by the trials they'd weathered together.

As they sat, enveloped in a silence punctuated by the occasional sigh or distant laughter from outside, the air between them was heavy with contemplation. It had been a decade since "Let It Be" whispered its final note to the world, a period during which their lives had unfolded in directions as diverse as the songs they once created.

Yet, the bond that tethered them to each other, to the music, and to the Beatles' legacy was unbroken.

Paul, the weight of memories pressing on his shoulders, broke the silence first. "It's been a long road since 'Let It Be', hasn't it?" His voice, laden with reminiscence, filled the room, bridging the gap between past and present.

Ringo, with a reflective nod, replied, "Aye, it has. Didn't quite imagine our journey would take us here, through all this... silence without him." His gaze drifted, touching on the empty space where John's laughter once resonated, a somber acknowledgment of the void left behind.

George, leaning back, his eyes lost in thought, added, "Every chord, every melody... it's like he's still a part of it, you know? His spirit lingers in the music, in the spaces between our notes." There was a warmth in his voice, a tribute to the unbreakable connection they shared with John, even in absence.

The room, steeped in the legacy of their shared history, seemed to hold its breath, listening to the unspoken words hanging in the air. Paul sighed, a sound of resignation mixed with determination. "Do you ever think about it? About what John would say if he saw us now, thinking about... moving forward?"

Ringo's chuckle, soft and tinged with sadness, broke the solemn atmosphere. "He'd probably tell us to stop moping around, wouldn't he? Say something about how the show must go on, in his own cheeky way."

George smiled, the first genuine smile of the gathering, as he remembered their friend's indomitable spirit. "He'd want us to keep creating, keep playing... for him, for us, and for all those who found a piece of themselves in our music."

The conversation, once a meandering path through their shared sorrows, began to shift towards a future still uncertain yet filled with the possibility of homage and rebirth. "So," Paul ventured, his voice steadier now, "what if we did something? A concert, an album, something that says 'The Beatles' aren't just a memory. We're a legacy that's still alive, still bringing light to the darkness John left behind."

Ringo and George exchanged looks, the bond of years and shared dreams unspoken between them. "I think it's what he would have wanted," George finally said, his voice a gentle affirmation of their collective resolve.

Ringo, ever the pragmatist, nodded in agreement. "But we do it our way, on our terms. A tribute to John, to us, and to everyone who's ever sung along with us."

In that room, filled with the ghosts of yesterday and the whispers of tomorrow, Paul, Ringo, and George found themselves at the threshold of a new chapter.

A chapter that would honor the past while daring to step into the future, their spirits united in the music that had defined a generation and would continue to inspire those to come.

After a marathon session of reminiscences and what-ifs with Ringo and George, the clock hands aligned at midnight, compelling Paul to seek solace in the familiarity of Liverpool’s streets. The night was a canvas of shadows and streetlight glow, painting the city in hues of nostalgia and melancholy. He wandered aimlessly, each step leading him past haunts filled with echoes of laughter and melodies that he and John had once shared. The sharp sting of loss gripped him as he meandered through these memory-laden locales, each corner a reminder of a bond that was as much a part of Liverpool as the Mersey itself.

Compelled by a mix of sorrow and longing, Paul found his steps leading him to a familiar hill—a silent witness to countless hours spent in idle chatter and shared dreams under its sprawling sky. The ascent was a physical effort that mirrored the emotional climb he'd been enduring since John's passing. Reaching the summit, he collapsed onto the grass, the cityscape stretching below him—a tapestry of light and life that seemed distant from his solitary vigil. "I guess I am the fool on the hill," he whispered into the night, tears cascading freely, each drop a testament to the depth of his grief.

As the words left his lips, a familiar voice pierced the night. "I wouldn't say a fool, but you're definitely something on the hill..." John’s tone, playful and teasing, was unmistakable. The shock was palpable as Paul turned, his heart in his throat, to see John standing there, a spectral image bathed in moonlight. Their embrace was a collision of past and present, a moment so surreal yet achingly desired.

