#eventually they die and their body is thrown into the void

[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?

[unsanitarystation]

Prowl has pushed his frame to the absolute limit in his heat and yet I think he should continue to suffer :3

Someone was bound to find him eventually. He heard heavy pedesteps stop on the filthy hall, likely stopping to take it all in, before these pedesteps pickup again and make a beeline for the mech on the floor.

There's a part of him that panics, that is completely overwhelmed with shame. But there's also the part that finally hears and smells another bot after days of isolation that screams in relief. Another involuntary void and leak of lubricant are triggered as he hears the other approach.

Hes crying when they finally kneel next to him, pathetically humping the floor despite his audience.

"Please please please please please please...." He whispers over and over again. Please stay? Please leave? Please help him? Please put him out of his misery?

A warm servo gently comes to rest on his shoulder and he screams. His plating there immediately feels scorching and charge arcs between the armour and the bot's hand. His body screams for the physical touch of another. Now that a little has been offered, the rest of his frame heats up (even more) and prickles in discomfort. He needs someone to hold him. He needs the touch, the heat, to be held, swaddled, cradled-

The bot with him is soft spoken. In the cacophony that is Prowl's processor, he can't hear any of it. He's sure the guy is trying to talk to him- but he really doesn't care. With one last burst of strength, he props himself up just enough to grab and cling to the bot's arm. Optimus Prime's arm.

Oh the mortification up in finding out it was Prime of all people to find him in this pathetic state makes Prowl want to dig a hole through the centre of this accursed planet and die in there. But finding out that he now has a Prime with him makes his frame go crazy- or even more crazy than before

He doesn't even hear what Opitmus has to say to him. All he knows is that he drags himself closer to the arm and starts rutting.

His long moans are obscene as he rolls his well-lubricated array against Prime's arm. Optimus had been crouched down to check on his SIC, and now has his arm confiscated by Prowl on his knees, straddling the limb

It's stupid how quickly he overloads, the heady scent of another mech and the reciprocal static from another plating going straight to his array threw him over the edge so fast. He screamed and tightened his grip on Prime's arm so hard that he was sure to leave dents. The gush of piss comes as well, uncontrollably, soaking through the plating and wired and soft sillicone joints of the leader's arm.

There's but a few seconds of bliss where Prowl feels relaxed. There's just a few seconds where his processor stops screaming at him to find a mate and mark a mate and stuff yourself full of your mate-

He lays in his mess for those few seconds, quietly.

It gives Optimus just enough time to pick him up, cradling him, and saying that he's bringing Prowl to the medibay

Oh yea and the calm is completely gone. He's been whisked up by the perfect mate, held close to his hot chest- Prowl whines and presses his face into Prime's windshield. He takes in a big sniff and shudders at the others heady scent.

This is the Prime. He's strong. Responsible. Handsome. Prowl NEEDS him as his mate

He paws and claws at Optimus as he's being carried. He tries to roll his hips but he's not quite in the right position to actually grind against anything, drawing more sad whimpers from his vocaliser.

But the one thing he can, and will, do is void. Despite leaking and spraying all morning, his waste tank once again pings him in pain. And, this time, he just lets go. There is no restraint as releases his fluid waste from his overfilled tanks with a loud and satisfied moan from Prowl. Piss goes shooting and spurting all over. Especially all of the Prime who has him in his strong arms

The act turns Prowl on so much that he simply rolls his hips a few more times before he gets thrown into overload again. He's marked the Prime. That huge strong hulking bot was His. And he wants to keep doing it.

There's a small sense of satisfaction this time as he comes down from his high. His his his his his his his. He pushes his nasal ridge against Optimus' plating and groans as his olfactory sensors are filled with the smell of him.

All the while, Prime is still somehow walking. Despite the worrying noises from Prowl, the growls and whines and whimpers and sobs, he keeps going. He needs to being his old friend to the medbay now

The walk is not long, but by they time Ratchet's medibay doors swoosh open, behind it is an exhausted looking Prime, carrying a Prowl who has his doorwings fanned all the way out and shaking, and not to mention Prime is absolutely covered in piss and slick and cum.

Prowl's senses get distracted by another presence in the room. Finally. Another potential mate- But also he wants his Prime to mate with him, why is that so haaaaard

Prowl whimpers and tries to roll his swollen array again, but is once again ignored by Prime. Optical solvent continues to streak down his cheeks as he looks pleadingly at his leader

Oh Ratchet is going to kill him for letting it get this bad tho. One thing for sure is he's going to be sooooo underfuelled and dehydrated

OOoh this is driving me crazay... Prowl is so desperate that he doesn't care if he's humiliating himself in front of Optimus. Honestly, any shame he had left him the moment the mech came close and touched him. His waste tank sprayed so hard that for once it almost felt like relief and Prowl was gone. He needed more.

Poor Optimus, though... we always drag him in to take care of Prowl when he's being pathetic, don't we. He just wants to take the poor bot into the med-bay so he can be fueled and taken care of, he did not sign up to be humped and pissed all over. But he knows that Prowl can't help it.

You know Prowl was horrible at taking care of himself during his heat. He probably stopped fueling as frequently in the hopes that it'll make him void less, but his frame didn't care... perhaps that's why he was so dizzy all the time, what little fuel that was supposed to go to his processor was getting poured into his waste tanks because his frame insisted on making more fluids to mark someone with. In the med-bay, Prowl whines and humps the air as he's held down so that Ratchet can plug him into an energon pump and put some light back into Prowl's dim bio lights. When Optimus tries to step back and leave, he just grabs him tighter and starts pissing some more, trying to make sure his scent remains on his plating... Optimus sighs and decides to stay, if it's what Prowl needs.

There's probably not a lot that can be done about Prowl's heat now that it's in full swing. All Ratchet can do is keep him monitored and well fueled, maybe provide a toy for relief... Or perhaps Optimus decides to take Prowl up on his constant begging and spikes his plush, leaky valve <3

[glitterandmoondustofficial]

And Onto Further Stillness

Chapter 28

Notes:

Characters: Gale, Yrelia, Tara Rating: Teen Warnings: implied sex, some PTSD Notes: Part of this fic was one of the first times I wrote for Gale. I added more to it, expanded upon it, and cleaned it up since then. :3

Gale sat on the ground in his dark bedroom. The room was in complete disarray; books left open, parchment spread on the floor, his sturdy desk was cluttered and messy, with large ink stains that he had stopped caring about. There hadn’t been a fire in his hearth all season and his lamps hadn’t been lit once. His furniture was covered in strewn about books and scrolls, even his antique chaise was a victim. His nightstand had a potion to help with his pain but he knew it was useless. 

He sat on the floor, gripping his chest, breathing heavily, his blanket falling off his body. The orb thrummed, deep pain spreading throughout his chest. Sweat made his skin moist. He hadn’t taken proper care of his beard or hair in weeks. 

“Mister Dekarios,” Tara flew in from the covered window, brushing by the closed dark velvet curtains. In her mouth she held a ring with a green jewel center. She flew to him and stood in front of him. “I have found something for you.” Her whiskers twitched as she placed the ring in his shaky outstretched hand. 

He winced and took in a sharp breath as he absorbed the Weave, destroying the object. He breathed heavily for a moment, sweat rolling down his face. His hands shook, indescribable pain ripped through his body. He breathed when it was over, his body no longer shaking, no longer in searing pain, and no longer holding onto tension. 

“Thank you,” he croaked, both from recovering from the pain and from the deep heartache sinking into his soul. He longed for Mystra’s embrace, to have her Weave caress his soul, to hear that she cared for him once more. Tara frowned the only way a tressym could and walked into his lap. 

“Don’t worry, Mister Dekarios, if anyone can get through this, you can.”

Gale smoothed out her fur, not bothering to argue with her. He didn’t want to. He knew this would eventually kill him, no matter how hard they tried to research his way out of it. He would find somewhere to die, away from Tara and his family, so that he could no longer be such a burden to them. 

Suddenly the curtains opened and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to block out the light. He blinked open his eyes and looked around his room. He breathed.

It was incredibly tidy. Everything was in its proper place and void of dust and cobwebs. A warm, welcoming fire burned in the hearth, the scent of wood smoke was so comforting. His desk had been completely restored. It had been sanded and re-stained so that no more ink from a pot or quill remained on it. No books were thrown about with creased, worn, or torn pages, his bookshelves were full and organized. There was no parchment or scrolls scattered on the floor. There were trinkets around the room on display, some that were heavy with the Weave, shining brightly as if they had just been polished. 

Tara stretched and yawned the way tressyms did. Gale breathed for a moment, trying to gather himself. He was in his home? Yes, it seemed so! This was his room and his bed! Although, he didn’t recognize the emerald green down comforter that had a throw blanket with embroidered gold birds on top of it at first. 

He rubbed his face, his beard was neat and well taken care of. His skin was soft, as if he had finally given in to his sister’s demands and taken her advice. His hair was tickling his cheeks. It was longer, he could feel it on his shoulders. It didn’t feel heavy, it was light from being washed the night before. He looked at his hands, barely recognizing them. They had some callus on them now. Familiar paper cuts and an old burn were on his fingers. There was a large scar in the palm of his right hand. It reminded him of someone gently wrapping his hand with a bandage. The image of her soft smile, that had been burned into his brain, as she lectured him on being more careful. She didn’t want to lose her precious companion, afterall. 

His heart thumped as he thought of her smile and he waited for the inevitable pang of the orb. He started to grip at his chest, some futile manner of stopping the pain, but the pain never came. He pressed his fingers into his skin and let out a breath. The orb was gone. That’s right, the orb was gone. 

“Good morning,” he heard a voice sing out. He looked over to the window and relaxed instantly as he stared at the woman who had softly lectured him about being more careful.

“Miss Rosewood,” Tara yawned. “I hope you have a good reason for interrupting my cat nap.”

Yrelia laughed. She stood at the balcony windows, only wearing one of Gale’s shirts. Her long black hair hung loosely down her back and past her hips. She smiled (gods, her smile) at the two of them. Her eyes were full of affection and warmth. “Forgive me, Tara, but it’s already 9:00, and Gale gave me clear instructions to never let him sleep later than right about now,” she said with a grin and opened their curtains further. 

Gale scanned the room again. His chaise looked brand new, as if it had never been neglected. It had a blue wool blanket that seemed perfect for cuddling under. There were scented candles in artistic, colored jars spread across the room. Mosaic lamps were on his nightstand, his desk, his dresser, and hanging throughout the room. Yrelia’s bow hung over the fireplace, symbolizing her decision to make this her home. Some books and a small jewelry box were on her nightstand. Along with a lamp, a stuffed sheep plush, and a small figure of Sune. Deerskin and sheepskin rugs laid on the restored hardwood floor. This was home. This was comfort and joy. This was…

He watched Tara fly over to Yrelia. “I suppose that’s acceptable. You do know how to keep him punctual,” Tara confirmed. “But I do hope that my breakfast is already waiting for me, now that you have decided to wake us.”

Yrelia grinned. “It is,” she said. “It’s on the shelf in the window, as requested.”

“Wonderful,” Tara flew over to where she ate. “I think I’m beginning to think you’re good enough for us, Miss Rosewood.”

Yrelia rolled her eyes playfully. She walked over to Gale and sat next to him on his side of the bed. She brushed his hair away from his face and looked at him so tenderly. She leaned in and kissed him softly. He closed his eyes and breathed her in. “You look lost,” she murmured after she pulled away. 

He reached up and caressed her cheek. He leaned in and kissed her. She tasted like spearmint and her scent was her sweet honeysuckle shampoo. He let out a breath and rested his forehead on hers. “It was…a bad dream,” he breathed. Bad memory. 

She let out a soft and warm chuckle. “Well, then I don’t feel so bad about waking you from such a deep sleep.” She kissed him again. It was a sweet kiss, a good morning kiss, a “hello, sweetness, I love you and I’m happy you’re here” kiss. She loved him.  

A breathy chuckle came from his throat when they pulled away. His brows rose and knit together as he smiled. He gazed at his beloved tenderly; her soft smile, her sweet blue eyes, the many freckles on her face. She brought her fingers to his face, gently pressing them to his jaw and lips. 

“I love you,” she declared and then leaned up to kiss his forehead. 

He rubbed her elbows with his thumbs and breathed her in. “I love you, too,” he said with a smile, feeling like he meant it more and more with every day that passed. 

She grinned, a wonderfully joyous light in her eyes. “Come, my love,” she said and took his hands in hers. He brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them, not breaking eye contact. “Let’s get dressed and make breakfast. We have a busy day ahead of us.” She started to stand up but he pulled her onto him. She laughed when he kissed her. He wrapped his arms around her, his hands caressing her back. “Gale,” she laughed as he kissed her chin, neck, and throat over and over. “Gale, we need to get ready!”