Breaking away, disbelief etched across Paul's features, he stammered, "How is this possible? You were dead..." The question hung in the air, heavy with the gravity of their reunion.

John’s response was a cheeky nod to their shared history. "What's that thing George said in that stupid cartoon movie we did?" A pause, a spark of recollection, and then together, their voices merged: "It's all in the mind." Laughter, genuine and freeing, followed, bridging the gap between reality and whatever magic had allowed this moment.

Paul, encouraged by the presence of his friend, sat down, a silent invitation for John to join him. They looked out over Liverpool, the city that had birthed their dreams, now a canvas of twinkling lights and shadowed streets. Despite the joy of the moment, a shadow of sadness tugged at Paul's heart, a whispering reminder of the impossibility of this encounter.

Surrendering to the moment, Paul wrapped an arm around John, their gaze shared across the cityscape. John leaned in, his head resting on Paul's shoulder, a gesture of comfort and camaraderie. In this suspended slice of time, Paul allowed himself the fantasy, the warmth of John's presence a balm against the sharp edges of his grief.

As the night deepened, the city below them a silent witness, two friends sat together on the hill, united by memories, music, and an unbreakable bond that not even death could sever. The fool on the hill and his spectral companion, together in silence, a poignant reminder of what was and what could never be again.

"Sorry I never told you before but.., I love you man.." Paul says, he didn't get a response that made him look over to see John gone.. he smiled before shedding a tear.

Under the vast, star-streaked sky, the moment stretched thin, a fragile bridge spanning the gap between reality and yearning. Paul's voice, barely above a whisper, carried the weight of unsaid words and unspent grief into the night. "Sorry I never told you before but.., I love you, man." The silence that followed was profound, dense with all the words that had gone unspoken over the years, filled with all the music they'd never get to create together again.

When no response came, a soft confusion brushed Paul's heart, prompting him to turn, seeking John's familiar face. But the space beside him was empty, the comforting presence vanished like mist at dawn. The realization, both sweet and sorrowful, dawned on him then; it had been a momentary reprieve, a fleeting communion with the friend he missed so deeply.

A smile, tinged with both gratitude and sadness, found its way across Paul's face as a single tear traced a path down his cheek. It was a smile born of cherished memories, of love spoken too late yet no less sincere, a smile that spoke of understanding the ephemeral nature of their hilltop reunion. The city below continued its nocturnal symphony, unaware of the tender epilogue unfolding in its midst.

As the tear fell, mingling with the grass of the hill that had borne witness to their bond, Paul felt a gentle release. The night, with its velvet embrace, seemed to acknowledge his farewell, his tribute not just to John, but to a chapter of life that had forever altered its course. He stood, the city lights a mosaic of life continuing beneath him, and took a deep breath of the cool night air. It was time to carry forward the legacy of their friendship, the music, and the love that had defined them, in his heart and in his melodies. The fool on the hill had spoken his truth, and in doing so, found a measure of peace under the watchful gaze of the stars.

[romanoffstarkovs]

BACK TO DECEMBER

pairing : nikolai lantsov x reader

summary : Y/N, a grisha raised at the little palace, forms an unbreakable bond with her childhood friend Nikolai, possibly evolving into something deeper. However, Nikolai shatters her heart when he discloses his departure for the University of Ketterdam. Years later, Y/N encounters a mysterious privateer known as Sturmhond.

A/N : hello dear reader! this is my first one shot so leave me some comments and critiques! enjoy!

⋆ ★

Y/n sat on the steps outside the little palace, her mind wandering through a labyrinth of thoughts. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. She was startled when a familiar voice interrupted her reverie.

“Well, well, well, if it isn't the daydreaming y/n," Nikolai teased as he sauntered toward her. He flashed a charming smile, his blonde hair catching the last rays of sunlight.