She shrieked with laughter as he laid her down on her back. He kissed her face and neck and arms and hands, loving her laugh. He heard Tara sigh and grumble about waiting for her to leave the room. She flew out of the room with a huff. 

Gale took the opportunity to kiss Yrelia deeply, her laughter quieted as she returned his kiss enthusiastically. Her fingers ran through his hair and tugged gently. She pressed her body into his, hooking one of her legs around his. “I love you,” he breathed on her lips. “I love you, I love you.”

She giggled. “I love you, too.” She nipped at his bottom lip and he stopped thinking about anything other than their naked bodies tangled together and her satisfied sighs. 

Gale hummed as he pulled on a simple shirt that was worn under his robes. It reminded him of the one he wore on the road, when there was no time or money for fine vestments. Especially when there would be blood and/or mud on the clothing at some point. 

He wrapped the shirt around his torso and began to tie it on his side. He yawned, still quite tired. He would, no doubt, be teased by his beloved about staying up too late again. She just didn’t understand! He had to! The new book on the intricacies of necromancy was a hot topic at the Academy and he needed to know the book cover to cover!

He yawned again and didn’t notice footsteps that approached. He began to summon a Mage Hand to tie the strings on his wrists but stopped when the footsteps drew closer. 

“Here, let me,” Yrelia’s soft voice said. He breathed in her words and immediately relaxed. She reached to him and started to tie the strings so casually. As if it was so obvious, so normal, that she didn’t understand the impact this small moment was. He remembered his time in his tower before he met her. When it was just him and Tara. When the call of Mystra sounded nightly. 

When he only had Mage Hand to help him tie his clothes. 

Yrelia tied the strings on his other hand in silence but with a soft smile on her face. She grinned at him when she was done. She brushed off his shoulders and then took his face in her hands. She brought him in for a kiss. It was a big, loud, and chaste kiss. The kind where you knew that the kisser really loved the kissee. “What are you thinking about?” Yrelia asked with that wide smile. 

Gale placed his hands on her hips and squeezed. “I’m thinking that I’m in love with you,” he said, “and that I’m happy that you’re here, with me.” He kissed her freckled nose. “I’m also thinking that you are adorable and,” he took her hand and spun her around, causing her to giggle, “that you are ever so tempting.”

“You’ll need to resist temptation this time, my beloved.” He hummed. “We already missed breakfast, since you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.” 

He grinned at her. “Well, my darling, can you blame me? Do you truly think I could resist you wearing my shirt, as if you were born to wear it?” Yrelia laughed. “I don’t think you understand what power you have over me. You could make me do whatever you wish and I wouldn’t protest.”

She laughed again. She released his hand and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, don’t be silly. I know how stubborn you can be.”

“That’s quite rich, coming from you.” Yrelia snorted in response. He pulled her into a tight embrace and his heart felt so warm as he did. It wasn’t a desperate embrace, and it wasn’t one where he was begging her to stay. It was an “I love you” embrace. It was a “I’m happy that you’re happy” embrace. It was a “we’re home” embrace. It was warm, it was kind, it was everything he had long forgotten he needed. 

Yrelia’s fingers ran through his hair and her breath was in his ear. Her warm skin touched that arrow earring. Oh, he loved her. How could he have gone so long without her? He pulled away and they smiled at each other. He felt young as he gazed upon her soft face. He felt invigorated, with enthusiasm for life, enthusiasm for growing alongside the woman he dedicated his everything to. 

“Now,” Yrelia started with that smile, “you better finish getting dressed, my love. We have appointments to keep.”

“My lady, it’s hard to want to get dressed when you’re only wearing your under garments.” She grinned at him and he pulled away from her. “How could I not want to gaze upon your chest?! Look at them!”

Yrelia let out a loud snort. “Feeling youthful, are we? I’d expect that out of a university student, not a professor.”

“No one is too old for breasts, Lia.”

She snorted again. 

Gale had finished dressing himself in his robe (a rather becoming robe for an archmage, thank you very much) as Yrelia was dabbing makeup on her neck. He walked up to her and kissed the back of her head. “Darling, I’m offended.”

“Oh, hush, you,” she said and rubbed the makeup on the marks he left on her skin. 

“Why must you hide them? They’re quite attractive.”

She sighed dramatically. “Because, Mister Of Waterdeep, we are going to lunch with your mother.” He wrapped his arms around her middle and squeezed her. “And we also are checking out the venue for our wedding, talking to the caterers, the florist, and the baker.” He smiled at her in the vanity mirror. “Don’t look at me like that, that’s how this happened.” She gestured to her neck. 

“As the future Missus Of Waterdeep desires. You will only see me with a frown from now on.”

She laughed. She turned in his arms. “I love you.” She adjusted his robes so they were sitting perfectly on his chest. The ties were even, the shoulders were square, and the buttons shined as if just polished (they were). “And you are looking rather dashing in these robes of yours, my love.” 

He grinned at her, his glasses raising slightly as he did. “My lady, it’s kind of you to humor this old wizard.”

She smiled. “I’m not humoring you. I do happen to think you are the most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes upon!” She twirled his gold eyeglass chain. “Can’t say I’m not a bit smug. I get to keep you all to myself.”

“I think I know what you mean.” He nuzzled her nose. “Then again…”

Yrelia snorted. “Gale, it’s been months since that happened and he apologized!” Gale huffed and Yrelia grinned. “You’re very cute.”

“Don’t tell me that I’m cute when I am incredibly insulted and my pride has been harmed.”

“You’re adorable.”

“Ah, my love,” Gale grinned at Yrelia as she brushed aside the opening of his tent. Their tent. He held a bottle of wine in his hands, something nice he had managed to find, that he was enthusiastic to share with her. It was dark outside, the sun had nearly dipped below the horizon. A small ball of light shone in his tent, illuminating her wonderful face. 

“Beloved,” she said with a small smile. 

Gale’s heart skipped a beat as she smiled at him and excitement grew in his belly. “I have procured wine and two glasses, for us and our nightly kisses.” He said, probably too quickly, as he was just so damn happy that she was his. Her eyes softened and she stepped further into the tent. “And I can give those tense and overworked shoulders a classic and well renowned Dekarios massage,” he said with a wide grin, “and while I provide you with a relaxing massage and a glass of delicious wine, I did want to let you know that I did finish that book you had found and gifted to me and, I must admit, I’m itching to regale it to you.”

Gale, after he had come to terms that he was alive, had defied his goddess, and realized he wanted to live and live with Yrelia, was indescribably happy. He had been…oh, he’ll just come out and say it, smug. So very smug that Yrelia chose him to spend her nights with, to kiss, to make love to. It was an incredibly exhilarating experience, and it was a tad prideful. She chose him! Him! She could have chosen anyone else but she chose a middle aged wizard who wasn’t nearly as impressive as he once was. 

He, admittedly, also had a new purpose. That ever tempting crown could do so much for the both of them. It could be their salvation. He and his beloved could never be hurt again, if it could do what Gale hoped it could. He could protect her, he could give her the stars. The actual stars, not just an illusion. He could truly prove to her that she hadn’t made a mistake by choosing him. That she made the right decision because he could be everything and anything she ever wanted. 

But for now, he would drink a private glass of wine and kiss the woman he loved more than anyone else. 

“Well, that’s very sweet of you,” she said softly, her voice a bit distant. He noticed the distance immediately. Something was off with her. He opened his mouth to question her nervous demeanor but she spoke up again. “But before that, can we talk?”

Gale swallowed, his heart squeezing and his stomach dropping. Talk? About what? Well, he loved to talk. He could talk to her about anything! And he knew she enjoyed listening to him in silence, but this seemed far more…serious. 

Was she going to end this? This wonderful, beautiful relationship that was keeping him afloat. Of course she would find him less than what she deserves. He was. He had only hoped she found him charming enough that she would continue giving him the chance he so desperately wanted. He just wanted to prove to her that he wouldn’t disappoint her. 

He cleared his throat. “I see.” His grip on the wine bottle tightened. “Whatever it is you need to say, I will gladly listen. You can always speak to me about anything, Yrelia.”

She blinked. Her brows furrowed for a brief moment before relaxing. “Well, um, it’s a…little embarrassing, if I’m being honest.” Embarrassing? What could be so embarrassing that she was hesitant to tell him? “I love you,” she started again, “and I want to be with you, I hope you understand that.” 

“I…was that what you wished to say?” That sinking feeling started to slowly relax. “Is that what…is embarrassing?”

She groaned. “No, not at all. Nothing about you or our relationship is embarrassing.” She sighed. She walked up to him and took his free hand. Her lips twitched before sighing again. “Halsin…confessed to me.”

“Confessed what?” 

Her brows shot up before an amused smile grew on her lips. “You’re so cute,” Yrelia said fondly. “He told me he had feelings for me.” His eyes widened and he dropped the bottle of wine on his foot. He jumped and hissed a curse. Yrelia took a step back as he pathetically floundered. “Oh, gods, are you alright?” 

“Not particularly,” he groaned, although he wasn’t sure what was more damaging, her words or the wine bottle. 

“Gale…are…” she stopped herself and he watched a very concerned expression grow on her face. He unclenched his jaw, ignoring the dissipating pain in his foot, and then sighed. He wasn’t exactly sure what to say, which was a very rare thing. “I know this can’t be easy to hear,” she started again, “but it’s nothing to worry about.” He didn’t respond and he wasn’t sure how he felt. Was he angry? Shocked? Jealous? A combination of the above? “Your silence is quite deafening. Are you going to be alright?”

“That’s not exactly what I would call this rather upsetting situation,” he said with a bitter laugh, the dread of thinking his love was ending things was replaced with annoyance and jealousy. His insecurities were still stuck in his throat. 

Halsin was incredibly attractive and far more experienced than Gale. He knew that the druid would treat Gale’s precious partner in every way she deserved. Definitely better than some aging wizard who was hardly as powerful as he once was. An archdriud versus a former archmage with a bomb in his chest? There was absolutely no competition. 

“I gently told him that I’m not interested,” she said with a nervous smile. As if she knew exactly what was going through his head at light speed. She reached up and brushed his hair away from his forehead. “I love you, I don’t want anyone else.” He let out a breath. “I just wanted you to know about it. I didn’t want to hide this from you.” He clenched his jaw again. “I hope this won’t…cause strain.”

“It’s hardly the first time one of our companions were interested in the beauty that is you,” he said, trying to sound calm, but the bitterness in his mouth was worse than any pill that he ever had to swallow. 

Yrelia sighed. He hated that sigh. It seemed that she was as much interested in his bitterness as he was. He opened his mouth to apologize. He hadn’t meant to seem too jealous, too bitter, or too short, but he couldn’t help it. Years of hoping he was the only one on Mystra’s mind, and knowing he wasn’t…

Instead of him making some form of pathetic apology, she spoke up first. “I understand how you must be feeling,” she reasoned, “but you have nothing to worry about.”

“Forgive me,” he said after he cleared his throat, “my embarrassingly immature envy shouldn’t make itself known.”

“Gale, it doesn’t bother me that you’re jealous, it’s a normal emotion.” She brushed the bottle of wine aside with her foot. She stepped up to him so that their bodies were against each other, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you,” she said for the third time during this conversation and the sixth time that day. “But let’s not let it affect the way we treat each other, yes?”

He sighed. “Yes.” He kissed her forehead. “I will do whatever it is you ask.” He sighed again. “Thank you, Lia, for taking my feelings into consideration.”

Yrelia smiled. “Gale, you’re my partner and I love you. Your feelings are at the top of my list of things I care about.” She kissed his chin. 

“Thank you,” he murmured again. “I hope that what I have to offer you is as…satisfying…as that entanglement would have been.”

“My love, you are far more than satisfying,” she laughed, “or have I not convinced you of that?” He opened his mouth but she cut in again. “Ah, perhaps you need more convincing? Well, I have just the thing that will do the trick.”

“Lia…” he smiled when she kissed him, his troubles disappearing as she so sweetly kissed them away. 

“Well, it’s all in the past,” she said with a grin. Gale huffed at her, although at this point he was just teasing her. She hummed. “Oh, I think I have just the thing for your jealousy.” He raised his brow at her and then started to laugh when she kissed him all over his face. She kissed every inch of his face, making him laugh so hard that he was breathless. She planted a very large and loud kiss on his lips. “Quit being silly.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her in closer. He brought his fingers to her chin and tilted her head up. He leaned in and kissed her. She smiled against his lips, her fingers pressing into his chest. He could just feel her relax against his body. Simply giving herself over to him. He was sure he could even convince her back into bed for a late round two if he desired. 

She pulled away and a very amused smile grew on her lips. “You’ll need to wash your face.”

“Hm? Why?” He looked behind her to the mirror and saw pink lipstick stains on his face. “I don’t know, I rather like them,” he said with a cheeky grin. “Particularly like the one on my lips. Quite the smudge, if I do say so myself.”

“Once again, I don’t think your mother would appreciate them.”

“She’ll survive.” Yrelia stared at him, both amused and expectant. Gale sighed dramatically. “Fine. I will wash away what is rightfully mine.”

“Thank you.”

Gale washed his face and cleaned his glasses. He smiled at Yrelia as she carefully repainted her lips with the soft pink lipstick Lillian had gifted her. He sighed out, thinking of when that exact spot was multiple stacks of books, discarded and trashed. A completely melted candle that hadn’t been replaced. A dark corner of his room, with no love or warmth in it. 

Yrelia blinked and turned to him. She smiled brightly at him. “Are you ready?”

“I believe so.”

She walked up to him. “Good. Now let’s go before I have a nervous breakdown because we’re late.”

“By that,” he lifted his hand and she gave him a wry smile. “Do you mean your classic “late to being early” attitude?” 

She grabbed his finger out of the air. “Don’t be rude.” She kissed his finger. “Let’s go.” She squeezed his hand and started to lead him out of their bedroom. He followed her, letting the sun shine through the windows and lighting the room in a way he never thought possible.

[stardustedseas]

rafayel idea that's been bouncing around my head since this morning, tried to make this as gn as possible but i apologize if it comes off as more afab :'3 and since this is just me throwing ideas into the void, its a little chaotic and all over the place, i started adderall and am just getting back into writing after Years so im a little rusty, just used to yapping to my friends in text. i hope that if anyone reads this they enjoy!

-longish 18+ nsfw under cut-

imagine it's a while after you become his body guard, you have a routine that you're used to and your body can just work on autopilot, and while that's all fine and dandy, very helpful even, it can really fuck you up if your schedule is disrupted... imagine for whatever reason a day that you would normally meet up with him at his place is canceled ahead of time. eventually, you just kinda forget about the change, not looking at your schedule very in depth because you don't think there's anything different.

when you wake up on your own without your alarm, you obvi think you have a little bit longer to sleep but panic when you see its past when you should have been up and getting ready to head to rafs, thank god your bodys internal clock still works! you ofc rush to his place as fast as you can, not even thinking to check your callander or text him yet, and pray that you get there before he starts his theatrics that you forgot about him and hate him and are gonna leave him to die and 800 years has passed and oh look jelly fish are walking around and

when you get there youre a little thrown off at how quiet it is, raf isnt in his studio like normal or in the kitchen hunting for some food, you dont hear the sound of his tub either, is he still sleeping as well? if it werent for the fact you need to make him do something, maybe theres a meeting or a painting that needs finished asap, you would have left him alone and taken the chance to just relax. you love him so much yes but lord can he be a little much, especially in the mornings

after some calling his name and looking around, you come to his bedroom, not even bothering to knock and just fling the door open, getting ready to shout his name again and wake his lazy ass up but are quickly caught off guard at what you find- rafayel, all spread out in his bed, naked as the day he was born and desperately stroking his dick while holding the sweater you forgot there the day earlier to his nose, deeply breathing in your scent

idk about yall but if i saw that instead of him sleeping id probs just evaporate right there

hhdggeggrhrhr i know he would look absolutely ethereal all layed out on his bed like that, surrounded by the soft sheets and blankets, body actually shining like a gem from the early morning sunlight coming through his windows and hitting the slight sheen of sweat on him, a faint flush all over his cheeks and chest, his hair a mess from sleep and moving around, face all contorted in pleasure <3 whew

AND HE WOULD SOUND SO PRETTY i mean have you HEARD the sounds he makes in game... him full on moaning is probs better than angels singing i stg and i just know he would have the prettiest cock i just know it

hhhh his hips bucking up into his hand and his abs tensing, the most beautiful sounds youve ever heard are pouring out of his mouth instead of his normal yapping(i just know he moans and whines) the noise slightly muffled by the fabric over his face... but then he moans your name?? bye im on my knees

LMAO he would make the funniest yelp/scream when he sees you, both of you obviously embarrassed and caught off guard by the situation. hed probs frantically try to cover up, yelling and call you a pervert as if he wasnt just jacking off while huffing your shirt

OR if you are also a degenerate like me and believe raf has a scent kink (we've all seen The Card right) he could be using your panties you forgot there after changing clothes the day before, whimpering and whining at your scent, unable to get enough while his pretty eyes roll back... god i need to see that man all pathetic and debauched

this can go one of two ways imo- either you leave and try to pretend it didnt happen before the tension eventually bubbles over and yall confess your feelings later on, orrrrr you can offer to help him, he did look like he could use a hand after all :(

if you chose to stay and offer yourself to him, he might think youre teasing him and get huffy at first, but quickly calm down and let his favorite bodyguard help <3

gooodddd not to be feral but i need that clown fishes dick in me NOW

i personally don't think he would have had many s/os or one night stands, he did wait for you for 800 years after all, but he probs at least somewhat knows what he's doing. id like to think that means he's also very sensitive tho, even in game our touches make him all flustered, so he may not last long the first couple times you two are together, especially if he was already touching himself beforehand. he just can't help it :( his beautiful bride/groom/partner- his soulmate- is finally back with him and touching him so sweetly, ofc hes gonna cum soon so dont laugh or tease! you probably would too, mx. bodyguard!!!

this is more a general hc but hes a switch for sure, hes a bratty dude, not even in just a sexual way, so hes gonna be a little shit no matter if youre on top or he is (hes a brat bottom and still bratty service top to me okay) ive noticed a lot of ppl seem to like,,,, almost infantalize him? like make him not know anything about sex, never serious? and need babying. like, while yeah hes a silly, dramatic babygirl of a man, he is also very old and has his serious moments when he wants/needs to. i cant not see him being goofy during sex but to him, this is also a very intimate and intense thing, he loves you so so much and he needs you to know that, to show you it

that out of the way, back to the fantasy. could you imagine how he would look at you as you come into his room, slowly taking off your coat and equipment, kneeling on the bed to crawl fowards and stradle his hips... hes t h r o b b i n g

god the first kiss with him would be so <3 the need and love and lust and longing and affection and so many other emotions just all pouring into your lips on his, hed sit up to kiss you better, holding you close, not wanting to let you go now that he finally has you again. you guys know that scene where you smooch and theres a string of saliva between you? yeah <3 i need to feel his dick twitch under me so bad while we kiss, yall

he would absolutely complain that its unfair hes naked but youre still mostly clothed, 'subtly' begging for you to take them off or let him do it. he thinks you're the most breathtaking thing hes ever seen, better than any other person, scenery or art ever made, he could stare at you for hours if you let him.

to me, none of the LaDS boys would care much about looks and beauty standards, not even your gender. i know the ppl who made the game are homophobic and its obviously very woman centered,but these guys would not take gender/sex into consideration when it comes to a partner. it doesn't matter how skinny or fat you are either, how tall or hairy, how many scars or stretch marks or moles you have, you will always be beautiful/handsome to them, your body is attractive and who you are as a person makes you even more appealing

sorry got a little sappy there lmfao where was i

right, after he gets you naked as well, he would want to worship you. yeah, you offered to help HIM but raf is a man of art, he cant just have the masterpiece that is you on his lap and not want to touch and admire. if you want to just pleasure him first, he would argue but eventually let you do whatever, his body is yours just as much as yours is his after all

please, slowly touch all of his body, make him relax back and just,,, touch him. his skin is mostly perfect (lucky bastard) but he does have some light hair and a few moles and scars (like the one on his chest <3) pls kiss them, praise him and tell him how attractive he is. he knows hes a very good looking guy, but ik he is a sucker for praise and would love to hear you say it. tell him how much you care for him, how even if you havnt known him long (that you remember), your heart still belongs to him. he could cum just from hearing it combined with your soft touches

god i wanna kiss all over his body so bad, touch him, feel how soft his skin is and trace his lean muscles, nip at the few pudgier spots on him, and just absolutely worship him like the sea god he is. hes sensitive all over but ik his chest is especially receptive to you. i just KNOW he wouldnt be able to stop himself from whining when you touch his nipples, run your thumbs over them, gently pinch them between your fingers, leave kisses and lave your tongue all over and suck at the tender flesh and he will be moaning and twitching under you in no time, demanding begging for more

i wanna leave hickeys all over his body too, his soft skin would look gorgeous painted with the bruises. he would say something like right now you are the true artist and his body is your canvas,so do whatever you want, make him your masterpiece. i think his fave spots to get hickies would be where he can clearly see them, he would get a little flustered if others could spot them too but he would also like how they all know hes taken. cough healsothinkshelookshotashellwiththemandhesright cough, he loves when you leave them on his neck and chest, put one right over his heart and hes about to swoon stg, i also think he would have sensitive inner thighs so he also enjoys when you put some there.

the first time you touch his cock he about nuts on the spot, white knuckling the sheets. it won't take much for him to finish, but i think he would have a quick refractory period and the urge to go multiple rounds, horny ass, so its okay. i hc him as being longer than he is thick, nothing crazy but def enough to reach all your deepest spots and choke you when hes in your mouth. god i just know he has the prettiest dick, its pale at the base like the rest of his skin but gets pinker near the tip, uncut, a slight curve and has a couple of faint veins that make him gasp when you touch them. the more turned on he is/the closer to cumming, the deeper shade his tip gets, very leaky too imo. i dont think he would have a lot of hair down there, for one the rest of his body doesnt but also hes a merman, underwater creatures dont tend to have a lot of hair, and even if he did he would absolutely keep it well trimmed,not completely shaven but short and neat. yes the carpet matches the drapes

okay sorry i keep getting side tracked i cannot shut up about him

after you have your fill with the rest of his body and reach the main course, pls gently kiss his tip first and he will die happy. since its your first time together, you start off slow and easy, just lightly stroking him while kissing and licking all over his shaft and suck on his tip. hes def already close and his sounds are clear indicators, as well as his hand gently petting your hair. he would tell you what he likes/doesnt like, if he wants you to keep doing something ect but otherwise he just lets you do whatever you want. please dont get mad if he bucks his hips up and accidently chokes you tho, he doesnt mean to but you just feel so good </3

like i said, he probs wont last long, he might try to pull you off, embarrassed hes close already but if you insist it's okay, its actually flattering, he will let you continue and tell you when hes about to cum incase you dont want it in your mouth. if you let him finish in your mouth and swallow, though? lord have mercy he just ascended. i dont think he would taste bad at all, he has a good diet and exercise so its not unpleasant. if you lick any remaining cum off his dick or your lips/hand, he may need cpr tho so be warned

that being said, theres a good chance he will just cum unexpectedly without being able to warn you, especially if you deep throat him, youre so hot and wet around him that he cant help it, he really does love how warm you are. when he orgasms, he def is louder and will chant your name, gripping onto any part of you he can whether its your hair, shoulders or hand, he just needs to be touching you. be careful that he doesnt gag you btw, he sometimes loses control of his body and fucks up into your mouth, he will apologize and make sure youre okay afterwards tho

please hold him while he comes down, pet his hair and praise him, he will be ready for round two soon. speaking of, he will want to make you feel good so bad too, if you dont want to go all the way just yet, he would gladly just give you oral as well. i just know he would be so good with his mouth and fingers, he is an artists and never shuts up after all, plus he learns quick. he will roll you over so hes on top after he catches his breath, necklace brushing your chest as he kisses you again, enjoying the taste of his cum and your unique flavor. if you let him, he will absolutely return the favor ten fold, his lips and hands will touch every centimeter of your body, the sweetest things youve ever heard murmured agaisnt your skin.

it also doesnt matter how big your chest is, he absolutely has his mouth all over it and is groping anything he can. i like to think he would have a slight oral fixation when it comes to sex and could spend hours just sucking your nipples until theyre too sore to continue. he says it helps him relax lmao (he may have a mommy kink but thats for later speculation)

hes gonna love to bite at and knead any and all rolls/curves you have. he just loves how soft and squishy you feel under him (you become his own personal stress toy later on btw you are now a stress ball) hes addicted to touching you already. if you are insecure about anything, he will absolutely shower it in even more love, waxing poetically about how beautiful you are so dont say stupid things about yourself

if you dont have much body fat and are more muscly/boney, he will love to trace them just the same, being able to feel so much of your body, even the parts inside of you, makes him feel some kind of way.

god help you both when he reaches your groin, he will become addicted to your taste and smell so fast. he will probs start off trying to tease you by just kissing around where you need him most, sucking little hickies here and there and lightly brushing your sex but he is also impatient and quickly moves on from that lmao once he gets his mouth on you its all over, i feel like he would be the type to hump the bed and moan as if hes getting the pleasure while giving you oral too, your sounds, taste, smell, touch, all combine to turn him on again. please tug his hair lightly, i dont think he likes a lot of pain but if you grip a little he will happen to moan louder against you. also PLEASE use him for your pleasure, press him closer and grind into his face all you want, he can take it, cover his face in your wetness or fuck his mouth, he is in heaven rn

his tongue and fingers should be illegal ngl they are dangerous weapons, he will have you cumming in no time at all. even if you didnt give him oral he would still want to do it to you, he loves seeing you feel good so much, he will probs need to paint after you make love because he feels so inspired.