“Oh, look who decided to grace us with his presence," Y/n retorted, her lips curling into a playful smirk. "I was beginning to think you were too busy charming the ladies to notice your old friend."

Nikolai chuckled, taking a seat beside her. "You know you're my favorite lady, y/n. No one can compete with that."

Y/n and Nikolai were inseparable since they were children, and their bond had only grown stronger as they matured. As the conversation between the two shifted, Nikolai's playful demeanor changed, and his face turned serious.

“Y/n, there's something I need to tell you," Nikolai began, his tone carrying a hint of sadness. "I'm leaving for the University of Ketterdam."

The news hit y/n like a cold gust of wind. "Leaving? But why? When?"

Nikolai looked down, seemingly torn by his decision. "I've been accepted to study at the university, and the opportunity is too good to pass up. It's a chance to learn, to grow, and maybe even find a way to help Ravka in the future. But I'll miss you, y/n. You've been my anchor through everything."

Tears welled up in y/n’s eyes, and she turned away to hide her emotions. "You can't just leave me, Nikolai. What will I do without you?"

Nikolai reached out and gently gripped her chin toward him. "You're stronger than you think, y/n. And distance won't change our friendship. Here, I have something for you." He produced a small box from his pocket and opened it, revealing a delicate necklace with a small, shimmering gemstone.

“For me?" Y/n whispered, her heart aching with bittersweet emotions.

Nikolai nodded. "It's a way for you to carry a piece of me wherever you go. Whenever you wear this necklace, remember that I'm with you, cheering you on, no matter the distance."

He carefully fastened the necklace around her neck, his fingers brushing gently against her skin. As their eyes met, the unspoken feelings between them hung heavy in the air. Nikolai leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on y/n’s cheek, a tender farewell.

“Goodbye, y/n," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/n couldn't hold back her tears any longer, and she wrapped her arms around Nikolai, pulling him into a tight embrace. "Promise me we'll stay in touch," she managed to say through her tears.

Nikolai hugged her back just as tightly. "I promise, y/n. We'll write letters, share stories, and when I come back, we'll pick up right where we left off."

They stayed entwined for a few more moments, cherishing the time they had left together. When they finally pulled away, Nikolai wiped away a tear from y/n’s cheek and offered her a reassuring smile.

“I'll miss you, Nikolai," she whispered.

“And I'll miss you, my dear y/n. But this isn't goodbye forever; it's just the beginning of a new chapter in our lives," Nikolai said, trying to inject a sense of hope into the farewell.

With heavy hearts, they parted ways that evening, but the bond they shared remained unbroken. Y/n clutched the necklace close to her heart, finding comfort in Nikolai's words. No matter the distance, their friendship would endure, and they would always be connected, forever bound by the memories they had created together

•

In the bustling streets of Ketterdam, y/n weaved her way through the crowd, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and trepidation. She had followed whispers and rumors, chasing after the elusive privateer known as Sturmhond, hoping against hope that it was Nikolai, her childhood friend. The man with ruddy red hair, a broken nose, and muddy green eyes somehow bore a striking resemblance to the prince she had once known so well.

As she approached him, he glanced in her direction, and she felt a jolt of recognition. There was something oddly familiar in his eyes, a spark that ignited a glimmer of hope within her. Y/n couldn't help but reach for the necklace hanging around her neck, a nervous habit she had developed over the years.

He studied her, something akin to reconciliation in his eyes. “Hello there," Sturmhond said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "That's a pretty necklace you have."

Her heart pounded louder, and she felt a mix of emotions surge through her. "It's you, isn't it?" she blurted out, her voice a mix of excitement and frustration.

Sturmhond's eyes flickered with surprise, and he hesitated for a moment before answering, "What makes you say that?"

Y/n pointedly glared at him and then at the necklace. "This necklace belonged to Nikolai. He gave it to me before he left, and I'm certain you're him."