he will absolutely turn from teasing to begging, pleading you to cum in his mouth, he needs to taste it so bad. if you have amab anatomy he wouldnt want you finishing on his face, only in his mouth simply because he feels like it would be a waste and be better off in his belly <3 he also just doesnt like the mess, butttt he can be persuaded, if you really want to or you say something like you wanna paint his face with streaks of white like the prettiest picture he will fold in two seconds flat.

if youre afab he will love it if you squirt, if you cant or just dont this first time he wont be upset, but if you do? he is trying to catch as much in his mouth as he can and milks you for all youve got, you will have to pull his fingers away and make him stop before he accidentally overstimulates you lmao

fuck he would look so hot after too, his face all covered in your cum and his spit, eyes hazey from arousal and love, panting slightly and his hair all over the place from where your hands were in it. pls help him clean up, if you wipe his face and push his hair back from his eyes he will melt, leaning into your touch and kissing your hand, ironically, hes like a big cat, especially after sex.

if you want to go all the way and do penetrative sex he will be so down and already has the lube and condoms ready, but if you arent ready or are okay with just that one round he is happy too, content with just snuggling you in bed. dont expect to leave anytime soon tho, he is a leech and WONT let you go, convincing him to let you use the bathroom is an actual battle. he is the clingiest, cuddliest mf ever, it doesnt matter what position youre in, as long as hes close to you hes happy. i do think he would like being the little spoon more tho, he loves being big spoon because you feel nice in his arms and he feels like hes protecting you but he just loves being held a tiny bit more. its like you are the one protecting him and dont want to leave him, its comforting

if you do want to continue tho... dont have any plans for the rest of the day, period. between making love and cuddling after, youre not going anywhere.

like i said, hes a switch for sure, so hes good with whatever you wanna do. wanna ride him? perfect. want him to fuck you? also perfect. want him to ride you? yee haw baby. want to fuck him under you? hes ready. be warned tho, if you do the penetrating or ride him, he will be whiner and more bratty, making more demands and back talk 🙄 someone please fuck this man stupid he needs to be humbled yall /aff

if he does the penetrating/is on top, he will be more gentle and a little more serious, wanting to make sure you feel the best you can. he wont stop being silly ofc but he wont be as much of a shit head, especially if its your first time with anyone, not just him. he would prefer missionary this way too(or mormal cowgirl if hes riding you) so he can hold you close and see your face, he loves watching how you react to anything he does. he also has a big thing for eye contact, he wants to press his forhead against yours and gaze into your eyes, it feels so intimate and wholesome despite what youre doing.

he will absolutely get upset if you try holding back your sounds, bro is about to throw a temper tantrum stg /lh, he thinks you sound amazing and he likes knowing you enjoy what hes doing. if youre just naturally quiet he will understand but be a bit bummed, pls talk to him and tell him how good hes making you feel and what hes doing right :) he will perk back up quick. i think he would probs press his nose unto your neck and hair a lot ngl, your scent is so lovely and being so close to you makes his heart vibrate lmao also pls hold his hand during

he would love to be the one to stimulate your clit/dick to help you cum but if you prefer to do it yourself thats okay too, he might be a little whiney but still happily touch other parts of your body instead, just wanting to make you feel good

again, i dont think he would last overly long but he would make sure you get off too, even if it means he gives you oral again or just pushes through his sensitivity, you Will cum. if you take longer to finish, its okay, he wont be upset or leave you hanging, absolutely determined you orgasm. lmfao he gets more locked in to make you cum than when he paints.

when he gets close, hes gonna cling to you again, holding you as tightly against him as possible and his thrusts will become shallower, more humping you than full on strokes yk. fyi when he does finish, hes gonna imagine he doesnt have the condom on and that hes filling you up, i know in my heart that he has a thing for creampies (maybe even breeding later on but thats not for rn), seeing your combined cum drip from your still twitching hole makes him want to go again. its the same if youre penetrating him, he wants to feel your hot spend inside of him. when you do follow suit and cant help but moan his name, hes gonna get the most love sick look on his face and probs groan too

after you both finish and relax into eachothers arms, hes gonna ask if this was serious for you, if you meant what you said about Liking him, if this means you two will start exclusively dating now... he wants to make sure youre on the same page, to him, this wasnt just helping eachother get off, it was making love and showing eachother how you feel, he really hopes that its the same for you...when you say yes, he tries not to show it but hes about to start giggling and kicking his feet lmao he pulls you somehow tighter to him, almost wanting to crawl into your skin so you can never leave him again, kissing your breath away

p.s. pls bully him about huffing your clothes earlier, especially if its your underwear lmfao do not let him live this down, call him your pervy dog

all in all i need to fuck rafayel, specifically after i walk in on him jerkin off, and then cuddle him

[catgumi]

Sinking deeper. Ebbing black, all around the edges of his vision, lungs pooling shadows so dense he was coughing them up in all the breaths he was dying to take. It was okay. It was okay if this was how it all ended. It didn't matter anymore. Megumi had never been strong, never been right for this world and the name he had been born into, he knew it was bound to happen eventually. Another cog amongst cogs, no autonomy, forced to move teeth against teeth, by the hand turning the wheel. He found solace in the goodness of good people, in the way they illuminated everything for him. All he wanted was to protect that light. In the end he had failed again.

And again.

Tsumiki was dead.

And again.

Yuuji would never be the same.

And again.

It was all his fault, everything was his fault and he couldn't take it anymore. Tenebrosity, in stretches far and near from where he drowned. A void beneath his fingers, no ground under his feet. Floating in a hell absent of fire, so dark and cold. This was the place he had made for himself. The home he'd carved out years ago when the longing for someone or at least something had driven him mad.

He closed his eyes, let it flood his being — this isolation inside the walls he'd created.

–

“-gumi! Megumi!”

His eyes shot open, following the jolt of consciousness to his body. Warm, warm hands on his shoulders, shaking him as Megumi's entire world spun. Gasping, shuddering, sweat and tears, he was trembling in all his entirety, starting from the marrow of his bones.

Yuuji let out a sigh of relief, hands gliding up, pulling his numb form closer into a hug. “You scared me for a second there, Megs. Bad dream?”

Oh.

Is that all it was? A bad dream?

Megumi's hands twisted in the fabric of Yuuji's shirt. It lifted slightly, exposing skin long marred beyond the point of repair. There was Yuuji's face, smiling at him with scars he would never be able to rid himself of. Light that blinded him irrevocably, that stung instead of soothed, because Yuuji now was different than when Megumi had first met him. Yuuji had nothing left, and it was all his fault, because Megumi had taken it all away from him.

“Hey, hey,” his voice was gentle, and he cradled Megumi close, arm thrown over his shoulder to stop the violent quivers wracking through his frame, “it's okay, everything's fine.”

It wasn't. Megumi knew it wasn't, Yuuji must've known that he knew. Still, he consoled him like how you would a child. Still, he stayed and held him like no one had done before. Megumi did not deserve it. He did not deserve this kindness, this care, from someone good that he had ruined forever. Yet, he couldn't stop himself from leaning close, and clutching onto Yuuji and crying in his arms, because this was it. Clinging to it — lifelines in sunlight and scabs — a sinner and his redemption.

This was all he had craved.

“Don't-” Megumi rasped, “it's enough. I've had-”

“We'll make it through tonight.” Yuuji interrupted him. Hand in his hair, stroking gently. Giving him love he was unworthy of, that he wanted to run from because he could not hold it in the hands that had destroyed everything to begin with. He tried again, to tell Yuuji it was okay to leave him. To let him die like everyone else did. Abandon him, with or without reason. Yuuji shushed him gently, instead. “That's all we have to do, Megumi. I'm here. Please. Let's make it through tonight.”

Megumi went limp. Again, he was giving up. Just for tonight, he wanted to sink into this embrace.

(okay, the last one wasn't hurt/comfort, but you can have this one which technically is supposed to be,, 🤧 from a different fic but i hope it's a substantial apology for whatever happened to yuuji in the last one😭 thank you again for your insanely sweet words!! one day ill let one of my fics out of the cage, hopefully😔)

i wont accept ur apology for brutalizing yuji however im gna take this as a gift all the same🙏🙏 tgis is genuinely beautiful omg.u write megumi so well im in awe.,,. ur dialogue skills r genuinely incredible n ur writing style is sopoetic im sobbing . idont even know who u are but ur one of my fav jjk writers by far

[interdimensionalburnout]

Ah SHIT

>>You're adrift in an endless sea. Again. The dim flicker of light above you is a trick, you know well by now that there's no true surface in this place. Although you do appreciate the malachite-green hue in injects into the inky blackness. You're...

>>You're pretty sure you died, actually. You always fancied yourself above the metaphysics of death, considering how many different afterlifes and reapers you cheated your soul back from. You've always been pretty put together, where metaphysics was concerned, and your "youness," the Berri around your soul, has persisted way longer than it has any right to. This is more like final death, you've felt this before, but from a drier edge, looking down. There's no fear or apprehension from this angle, though.

>>You wave your hands in front of your face, content in what motion you can still apply to what's left of your image, and note with mild surprise that your right hand is organic again. Or at least, the image of it is, and that's enough to prompt you to check your eye. Sure enough, it's back to being organic too. There's not a lot of other mysteries to really investigate in a void like this. Might've been the thing that kept you afraid of this kind of death, of the big empty sea you'd be enveloped in: You're alone, now.

>>And you've earned it, too, you figure. You've done a helluva lot to avoid this, and with each person you left behind to die, with each deal you made and broke for power, with each deity you got even with... you earned this. There was a chance to make your... karmic debts right, and you were pursuing it, but true fate is a fickle mistress, and well, you died. Such is the rolling of dice, you figure.

>>Time passes out of thought, possibly for a minute, possibly for centuries, and you finally feel like you're falling asleep. True sleep, true rest, like an actual good night's sleep. You don't even realize you've been drifting forward, pulled along the endless nothingness of death without any input of your own. At least, not at first.

>>You do, eventually, of course. The resistance of this silent afterlife is pretty water-like, and as the speed of your little journey picks up, you feel that pushback. A million questions, possible answers, and fears surge through your brain, hovering around a "I can't even relax in fucking death" type of thought like moths around a lamp. Such as it is, though, this is just another thing happening to you, and you force yourself to not care. You force yourself to not care so hard that you shut your eyes, and bully your body into a lounging position. Oblivion will be faced with a quirky pose, to show how little you give a shit about being erased.

>>Instead, all you really do is shield your eyes from the blinding flash of light you'd been thrown into. The endless onslaught of being yanked through your own personal sea of death culminates in a collision. You're not super sure what the hell even happened, because suddenly, you feel very... light. And dry, too.

>>Your eyes, both of them still, shoot open, bloodshot, cursed with the weight of a sudden psychic hangover. Your hands shoot all over your body, taking stock of what the fuck is going on, only to find that you're whole, and surprisingly... fit, maybe taught. Your brain feels like it's going to melt, and annoyingly-enough, your body feels sluggish in response to your brain's commands. It's only then that you realize you're in a bed.

>>The bed is shit, the bar at the foot of it is a spot-welded piece of pipe, and as you take in the room around you, your mind buzzes with red flags. There's a bunch of words you know to describe this one-room apartment, this tenement, but you're not up for trying your voice out yet. Something rattles the entire apartment, just outside, and your mind registers that- you know that sound, or else you probably did before you... woke up?

>>You set that headache aside in favor of the more materialistic complaint-headache, your hand instinctively shooting over to your phone (which is a regular datalight communicator, you'll later realize), so you can complain on your blog:

WHY IS THE FOUR PM METRO SO FUCKING LOUD.

[enigmatic-prismatic]

hello hi what are your ocs called and what do they do

You weren't specific with a fandom so I'll just ramble abt the general stuff of the ones I can remember rn,,, this will likely be alot

Madoka magica, the human witches(idk if I can call them ocs but ehhh) are a bit self-explanatory, I haven't actually fully figured out a story though, they're just humanized versions of the holy quintets witches that find themselves in present time

Creatures of Sonaria, my oc-universe and story is the most fleshed out ig for this fandom- chapter one is based around the events and happening that all lead up towards the defeat of the void god who desired to consume the universe, and there are multiple different endings to the first part,,, I haven't figured out the next chapter

Rain world, all of my stuff for this fandom is a huge wip and I'm still working on the general timeline even(and im a lil scared to talk abt them)- I consider my oc stuff au because it probably wouldn't make any sense in whats there in canon rw, but for my ancient lady- best I can give you rn is that she's an ancient who did not wish to die, rather, wanted eternity and preservation so she experimented with the possibility of an iterator that could completely repair themselves when needed and didn't require as much resources but could still do as much as the others- with how the giant supercomputers seemingly fucked up the world's cycles but idrk, her first even slightly successful attempt was that white iterator I've shown(no name yet) but she could hardly consider them a success with how she could just barely do her purpose(she got better at moving around and repairing herself but creator stopped caring and left before that) and only had a slight decrease in resources needed. Ancient lady moved on and started making an "iterator" that didn't even have a structure eventually resulting in the creation of Terror after who knows how many attempts

I'll talk a bit about a couple of my favorite ocs, but it's mostly creatures of sonaria

Technically the same person, my favorite out of all my characters- Lorcan and Faolán! Humans and things on earth get thrown into sonaria via getting snatched by the void(lor arriving was an accident).... I'm not too sure how to explain the full story atm, but mentally unstable child eventually becomes god and rewrites the universe- then creates a puppet body to exist in the world again, that puppet being Faolán

(Size of humans are also alot bigger than the game, regular angelic wardens are around 7 ft to them)

Second fav, td! A creation of the void who escaped the god's rule and rebelled. Mf basically went on a whole ahh journey to gain the ability to heal others after his adoptive mother got murdered and got well over 10x the trauma along the way. Atleast he gets an actually good boyfriend in present time?

Ami, a girl from the same forgotten town as lorcan- she's one of the closest people to him! Kinda, they grew up together but started to drift apart. What happens with her really depends on the timeline

...I've said alot

[luminousjellyfishy]

[ * Hand over the Error headcanons Jelly 👁️👁️ ]

You asked for it

1. Very gender non-conforming he (safest bet is to use he/him, but there are days when he doesn’t really care)

2. He’s actually way more sensitive to others opinions than what he shows

3. If he were to be human, the Voices would present as schizophrenia (auditory, visual, and touch)

4. I saw this headcanon from @fireflyxsky, but the general gist is that Error always runs insanely hot, and he hates snow because it’s FREEZING for him

5. His strings and the blue on his face glow in the dark (the actual strings more than his face)

6. He’s very good with music related stuff (creating, playing, beatsaber, the usual)

6a. The instrument that he’s best at is guitar, but he’s pretty adept at most string instruments

7. Sleep schedule? What’s that. Because of his time in the Anti-Void, his sleep cycles have been thrown WAY off, causing him to sleep the whole day and night away for some days, and not at all the next

8. The same in 7 also applies to his food habits. Without having someone force him/remind him to eat throughout the day, he would probably forget and eat nothing

9. He makes dolls of every alternate Sans (role - ex. Storyshift Chara) he comes across, whether he destroyed their AU or not

9a. Only his favourites get a role in his “puppet plays” (he talks to them all the time)

10. Hypothetically, if he were to die, he wouldn’t really. Sure his body’s gone (assuming it dusted), but because of the DT in his soul, he would probably just regenerate it all from scratch. Obviously this would take a long time and would be very painful

11. He would totally have a canopy loft bed if he could

12. Master Hacker ™

13. Sensory overload is a big thing for him (especially physical contact)

14. Crashing is basically all of his bodily systems shutting down one by one, starting with his vision, when eventually it gets to the point that it hurts so bad his body has to reboot itself to prevent mental damage

15. More of a BlueBerror headcanon: When Error brought (the 1st original timeline) Underswap Sans to the anti-void, he turned into BlueBerror, so the one that currently runs around with the Star Sanses is actually the 2nd timeline of Underswap (don’t tell him though)

Wow ok

That’s just what I immediately thought of

I might have problems

It’s fine

[cyeayt]

Mormon Hell!

I have stuff to do tonight but why would i when i could make a post explaining the mormon afterlife (as i was taught it)

prelife

we all lived with god in heaven in our heavenly bodies, until lucifer and the exodus n all that

we travel through the veil and lose our memories of our heavenly families and bodies

earth

we have free will! yipee! you have a few different options here. live according to the principles of the gospel, be baptized at 8, be a missionary and a productive worker and raise children after being sealed with your spouse in a temple, teach and lead if you get the chance. do all that but with less enthusiasm dont get sealed. be aware of god and be baptized and be mediocre. be baptized and leave the church. be baptized, leave the church and disavow it, dedicate your life to disproving it, torment members of the faith. die before you're 8. die before you learn what mormonism is. know what mormonism is but never participate and be a decent person. know what mormonism is but never participate and be a bad person. die and get baptized by your descendants after death.

die. what happens next?

purgatory. or spirit prison. theres two versions. one is where you just chill (and i once heard you get to be a holy ghost and help guide people), or go to jail where they teach you how to be good and you have the change to redeem yourself.

the second coming! mormons will never take any war or disaster seriously or try to do anything about it, because strife and hardship mean the second coming is near!

zion! (yikes) 1000 years of heaven on earth, the resurrection of christ was like a free trial of this. everyone is alive again and everything is perfect. supposed to happen in the garden of eden, which is in missouri. yeah i know. the church is helping fund the genocide in palestine also. we suck, go to protests n keep posting.

judgement day!

where can you be judged to?

the celestial kingdom! beautiful sunny top tier heaven, for eternal families sealed together in the temple! people who go here are the ones who will supposedly eventually get to be gods of their own universes.

the telestial kingdom. second tier heaven. kinda boring, better than earth and you get to talk to jesus but not god. you go here if you were pretty good but never got sealed with an eternal family. i assume that unbaptized babies and people who were baptized after death also go here.

the terrestrial kingdom. third tier heaven. basically more zion. no jesus or god but maybe angels. i think most people go here.

and finally

perdition! the outer void! eternal suffering! well actually as i was taught, eternal suffering is only for the souls who followed satan out of heaven in the exodus before any of our lives on earth. even if you really really sucked, youd get thrown into the outer void, which to me always meant your soul getting ripped apart by the vaccum of space and your eternal spirit ceasing to exist. you have to be really really bad to get here. even like murderers and whoever get to go to the terrestrial kingdom. so, souls who followed lucifer out of heaven, and people who were allowed to be born but who dedicated their lives to serving satan. souls here are the only ones who will not be allowed to receive the glory of god, even after they are resurrected.

in other words, who wants to be a child of perdition with me?

[talesofmetalandmagic]

Since I don’t want her to die an undeserved death I hereby decree that Jun the Prodigy is still alive after she’s separated from Xolaani.

I mean she looks like this.

But she’s come back, yay friend!

The first thing she’ll see once she comes to is Master Yi kneeling by her side. He’s thrown his helm away despite the danger because she must see his face and know he’s there for her.

“She really did her a new one”, Rhaast comments. Kayn squeezes the hilt of the scythe to shush him: that is not the time and place.

Heavens, what has he done.

“I want to go home”, Jun whispers through unfathomable pain. Despite the scabs and puss leaking from her forehead, Yi kisses it and embraces her.

The war against the Void rampages between them, but it’s as if they cannot feel it at all.

They’ll manage without him, for a while.

“We will go home.” If they still have a home after the onslaught of the Void. “Now close your eyes and meditate, dearest.”

“Don’t… don’t go.” She grabs onto his armor with one hand. “It’s dark…”

It must have been so long since she’s seen the light. Now the cursed weapon is nothing but a simple dagger, and there’s a smeltery waiting for it once they’re through.

“I’m not letting you go. We’ll meditate together. You’ll feel me, this I promise. But trust me.”

He eventually manages to pull his protégée into meditation, as the healing process of the Wuju art soothes the pain in her body and drags her away from a lethal end piece by piece.

But what they don’t know is, another Darkin is watching them from afar.

“…they make it seem so easy”, he scoffs, walking off, his thick sword making sparks as he drags it across the floor. A Void best runs at his throat, jaws agape: he swats it like a fly.

[kelvinthegoatt]

The undead.(adam au)(very cringe,impossible to happen,but that’s what an au is)

Humans are truly fascinating and horrifying,the thoughts of taking over lands and being rich had been plaguing their mind ever since the first sin.

It’s a farce.

It’s relatively easy for a human to crumble down.

•••He pounders what death tastes like.

Adam isn’t the type to hold any grudges.

•••farewell……or is it?

Adam’s body continued to crumble into the blue-ish skies.Drowned into the endless void.

Ashes to ashes,dust to dust,I’m sure we’ll meet again some day.

•••

Survival wasn’t really his thing.

•••

Adam was awared that all this was planned,humans are imperfect,they are meant to be like this.Only through evolutions and failures can they fix their flaws.He was a human, and that's all that mattered. A living, breathing entity possessed with beauty and abilities,his creator blessed him gorgeous blue eyes,within the ability “divine reflection”(he’d like the name“Eyes of the lord” better),enabling him to perfectly mimic other entity’s ability.(Or possibly make them more powerful.)

He sought out to use the possession of replication for the protection of humanity.

•••

Even with the ability,he failed to hold against the father of gods.(Whatever.)

He failed his only goal(at least he thinks so.)to protect humanity no matter the costs,fate nor limitations could stop his dedication,whether dead or alive,his determination is still.

…death has never been pleasing.

How long had he been sitting in that bright “void”?

He opened his eyes,groaned as everything was too bright for his overheated eyes,wait,isn’t he blinded after the old man’s blood disrupted his attacks?

Whirling,confused.

He vaguely recalls his memories,whimpering at the overwhelming light.Trying to avert opening his eyes,gasping and inhaling the precious oxygen his body ached for.

Regarding the situation he has been thrown into without much fanfare, that was to be expected.Afterall,he was only a mere human.Everyone will eventually die at some point.

Forcing his exhausted body to stand up and failing miserably,Adam could only baffle at his current status. His face remained relaxed at all times, eyes staring off into the distance without any real purpose.What was he looking at?

How does this place even have a platform?

“You did well,my child.”

…what?

Adam stared in disbelief,it’s all too familiar.

(Stop denying it.)

Well ain’t that just surprising.Afterall,he hasn’t seen his creator for decades,aided the fact he has never been called a child,rather than a father,a hero,a saviour,the protector of humanity.

He opened his mouth and attempted to do so. His throat ached,it’s only fair since his tongue had shriveled up in his mouth and decayed with the rest of him.There was no spit to swallow.As he struggles with speaking,only mumbling some unrecognisable words.

“So…why am I and you here?”

“Int I failed¿”

Foolish questions,he himself knew damn well that he died when Zeus punched him,Adam wish that he’d have an apple right now.

Certainly dead people don't overthink,right?He didn't know and was left to scratch at whatever else he could recall from the death match between humanity and gods,he'd participated in,willingly.He had no way of contacting his wife and kids now.Not when he was dead dead.

“I’m proud of you.”

Adam was stunned by this statement,aided by having no proof to rebut the statement.

Huh?Proud?Why?He ate the forbidden apple,heck,he even took a big chunk bite of all the apples he could find.Nobody should say this to say him,he was the fountain of betrayal.(It’s not like he cares.Justice was served to the snake.)

Tears proceeded to flow out as they were finally released from the cage they were trapped in ages ago.Adam didn’t understand the emotion,he’s never experienced it,sadness?He did not expect to feel.

No,that can’t be right.

Relieve.

Salty tears.

“You did your duty as a father and a protector well,gathered humanity’s hope all one place,still standing,great representation of hopes.”

Adam continued to sob.

“I will take care of this madness now”

Wait what?

“It will be only a second.”

Adam blacked out again.

•••

You should never bring dead people back from the grave.One of the reasons is rather simple: there will always, always be a storm before the calm, no matter how you bring them back.
•••

Not even a calm being like Adam can relax at a situation from this.Never.

The cold has always bothered him.

Everyone sobbed and cried,putting all respects to their father.

The crumbled green pieces began to assemble once again.

“Huh?”Brunhild tilted her head.

A similar humanely figure was being put back.

“No?!it can’t be!”Hermes shouted in disbelief,even the all mighty Zeus was shocked,the loser was supposedly be diminished,staying in the black void forever,being erased from existence.

•••

Things were getting out of hand.

Adam,a dead man,is perfectly fine(If you ignore the fact he is out.)His heart is functioning well.

Nonetheless,he had a simple piece of white clothing covering most of his body.

Zeus,surprisingly,decided to let the human live another day.

Winner:Zeus.

•••

He never had any beef with gods,at least most of them,nor did he find fondness towards them,exception being jesus and his creator.

•••

“w a k e u p”

•••

Awakened by the voice,judging by it,he had seemingly fallen into a deep slumber.Or they’d call it ”coma”.

•••

He would just lay there,days after days,deep in some kind of dream,the shallow rise and fall of his chest and the heart monitor’s incessant beeping were the only sign that he was once a living being.

Empty.

Emptiness.

Attempting to hold up his now limping arms.As he expected,failing again.To make matters worse,his sight is completely blocked off by the bandages wrapped around him.Not to mention his throat is parched.

Great,absolutely prefect.

(What now?He can’t even move due to the circumstances and status he is in currently.)

Don’t think too deep into your thoughts.