He touched the necklace gently, fingertips gently caressing the gem, his expression softening. "You're right. It is me. Nikolai Lanstov, at your service."

Anger bubbled up inside her, and she couldn't contain it any longer. She pushed him with a forceful shove, her voice trembling with emotion. "Why did you leave me? Why didn't you tell me?"

Nikolai, or Sturmhond as he now called himself, held his ground, his eyes filled with remorse. "I never left you, y/n. I've always been right here." He pointed to the necklace safely tucked around her neck.

She scoffed, wiping away a stray tear. "That's not the same, dumbass," she retorted, unable to hide the hurt in her voice.

He took a step closer, reaching out as if to touch her cheek, but she flinched away. "I'm sorry, y/n. I never meant to hurt you. Leaving was the hardest thing I ever had to do, but it was necessary. There were things I needed to learn, challenges I had to face."

“Why didn't you take me with you?" she whispered, her anger subsiding into a mix of sadness and longing.

Nikolai's eyes softened, and he looked at her with such intensity that it took her breath away. "I didn't want to burden you with my responsibilities. I wanted to make something of myself first, so I could come back and be the person you deserved."

She shook her head, tears flowing freely now. "You didn't have to do it alone. We could have faced everything together, just like we used to."

Nikolai's voice cracked as he confessed, "I was afraid, y/n. Afraid of losing you, afraid of failing you. But I can't keep pretending anymore. I love you, and I never stopped loving you."

His words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Y/n looked into his eyes, seeing the vulnerability in them, and the weight of her anger began to lift.

“I love you too," she finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nikolai stepped closer, cupping her face in his hands. "Please forgive me," he pleaded.

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "I forgive you."

With that, they closed the distance between them, embracing each other in a tight hug. It felt like coming home after a long and arduous journey. In that moment, the years of separation melted away, and they were once again the inseparable friends they had always been.

[reality-detective]

Brothers in Valor: A Modern Spartan Creed...

In realms where valor's currency is trust, We thrived, unflinching, pure, and just.

Brothers in arms, in silent pact, our armor shared, an unspoken act.

The Spartan creed, in modern guise, in each other's strengths, our faith lies.

Together, we know our solitary might, with one, two, three, or a platoon's sight.

The deadliest of warriors, silent and swift, in action seamless, our spirits uplift.

Muscle memory - a term too faint, for our synchronized dance, no restraint.

We move in harmony, silent and precise, each movement a language, needing no device.

To the right, to the left, in unison, we glide in each other, a trust that can't subside.

Our brotherhood, deeper than the known, In each step, a kinship is sown.

This warrior intimacy, a rarefied bond, earned in freedom's name, of which we're fond.

Through conflicts and battles, wherever they be, our resolve unbroken, and our spirits are free.

Beneath us, the enemy, a testament to fear, in our wake, respect, both far and near.

Sent forth by the will of the People's hand, crushing adversaries, in air, sea, and land.

If peace is your wish, then heed this call: "Shape the future, for the good of all."

For where you point, we shall not wane, through centuries past, this truth remains.

Now, a plea to you, the guardians of our fate, cleanse your streets, let justice resonate.

Your mission is clear, to uphold what's right, in political realms, mirror our fight.

Stand firm against the corrupt and unjust, win admiration, in your cause, and trust.

Be the dread of deceit, the ally of truth, embody the spirit we've held since our youth.

When you call upon us, let it be just, for the blood we spill, in you, we trust.

Our freedom's spread, in sacrifice steeped, in your hands, the future, vigilantly keep.

This is For YOU, We the People, by Whose Will We Are Deployed, we have our fight, while you have yours. 💫

🛡️ Armor Up ⚔️

[delemoreart]

The Ball You Left Behind

The Ball You Left Behind – a heartfelt illustration symbolizing love and loss of a beloved pet. A poignant reminder of the unbroken bond. Available as prints, cards, mugs, tees, and more. Keep cherished memories alive with this touching artwork.