Flowers,the scent,focus.

Regaining his senses,Adam discovered that he could only moved his head,his body didn’t even feel like his.

“Please stop crying Eve,he is alive,just sleeping.”

“But!”

A single groan had broken the conversation instantly,Brunhilde opened the door and looked at the source of the groan.

“Adam.I see you’re awake,as expected from the protector of humanity.“Brunhilde chuckled.

“Th.r…is..y…”He tried,his throat was as dry as bones,having to bear the pain when ever he tries to speak.

“Oh,my apologies.”

Eve jumped out of nowhere,hugging her beloved tightly as she fears losing him again.

“Ca…t brea…h”Adam struggled to gasp oxygen.

“Thank goodness,you’re alive!You scared me to death,Adam,please…don’t do that ever again…”happiness exchanged to sadness,as Eve let go,Brunhilde handed him a glass of water.

Ah,much better.

Now,where was he?

•••

With the help of Eve,Adam has managed to sit properly.According to Brunhilde,he slept for a whole week straight.She was even impressed by how fast he woke up from the slumber.

•••

The dead has risen.

•••

Unfortunately for Adam,his eyes will be needed to rest for at least 3 days.No solid food for 3 days,as Brunhilde proceeded to continue on.Adam,being Adam,had a unfazed expression and was in fact,annoyed(Perhaps glad too.) the Valkyrie was treating him like a child.

[novemberthecatadmirer]

Thoughts on Elves’ Perception of Death

CW: Discussion on the topic of how people view suicide.

I have been thinking about how elves may view death.

Like when mortals die they get yote to Only-God-Knows-Where, and Morgoth took benefit of this ambiguity and made people fear death. And I can see how fear of death can benefit his goal of making everyone fucking crazy and evil.

For elves they knew where they are going: They are going to Mandos-filled-with-top-tier-tapestries to have some personal reflections and nice rest and then eventually be thrown back to the world to try (suffer) again.

My personal head canon of Mandos: It was COZY. Great fiber art. Hang out with your dead relatives. Had equivalent of televisions livestreaming all the dramas of the living world. 

Yeah there were people that were desperate to get back to their life again to continue the good fight, but they were not able to because their souls were still injured by death, or they got stopped by overworked maiar (exasperated medical workers) because they were not completely healed and “stop being difficult we do not want to see you back within a hundred of years”. But there were definitely a few people who had to be basically kicked out (“you are healed enough, we have limited spaces, and the construction team for hall expansion are fucking tired.”) 

Miriel got away by “I want to help with your wife making tapestries.” 

Namo was offended that people call his hospital jail. Yeah most people did not want to stay in hospital, but can’t you see it is necessary?

So now here is the problem. When the choice is between death (and go to elf therapy center) and torture & enslavement (being forced to serve the evil and possibly still die and go to elf therapy center, only now you need much, much more therapy), what would be the more sensible choice?

I feel Tolkien possibly had awareness of this problem, so he had this idea that elves were not allowed to suicide. Unless they get raped. That’s interesting that he thought being raped is the absolutely worst thing that could be inflicted on a person, and I still do not have much clear opinion on that. In general I think there are many awful things a person can suffer, and for many of them you cannot figure out which is awful and which is awful but not that awful. Each of them fucks you up in different ways. Thus, I cannot find myself to accept this idea as canon.

Also, even this is true, elves cannot suicide, can’t they mercy kill each other when the situation was dare?

So either elves cannot suicide at all no matter how (which is kinda contrary to canon,) or they were free to murder themselves for whatever reasons.

I find myself accept the idea that Morgoth and some of his servants had the abilities to trap people’s souls and force them to live. Basically, you do not get to stay died in Angband when you are not allowed to die. The evil had some wicked healing power, when you die they just revive you in your broken body and fix you enough for you to continue to be tortured/used by them. There was no way to escape, even through death.

(Yes, I am the person who believed Morgoth and Sauron were much more evil and awful and creative and smart than people give them credit for. I think of Morgoth as atrocities of invasion wars, and Sauron as atrocities of authoritarian governments. Morgoth provided the core concept and Sauron provided the methods.)

So, do elves view death the same way our mortals view death?

Death had been viewed as an escape for some human, even we do not know if we have an afterlife or not. No matter justified or not (and I don’t think anyone of us can judge each other’s decisions), many who committed suicide wanted a way to stop the pain they are suffering, in body or in mind or in both. Many of them did not even believe their existence would go anywhere other than fading into the void nothingness, but did the act because they just wanted to stop existing.

And elves knew there is a place waiting for them. That knowledge... Probably can be strangely comforting.

Does that make fighting to death in battles less scary? Does that make killing yourself less terrifying? Does that make killing someone else less guilt wracking because you can be delusional enough to somehow convince yourself that it is... less permanent?

Also, what does it really mean when an elf choose death over something else? Do they view death as a way out of confinement, that they see freedom in death?

I think Eol probably somehow convinced himself that he could use death as a quick escape for him, his son, and possibly his wife as a way out of the wicked city (which was apparently awful and delusional) (And my personal headcanon is he rejected Call from Mandos and became a wandering houseless spirit and got to see how things turned to shit for his son and prayed someone could come to kill and release his son from all these Noldor shit and wished he succeed in killing his son but he could do nothing because he was a bodiless spirit)

I think Maedros chose to jump the fuck down into that blasted lava pit because he did not even want an afterlife. He just wanted to stop existing and he knew he could not because he was an elf, and even the mortal cannot stop existing they just got sent to somewhere else. He was also scared of being sent to everlasting darkness. So he jumped into this shiny bright fire pit, hoped it would burn him and take away everything of him including all the sin he committed.

My headcanon for the everlasting darkness: 

It does not exist.

No, you do not go wherever you imagine after death. You either go to Mandos then get sent back to life when you are elf, or go to Mandos then get sent to Eru-knows-where when you are mortal, we don’t know what happens if you are dwarf but there is a place for you, or you reject the call and wander as a spirit and SUFFER. But you do not go to a place made up by your melodramatic father in his rage for his awful poetic oath because it does not exist.

Feanorians swore to be casted to something that did not even exist.

They did drown in everlasting darkness, metaphorically. They went there not because of their oath, but because of the things they did.

[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Chapter 1

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Summary: Assigned all cases involving android-related crimes, saddled with a prototype that follows him around like a plastic puppy, Detective Connor Anderson knows this must be karma for all the bad shit he’s ever done.

He thought he'd hit rock bottom, that he didn't have much left to lose, but he's proven wrong by the android sent by CyberLife. And Connor learns just how much further he can fall.

Prompt: For the @dbhau-bigbang​ 2020 challenge!

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

AO3

(Story moodboard by @uh-kitty-got-wet​​)

November 5th, 2038

Friday 11:21PM

The whiskey was harsh and burned like liquid fire as it slid down his throat. He dropped the shot glass onto the bar top and closed his eyes and savored the bloom of the cheap booze warming his chest. The music from the old jukebox behind him belted out tunes that would have been considered outdated when the place opened.

It was like this most nights. He was alone, exhausted, and well on his way to a pleasant buzz. The one thing Connor had going for him was that he hadn’t started in on his third drink until 11 PM.

That had to be some kind of record. On a Friday night, he was usually shitfaced by 10. Call it the long hours he’d been working, or maybe the fact he felt more self-loathing than usual, he’d somehow managed to hold off on spiraling until nearly midnight.

Definitely a record. And Connor deserved to celebrate.

When he tipped the glass with one finger and caught Jimmy’s eye, he nearly looked away in shame. The bartender had never given him shit before, at least in a verbal sense, but the cool stare he gave Connor now made him want to crawl into a hole and die there.

But Jimmy didn’t say a word, just gave him another dose of poison and turned away, leaving Connor in relative peace to enjoy the game. Denton Carter was kicking ass tonight, so at least there was that.

It was all going beautifully until the door opened and the sound of rain echoed throughout the tiny bar, along with a distinct smell of wet asphalt and dirty concrete. Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw two of the other regulars shift in their seats to stare at the newcomer.

Not another regular, then. And by how lengthy the stares were and the sudden shift in atmosphere, Connor guessed the barometric pressure had taken a drop due to a pair of long legs and pretty eyes.

Turning his body only far enough to get a glance for himself, Connor was not disappointed, eyeing the stranger from their black dress shoes, up their shapely legs clad in dark jeans, past curvy hips and—

Oh.

Connor turned back in his seat, hunched over and grimacing in disgust, put there by the sight of a blue triangle on a lapel and a glowing armband around one arm. He hadn’t even needed to look higher for the LED to know what the fuck had just waltzed into the joint like it actually belonged there.

He nursed his whiskey, praying the thing would pass him by and leave him the fuck alone. Or better yet, Jimmy would throw it out.

No such luck, of course.

“Detective Anderson,” spoke a smooth, raspy voice to his right. “I’m the YN800 model sent by CyberLife.”

He elected to ignore it. Maybe if he did so for long enough, it would take the hint and go away.

Again, Connor’s luck was not holding out.

“I called your cell phone, but you didn’t answer,” the voice continued, unimpeded. “I then looked for you at the station after checking your home, but you weren’t there either. Your colleagues indicated you tended to frequent the bars in the area, and I was fortunate to find you at the fifth one.”

His eye twitched. This thing had gone to his apartment?

“Well, here I am,” he answered, dry and caustic as he stared straight ahead at the wall of bottles. He calculated how angry Jimmy would be if he took out his service pistol and shot it through the head.

Pretty angry, Connor decided. It would probably leave a stain. Also, he didn’t want to compensate some asshole company for property damage.

“What do you want?” he finally growled, scratching his nail into the bar top already marred with various scuffs and dings.

“You were assigned a case earlier this evening. A homicide.”

Already, a headache was forming between the eyes at the sound of the android’s irritatingly friendly voice.

“Yeah, and?”

“It involved a CyberLife android,” it said in that same smooth inflection. “In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators.”

You have to be shitting me.

Connor grit his teeth and clenched his glass tighter, a flush of heat moving through him that had nothing to do with his blood alcohol content. A fucking android was sent to help cops do their job?

Fuck that, and fuck this hunk of junk.

“Good for them,” he answered as he tipped the glass up to his lips. “I couldn’t give less of a shit. Now get the fuck out of my face. We don’t need any help, especially from a plastic pair of tits like you.”

He should have known that wasn’t the end of it. The android spoke again, adopting a tone of what it had probably been programmed as “sympathetic.”

“I understand you may be experiencing reluctance to having an android’s assistance in this matter, but I am—“

“—ruining a perfectly good evening, butting your nose where it doesn’t belong and sure as fuck isn’t welcome.”

Connor put his glass down harder on the bar top than he meant to, nearly spilling his drink.

“I suggest you leave before I void your warranty.”

Connor thought the machine got the message when it finally went silent. He could even see its mood ring spinning yellow out of the corner of his eye before it settled on that annoying placid blue.

He’d just brought the glass halfway to his lips when it said, “I’m sorry, Detective, but I must insist.”

Connor set the glass back down and started to count to ten. He couldn’t lose it now, he’d promised Jimmy he wouldn’t break anything else after the last brawl he’d gotten into.

But the fucking thing just kept on talking.

“My instructions stipulate that I have to accompany you.”

“You know where you can stick your instructions?” Connor growled before downing the glass of whiskey.

It was a good thing he had, because its next words made him choke on spit.

“No. Where?”

Connor set the glass down, and for the first time that evening, fully turned toward the android and stared at it.

The damn thing was staring back, head slightly tilted like a curious puppy. It had large eyes to match the image too, earnest and innocent and entirely too sincere. Its attire at second glance wasn’t the typical android faire. A smooth grey android jacket and a dark, patterned tie marked it as something different. Unique.

And just a little too pretty. Every designed, group-focused imperfection on its face made it that much more appealing. Its hair was neatly coifed, pulled up and pinned behind its head, exposing the smooth curve of its neck.

Hanging down the left side of its face was a strategically-placed lock of hair that Connor immediately want to twirl his finger around. He suspected that was the point.

The further down Connor’s eyes traveled, the more he lost his train of thought. The perfectly sensible tie was lying on the slope of its breasts, something even the jacket couldn’t cover. Why the fuck androids had breasts to begin with, Connor couldn’t begin to fathom, and it seemed even more ludicrous now seeing them on a “specialized model.”

The android hadn’t moved apart from its artificial breathing, another thing about the machines that was uncanny. They weren’t human, and the fact CyberLife kept trying to pass them off as such was a goddamn insult to humanity.

He met the thing’s eye, gave an unimpressed huff, and went back to nursing his drink. If the fucking tin can didn’t understand a dirty innuendo, he certainly wasn’t going to ruin its pristine, virginal programming.

Connor doubted everything that had just gone through his head as those unnecessarily realistic tits were pressed against his elbow, without warning or any sense of decency or a concept of personal space.

“How about this, Detective?”

Connor fumbled, nearly spilling his drink, a massive what the fuck! warning flashing in his head as the machine pressed closer.

“I’ll buy you another drink, on the house. Surely that’s worth a few minutes of your time? And if not, you can send me on my way.”

Connor couldn’t speak with that voice right into his ear like a close confidant, sultry and low and borderline pornographic, so it was a good thing the android didn’t bother waiting for a response.

Instead, it turned to Jimmy and said in a louder, more normal tone, “Bartender, another round for the detective, please.”

Jimmy turned from where he was cleaning glasses on the counter, eyebrows shooting upward as he looked from the machine to Connor. It had backed up a few inches, but there were a lot of reflective bottles on the wall. Connor wondered just how much Jimmy had seen.

Connor gave a little helpless shrug as if to say, Don’t look at me, I don’t know what the fuck it’s doing!

But when the damn thing actually brought out real paper money and set it on the counter, Jimmy got moving. Seemed he wasn’t picky about where his money came from, and Connor almost resented the fact he hadn’t thrown the android out on principle.

Who the hell gave it money in the first place? CyberLife? What, did they hand it a few bucks of allowance before letting it off its leash?

Despite all his reservations, and there were a great many of them, Connor was not about to turn down a free drink. Or two.

“Make it a double,” he grumbled, purposefully avoiding the android’s focused gaze. He could practically feel the thing staring into the side of his head, but at least it remained at a distance and wasn’t pressed against his side like a drunk, horny badge bunny anymore.

“Thanks, Jim.” Connor took the glass and tipped it back, drowning it in one go. The slide of the familiar burn down his throat, spreading throughout his limbs, did quite a lot to help ease the tension in his muscles.

He released a heavy exhale, pushed away from the bar, and got to his feet.

“You want to play plastic cop? Okay, then. Keep up,” he said, tilting his head in its direction without actually looking at it. “Or I’m leaving your ass behind.”

Connor didn’t wait for a response, only raised his hand in parting to Jimmy, and pushed open the door to let the rain-drenched Detroit night swallow him whole. But even through the sound of the rain pinging off the hood of his nearby car he could hear the even footfalls behind him, just a little too close for comfort.

Fucking androids.

Next Chapter

[its-rat-time-babey]

Owl Knight AU character ideas (the main gang):

[The original Owl Knight AU concept] <- you might want to read this first.

Luz:

Luz is a grimwalker, which is the AU equivalent of a vessel. She was originally made by Belos to contain the infection plaguing the boiling isles (which I am now calling Titansrest because it’s neither an island or boiling in this AU), but was deemed imperfect and thrown back into the abyss and left to die.

However, Luz ended up surviving the fall and escaped from the abyss a few years later, ending up in the wasteland surrounding Titansrest. She made her way back to Titansrest after a few days in the wasteland, but the damage had already been done and her memory had been erased by her time in the wasteland.

After wandering through the ruins of Titansrest for a while, Luz was found by Eda, who took her in as an apprentice/adopted her.

Because of her brief time in the wasteland, Luz doesn’t know that she’s a grimwalker. She doesn’t remember the abyss or Belos or really anything besides her own name.

She also can’t use magic due to being a grimwalker, and has to discover and use glyphs instead.

Luz also has a sword. She picked it up during her journey through the wasteland. It’s old, worn and very damaged but Luz uses it anyways. It’s basically her version of the knight’s old nail.

As Luz learns more glyphs and glyph combinations, she carves them onto the surface of her sword, until eventually she has a sword that doubles as a staff of sorts. She still uses paper glyphs as well though.

Grimwalkers are slightly different in this AU. The recipe for making grimwalkers is almost completely identical to canon, but instead of requiring bone of orlet it needs titan’s blood, also known as void.

Luz bleeds titan’s blood, but not the same sort of titan’s blood that a being like King would bleed. The blood from a living titan is dark blue, while the heavily aged blood that can be found in the abyss, was used in Luz’s creation and currently runs through her veins is pitch black. Luz bleeds void.

Because Luz is a grimwalker with void running through their veins, she’s immune to the infection unless she actively lets it in, just like a vessel.

Infected creatures are far more aggressive towards her than normal because she’s a grimwalker.

Luz feels a strange connection to the Golden Guard, who is this AU’s equivalent to the Hollow Knight. She can’t fully explain it, but she feels a weird sense of familiarity when she looks at things like the statue of Golden Guard in the middle of Bonesborough and other things depicting the Golden Guard.

King:

King is the Titan’s reincarnation. Just like how the Pale King reincarnated from his original wrym body to his current one, the Titan reincarnated after its death into the form of King. It just took several thousand years, completely erased their mind and turned them back into a newborn titan.

Eda found King and adopted him soon after he hatched from his egg post-reincarnating.

King has no idea that he’s a titan, let alone The Titan that Titansrest was built on.

King’s blood is dark blue, the colour of fresh titan’s blood.

Because he’s a titan, which are the archenemies of the Collector, King can’t become infected. No matter what. Even if he willingly accepts the infection into himself, nothing will happen.

Infected creatures are extra aggressive towards king because he’s a titan.

Eda:

Eda managed to join the emperor’s coven alongside Lilith in this AU, and both became coven heads. Eda was more in charge of doing things outside the castle, while Lilith was in charge of more in-castle affairs, although they were still sent out on missions.

When the Golden Guard was sealed away and the coven heads became dreamers, Eda and Lilith, as the heads of the emperor’s coven, weren’t made into dreamers like the other coven heads. Belos instead gave them the job of protecting the dreamers and the rest of Titansrest from harm. If anyone tries to kill the dreamers or forcibly release the infection, Eda and Lilith are meant to be there to stop them.

Eda and Lilith both have emperor’s coven brands. In this universe, coven brands weren’t made to drain magic and kill witches in the day of unity. They still restrict magic to certain tracks, but this is for religious and control reasons instead of genocide. Point is the brands are (mostly) harmless in this AU. The special thing about Eda and Lilith’s coven brands in particular are that they give the wearer a slight resistance to the infection. The brands that the other coven heads have do the same thing.

But in the end, it didn’t really matter. The Golden Guard wasn’t pure, the infection kept spreading, the Emperor disappeared, along with his entire castle and Titansrest fell into ruin. But even after Titansrest was reduced to a wasteland full of reanimated husks and infected creatures, Eda and Lilith still had the jobs of protecting what was left, along with preventing the dreamers from coming to harm.

Lilith kept preforming her duties long after the fall of Titansrest, but Eda quickly became disillusioned with the emperor’s coven and the Emperor in general, and eventually decided to defect from the coven system and become a wild witch.

The day before Eda decided to defect, she got infected. That was the last straw for her when she was deciding to defect. Her coven brand partially protects her, but it’s not enough to make her immune to the infection, creating an effect similar to canon Eda’s curse. She’s basically half infected. She’s in control of her mind, but needs to take an elixir she invented daily to prevent the infection from overwhelming her.

Eda managed to make potions that ward off the infection after she became infected. It won’t cure anyone besides her though, because the elixir needs Eda’s infection weakening coven brand to weaken the infection first to make the elixir effective. A completely infected person is a lost cause.

Eda’s cursed form resembles canon Eda’s cursed form, but it’s entire body is covered in and is partially made of infection blobs and infected growths. It can also manipulate the infection that makes up its body in a similar manner to canon Belos’s palisman curse.

Even when in her non infected form, the infection still affects Eda. Her eyes have a slight orange glow that gets brighter as the infection gets stronger, her blood is orange like other infected creatures and instead of feathers appearing when Eda gets stressed, it’s infection.

When Eda is very close to transforming, her pupils turn orange, just like other infected creatures.

Lilith doesn’t know that Eda is infected. Eda’s been avoiding her ever since she declared herself a wild witch.

Despite being involved with the raising of the Golden Guard, Eda doesn’t know that Luz is a grimwalker. She (and everyone else) believes that only one grimwalker was ever created, plus Belos was super secretive when it came to the Golden Guard, so even though she was involved in the Golden Guard’s creation, she barely knows squat about the finer details. She doesn’t even know that Grimwalker blood is black because she’s never seen the Golden Guard bleed.

She does know that something is not right with Luz though. The lack of magic, the black blood, the way that infected creatures become extremely aggressive at the sight of her, and yet the infection itself that permeates the air refuses to go near her. It’s just bizarre.

Because of her emperor’s coven brand, Eda cannot mess with the Dreamers or free the Golden Guard. If she attempts to do so, her coven brand will restrict her. So if she wants to undo any of those things, she needs Luz or King or someone else without a coven brand to do it.

Infected creatures are less aggressive with Eda. They’ll still attack her, but it takes a while for them to figure out that Eda isn’t one of them.

[void-adjacent-particles]

Content warnings: Death, gore, fire mentions, scars, murder, violence.

Totems of Undying are strange things. They’re warm, and will pulse in time to the heartbeat of whatever is holding them, emerald eyes glimmering even in the pure dark of the void’s absence of light. While Totems are made of gold, there is no malleability, they are as solid as bedrock. The emeralds and gold and magic have solidified into one unchangeable object until its use, and then it is gone.

They leave their mark on whatever uses them. For some this could be a prize, another thing to be proud of, because they survived the unsurvivable only through their own wits and forethought. To others it is a mark of shame, for ever having been in such a position to lose their life, even if it is only one of three.

On a specific server, there are those who have need for Totems in their long pasts, who have used them right before our eyes, and those who will surely use them in the future.

Technoblade was one such person to use one before our eyes. We saw him dragged from his home to a farce of a trial, facing justice on rigged scales for grievous cries nonetheless as he was pushed into a cage. The fall of the anvil, the crushing, crunching of a body that never seemed fragile until now when everyone witnessed its end. Then the sparkling cloud of green and yellow, bones clicking back in jigsaw puzzle pieces, the knitting of muscle and tendon and skin, and there is only a moment of paralyzing death before his heart skips a beat and he lives again. This is the prestige of his trick, no turn to raise suspense, and a pledge everyone who knew his name already was aware of, a promise and threat all in one that he always delivered on. Technoblade never dies, and he lives right now to kill again. Later he will be in his quaint cottage in the merciless tundra, and his own reflection will glitter strangely back at him, forcing him to examine himself instead of resting and trying to forget the lingering aches. He will stare as the night sky leaves the window more a mirror, lantern lights low, but the flashes catch his eyes anyway. His tusks, once white and bone, now seem to be fully made of gold. He taps one with his hoof, and feels the pressure reverberating subtly down into his jaws, as real as before. With a shrug, he moves his hoof away, only to watch as pink fur and skin split against the now razor sharp point of his tusks. Those tusks will remain as gilded as any enchanted apple, and as sharp as any netherite sword, until one day he will fail his audience, his pledge a battle cry he brings to one or more of his graves.

Quackity would covet a Totem in all of his paranoia, his fear of death and pain and losing even more than he already has. If he died, be it by pickaxe or nuke or strangling, desperate hands, the Totem would bring him back all the same. And all of his scars would ache in their newfound golden hue, shining and standing out even more as a testament to his inability to protect himself or what he loves. The scars would hurt, old and new, in warning of dangers to come. It only partly calms his paranoia, the fear ever present and simmering in the background of his mind, waiting to boil over and burn him.

When Tubbo or Tommy use their Totems of Undying they will appear unharmed. It is not until they bruise that it becomes obvious. A small bump against the corner of furniture, a tumble while out exploring the wild, a sharp elbow to the face, the blunt side of a weapon, they bruise the skin, blossoming into purples and dark indigos. They fade far too quickly, as if someone splashed healing potions on them. Yet then they stay at that disquieting green and yellow stage, where the next day it could appear as if they were never there, but they stay, shimmering slightly in the wrong lighting, still hurting as much as if they were fresh even weeks later. Only fading when forgotten about, and they have wonder if the bruise was ever there. If only they had Totems when they died before. Tubbo’s face would be a mess of bruised gold that would seep into the skin until only pink scar tissue remained, a starburst remnant of a festival’s fireworks, but he would still be alive, gasping for air and hunched over in that box, on that stage, but alive. Tommy would have handprint bruises around his neck, across the break in his nose, the imprint of a fist against his cheek that had whipped his head back too far, his neck slamming at the worst angle against the harsh obsidian walls. But he would have been alive, clawing his way back into life, latching his own hands around his killer’s throat, finishing the job, doing what should have been done instead of daring to imprison a dream.

George passes out if he uses a Totem. Instead of the rush of adrenaline, of life that floods the system of whatever uses one, it overwhelms to the point of just unconsciousness as his body repairs itself, fueled only by magic until his heart begins pumping and his lungs begin breathing again. Later when he wakes, maybe with cracked sunglasses, anyone who’s looking properly will see the dark bags under his eyes, a sheen of gold overlaying the dark purple of sleeplessness. When he sleeps it will be deeper, without dreams. Alarms and shaking won’t wake him. Nights will be sleepless as he examines the bags under his eyes, fretting over the burnt orange of the gold deepening, digging into his skin, around his eyes. He will continue to sleep, but days will pass, and when he wakes he wonders if next time he will simply be unlucky and sleep forever.

If Dream uses a Totem of Undying it will shatter him. He will feel every bone shake themselves into dust and back again, a glimpse of what everyone eventually returns to. His spine will burn with pain, arcing upwards to the base of his skull, spreading outwards like a deep set rot that always goes unnoticed until it is far too late and the structure crumbles. His mask shatters, likely from the final strike that killed him, but maybe just from his fall to the ground, a person one moment and a corpse the next, until the Totem brings him back. Gold lines every crack in the porcelain of his mask, across the monochrome of the glaze burned into it, bisecting an eye, a smile, a face. The green of him becomes so much more vibrant, deadly, similar to prey animals that evolve into their bright colors to indicate they are poisonous, saying if you kill me, I take you down with me.

If Niki ever uses a Totem, it would burn. She would feel it burning, more than the all encompassing pain of whatever killed her. Bright, sparking pain would race down her body, through every nerve, every blood vessel, until it was all she knew for that brief suspended moment on the precipice between life and death. She would grit her teeth through the pain, eyes narrowed as she reeled back from the magical force, only to march onward in doing whatever was necessary to achieve her goal. Later she would be looking at her hands, washing off blood real or metaphorical, and see that instead of chipping nail polish in whatever color of her choice, instead her nails would be intact, a brilliant gold. Nails that would make her appear vain, still absorbed with one final thing, or simply clinging to it. Nails that would sharpen into what some might call claws, digging into the fine wooden handles of her weapons, scoring lines that would never go away, even if the nails would upon her death.

If Hannah ever uses a Totem of Undying it will react strangely to her innate magic. Plants die off, withering away, leaving just the roots, the basis of their whole survival, to lie in wait underground until the rain falls again and the sun shines again. Any of her wounds will bloom with roses, the flowers ragged, shaped like bloodstains, but every leaf and petal will be edged with gold. The greenery of her roses’ vines will brighten and soak up sunshine more than ever, revitalizing her until her heart aches with it, until she finally lets fate claim the life stolen from it.

If Puffy ever uses a Totem of Undying, she wouldn’t notice side effects at first, aside from the usual anguish and pain from having died. The likely conflicts she had thrown herself into out of duty would capture her attention anyway, away from examining herself for any lingering problems. It wouldn’t be a problem anyway, not until she looked in the mirror and saw that all of her greying hairs from stress became gold, her mass of curls even heavier, no lock of hair without its reminder, its own thread of gold to weave into thick hair. Later, in a moment of true rest, when someone runs their hands through her hair, braiding it or simply trying to calm her, they would find that every golden thread burns and tries to tie itself around their hands, keeping them there, keeping them at her side where they could be safe.

If Antfrost or Fundy ever use a Totem, it settles on their skin like a weighted blanket, forcing their muscles to accommodate, forcing them to make room in their lives for the extra chance they stole. Later, when they rest, so much more tired with their aching bodies, they will curl up in the sunshine wherever they feel safest. When the sunlight catches just right, beige or burnt orange fur glimmers like a pelt of gold. Any breeze would be unable to rustle fur, their bodies motionless and unmovable as any statue, their breathing far shallower and subtler than ever before. If one wasn’t watching close enough, they’d assume there was a corpse just curled in the sunlight, begging for a final bit of warmth before letting go. They will start awake from nightmares with a hiss, and stretch out in the dying light to go pretend like they don’t feel that extra life weighing on them.

Phil only has one life to lose, and so he holds Totems close to his heart, always just one movement away from being clutched as the lifelines they are. When he’s killed holding one, wings splayed, feathers falling from the force of his death, mouth open and choking on last breaths, his death will hurt.  It will always hurt, the moment stretching through his lived centuries and snapping back into the present, so much life to flash before his eyes that they are rendered sightless and glassy, death clouding them greedily. Flashes of gold and emerald green dance on the sheen of inky feathers and glossy eyes as dead as a doll’s. When he lives again, his wings will no longer be the cape of shadows, the midnight extensions of self that they once were. His secondary feathers will be golden now, shining in the sun, always growing back that same shade. Those gilded feathers will just be another thing his murder of crows hoards, another shiny object, but to Phil it will be a permanent reminder of how he has always only had one life, and how fleeting it is.

If Wilbur got his hands on a Totem, he would never let it go. To die again and again and again, to suffer through the agony of an eternal listless limbo, to suffer again as he is replaced by a mockery of himself… he could not stand for it. So he never lets go of the Totem in hand, his thumb worrying over the facets of its emerald eyes when he thinks, nails breaking against the rigid golden effigy. There are many reasons he would die, several from his own actions, as it was before. If he did die, he would wake choking on blood and tears, hacking and wheezing and lacking all the grace and charm he once had. It wouldn’t be until he coughed once again into his hands that he would see his blood, no longer a dull red, now glimmering and golden. And he laughs, as he now resembles a god in all but the immortality, his blood turned to ichor in its molten sunlight, its deep dark shades of beauty and riches, and he keeps choking on his blood as the Totem works still to restore a body dead for the fourth time.

When Ranboo uses a Totem of Undying the magic will seep into his skin, counteracting strangely with his biology, trying to strengthen him, trying to mark him however it can. So the short black velvet of fur he received from enderman genetics will spread, the skin and fur stronger, in hopes of protecting him. It seeps like ink, a slow spread that burns as if trails of water settled on his skin. It hurts, and he hides for days, coming out with his green eye just a bit brighter, black crawling up the white side of his jaw like an outstretched hand. His own hand will reach out, and under the white skin on his forearm will be golden veins, burning with life stolen from a Totem. He forgets using Totems every time he does, the experience is so jarring and intense as it changes the fiber of his being, as with every use he appears more enderman than whatever else he is. One day, far in the future when he goes by another name, he will look in the mirror and see two emerald green eyes, his entire body the black void of fur his endermen kin have. 

Foolish is a being whose entire being had always been defined by death. Once, it was the carnage, the lives lost in droves, sent into Her embrace prematurely in their violent ends. Then Foolish changed and became a Totem of Undying himself, a god now more mortal than even he knew by resisting his domain. When he died the denial was almost too much to bear, the Egg trying to worm its way into his mind when it realized this weakness, a grief for what he lost. If he dies again, he will likely have a Totem in hand, maybe even one of his children, held close as he fears an end, selfishly cannibalizing the life force of one of his own in order to extend his last two lives. There will be no markings from the Totem. He is already one of them, eyes of gemstone and skin of metal, created and made of that space between life and death, the lull after a last heartbeat when the next is expected, the resting note in the song of life that he has conducted himself, has cut short himself, destroying all in his path without a single goal in mind in his times as a Totem of Death. There is no scar or blood or feathers or bruise to mark him, because he is a Totem. A Totem given sentience and life, given free will and thought, but at the end of the day a living doll, and the now lifeless, apathetically terrified look in Foolish’s emerald eyes is enough to show just what measures he took in order to survive another death.

[gothicprep]

Meditations on True Crime: A Very Long Post

In around February of this year, I was researching a potential video related to how true crime media portrays websleuths, contrasted against their efficacy in each specific case. The introduction was a brief primer on the genre’s evolution, beginning with its general association with low-budget LifeTime films, to a hobby with more dignity than that. I remember finding an article talking about Serial, and there was some commentary in there from another large true crime podcast host.

I didn’t think it was particularly useful for my purposes, but it said something to the effect of “true crime as a hobby can help women reconcile the trauma related to being in a world that is so hostile to us.” I rolled my eyes at it. It seemed dishonestly saccharine, like it was giving a sort of post-hoc legitimacy to just enjoying whodunnits. I didn’t think about it again for around seven months after I’d read it.

One of the subjects that I intended to talk about was Elisa Lam’s death and the online reaction to it. The story was adapted into a Netflix series a few months prior, and I was freshly reminded of how poorly it all sat with me. If you aren’t familiar with her name, she disappeared in Los Angeles’s Cecil Hotel in 2013, and her disappearance went viral after the respective police department release footage of her behaving strangely in an elevator. The case attained quick viral status and extensive discussion, due to the nature of the video and the hotel’s morbid history. When her naked body was discovered in a rooftop water tank a few weeks later, speculation exploded. But an autopsy isn’t an immediate followup, and the online sleuths would lose themselves to their imaginations in the time between. Many people wanted the murder solved, but many let their speculation fly off the rails. Shady hotel coverups. Metal musician murderers. Fear of the homeless. Ghosts. Demons. Government tuberculosis research. The gang was all there.

If you weren’t active online back then, it’s difficult to properly convey how huge this all was. Everyone was expecting Elisa to have been murdered. Iron-clad. Beyond the shadow of a doubt. She wasn’t. Her death was ruled an accident. She had a severe case of bipolar disorder and she wasn’t taking her medication. The severity of her illness was also not previously disclosed to the public. The working theory is that she experienced a manic episode with psychotic features, climbed in the tank in this state, to eventually strip out of her clothes in late stage hypothermia and drown there. It’s a horrific and painful way to die. All that’s left of you is water contamination – insult to fatal injury.

People weren’t happy with this, but not out of any sympathy for Elisa. There was palpable rage from many who had been following the case. No, she was definitely murdered. No, her killer needs to be brought to justice. No, this isn’t the real story. I don’t like it. I’m not satisfied. There needs to be an ending better than this.

Tragedy isn’t exactly in the habit of being kind to us.

When news of Gabby Petito’s disappearance was spreading, I noticed a lot of similarities between hers and Elisa’s. A woman in her early 20s vanishes while traveling, under very unusual circumstances. Footage was released during both investigations, which portrayed these women in mentally vulnerable states. The story was viral online. People rifled through Gabby’s instagram in the same way they did with Elisa’s tumblr. Social media detectives established an inappropriate amount of investment. Everyone is sure of a specific outcome. The family deserves answers.

Let’s talk about answers for a second. I’d like you to spitball a comprehensive explanation for this one: how could something like this happen? I’m not looking for a “how” in terms of events or circumstances. In this case, this isn’t a question. It’s a protest of the unfairness of it all. My daughter. My sister. My friend. Someone who meant so much to me. It’s a prayer to a vacant sky. It’s not a question, it’s agony. Nothing shy of resurrection can feel like justice. Even if the case leads to a criminal trial and conviction, it does nothing to fill the void loss burns within us. There is no good answer, because there aren’t answers at all.

Let’s talk about ourselves for a second. I noticed many people draw parallels between what they’d seen on the bodycam footage and their own experience with abusive partners. “This could have been me.” Do you really think this is appropriate? Could have been, would have been – these are statements with hypothetical validity. It has nothing to do with you. To emotionally identify with someone does not evidence anything. You’re here. She’s gone. This isn’t about you. She isn’t in the position where she can co-sign anything you say. If she can’t speak for herself, don’t invoke her.

Let’s talk about true crime for a second. It’s funny how true crime marketed to men has a distinctly different texture than true crime marketed to women. The former seems to involve knocking the perpetrator down a peg. It portrays them as something worth our disgust and ridicule. The latter tends to foster emotional identification with the victim. Podcasts and other media in this category tend to be by women, for women, and generally discuss women. This story is presented as catharsis for women who see themselves as similar to them. This woman is no longer a person, but an idea. And it makes me think of that stupid article quote that I resent myself for not having bookmarked. This is reconciliation. These women, in their passing, can be a motivating factor for us to break up with that one dumbass guy. I’m so happy this was a wakeup call. I’m so happy that this made me think about my own experiences. I’m so happy that this did so much for me. Sure, someone actually died, but what is that when compared to my own self-actualization?

I made a comment on Twitter about how disgusted I was with how people spoke of Gabby in such an evasively self-interested way, and someone who likely was of no relation to her interjected with how the family deserved the truth. Truth? What truth? What peace will grisly details give them? Is there any meaningful difference between knowing your loved one died of murder or collapsed from exposure? Or are you just a nosey person who’s projected an inappropriate emotional dog in this fight? Do you want answers for her family, or for your own curiosity?

I really don’t trust shit like that, nor am I willing to give leniency to people who say such things. I think we’ve been conditioned to relate to dead women in a way that’s completely separate from who they actually were. Alive, they’re deep, multifaceted individuals, with an array of likes, dislikes, quirks, and endless little details. Dead, they’re a concept to serve a purpose. The purpose is generally a form of narrative catharsis. The creep gets thrown in prison. A woman’s abusive partner gets the comeuppance he deserves. The story needs a good ending. The story needs an ending that satisfies me. People aren’t stories. Life is not a novel.

The real trauma of others will never belong to you. This not your therapy tool or plaything. This is real pain that will never be theoretical for plenty of people. Know your place. Keep your distance. Don’t objectify the dead.