lenallu

[lenallu]

happy birthday Rafayel!!!!!🐟🐠🦈🐟🐟🐟🐠🐡🐡

[lenallu]

Meowster of Fate❄️🐾

I love Zaynes long hair so bad I can not even express it. but also cat❤️

Some other variations are posted on my Instagram @lenaboudy or twitter @ghoulcifix !

[lenallu]

I posted this on twitter a while ago but I think either that site hates me and nobody saw it OR everybody hated it which is also possible. Gonna try posting art here instead! Catch 22 Caleb!

[lenallu]

No but imagine after a long day of being yelled at by the farspace fleet colonel you log onto moments and see ur literal boss comment “XD” and “:P” under some girl’s post

[lenallu]

I'll hear you.

❅ tags: angst, hurt/no comfort, death, grief ❅ word count: 776 ❅ synopsis: Zayne takes you to the park when you're sick for some fresh air and sunlight. You find a way to express your love without words. ❅ a/n: this was written to the song futile devices - sufjan stevens

"You have to stop talking. You need to rest your voice, or you won't be able to talk at all." He pauses to consider something, then picks up a small knife from beside you.

"Actually, that might not be so bad." He cuts into the crisp apple's core, pulling out a section and handing it to you with a subtle smile pulling at his lips.

You laugh and push his shoulder before taking the offered slice from his fingers and biting into it. "But how will I tell you I love you? I don't want you to forget." You say hoarsely.

He sets the apple down onto the newspaper and looks out at the luscious park. He thinks for a moment, allowing silence to settle before looking back at you.

"You won't have to say it. Just look at me, like this. I'll hear you."

There's a devastating tenderness in his voice as he leans toward you slightly, his eyes locked onto yours. He spoke softly, as if sharing a secret. The remnants of your laughter soften in your expression as the love in his voice saturates you. Like a milk cake drenched in heavy cream, drowning in sweetness and crumbling upon the slightest touch.

"When you talk to me like that, I feel like I've been caught in the rain." You pause to watch confusion take root behind his eyes.

"Vulnerable, soggy. Embraced by the beauty of the world around me. It's too much for my heart. Would it kill you to act like you hate me every once in a while?"

He laughs a little, and leans back on his hands, allowing the sun to bathe him as he closes his eyes.

"It might."

🜺

The frost has seized him. Fear, anger, and envy flashed through your body at the sight of the frost encasing, embracing his body. You follow the trail of ice up his limbs with your eyes, leading you to where it had crept up the column of his neck.

You hurry forward, your hands coming up to hold his face in your warmth. The cold did not relent, and continued to consume him. Your breath trembled against his skin under the treachery of the frigid and wintry howling winds beating against your back. You wish there was a way to save him, you wish you knew what to do to make this less painful for him. To let him rest with some kind of peace. You want to say you love him, but can't see those words being anything but agonizing right now.

Warm memories of what he said that time in the park flood into your mind, and everything in you aches. Your chin lifts, and you find his eyes fastened to yours with wavering intensity as the biting cold spreads within his body, slowly capturing his consciousness.

The storm roars, as if to fend you off. The fear in his expression is palpable, and new. You've never seen him so terrified. Everything about this moment demands you to run, but your feet stay planted firmly in the snow. You don't make an effort to say anything, but you instead adhere your gaze to his as intensely as you can as your fingers caress his cheek, trembling. Recognition falls over his features at what you were trying to communicate, and sparkling tears begin to underline his hazel green eyes. A pained breath breaks from your mouth and panic floods into you at your misstep. You didn't want him to leave you like this with sadness in his heart. You didn't want him to cry.

Small flecks of ice break and fly from his skin as his jaw moves slightly. His voice comes out quiet, and you strain to hear him against the wind, but you do.

"I…love..you…too." It comes out, broken and pained, and he goes completely rigid as the frost makes its final advances.

In those last moments, he chose against his usual silent acknowledgement of your affection. Not because he felt words were any more powerful than the gazes you shared, but because years from now, he wanted you to know unquestionably that he heard you. He wanted his last words spoken among this universe to lay with you, for you to hold and remember, and never doubt the eternity of love between you.

You cry out, and your heart shatters in a way that feels so final as he leaves you. Your hands never part from him, and you pull yourself onto the tip of your toes to press one last kiss to his skin.

The storm becomes more violent. You have to go.

[lenallu]

currently feeling pain thinking about Zayne to the song j's lullaby by delaney bailey. I just feel like these lyrics are so him it actually hurts sooo bad

[lenallu]

For a moment, I thought it was you.

Based on the text messages Zayne sends when you haven't opened the app in a long time. ❅ tags: angst, hurt/comfort ❅ word count: 2.4k ❅ synopsis: You go missing on the job. Zayne struggles with the thought that you might never come back. ❅ a/n: my first fic post!!!! I'm currently writing a part two, so let me know if you like this :)

"I saw a hunter wearing their uniform at the airport during my last trip. For a moment, I thought it was you."

His phone chimes when his message delivers. It takes him a while to look away, and he feels silly for it. It's been this long, and yet he has failed miserably to snuff out the habit of hoping you'll reply. He shoves his phone into his pocket, the weight of it tugging his jacket when it hits the bottom of his deep, wrapper filled pockets. Candy wrappers he pulled from your hands as you raved about the flavor, so he could throw them away for you later. 

You had been missing for just over three weeks when he put that jacket on again, and something totally irrational in the back of his head begged him to leave them in there. He shook his head. When did garbage become precious? You'll be back. His pockets will fill with the crinkled paper when you amble by each other's sides once again, soon. 

He decides to leave them in there anyway. He picks lint off the shoulder, lingering on the garment before pushing it back into his closet, near the back. He tries not to think much of that choice, and does his best to ignore the things his mind is trying to suggest.

He hears people talking on the street later that day, parroting rumors about a failed mission and 11 or 12 casualties, hunters. A team of them, sent out to do who knows what. You didn't tell him much about it before you left. You were legally barred from sharing details with civilians. It was standard safety protocol. He understood at the time, but now he wishes you could have given him something. Anything to figure out where you had gone, so he could go and get you himself.

A shrill meow sounds out near his feet, and yanks him out of his thoughts. He had stopped by a table of jewelry set up outside of a shop you used to stare at every time you passed by with him on your walks through town, but had lent all his focus to absorbing information from conversations that floated by. Scraping the world around him for any indication of you.

He stares at the cat, and recognizes her from the countless times you had reached down to pet her. You’d even started to carry loose treats in your pockets just for her.

He turns a ring from the table in his fingers, tracing over the small, sparkling embedded stones before setting it down. When you get back, he’ll remind you to check your clothes for cat treats before you wash them.

At work, none of his pens seem to stay put in his pocket. They're too busy whirling around his fingers, occupying his hands even when he isn't writing anything. He can't explain the fidgeting to himself or to his colleagues questioning gazes. He was a stable surgeon. A steady person. He started actively reminding himself of that, repeating it like a wish, as if it had stopped being true at some point.

🜺

A month and a half has passed. He sits tensely at his dining table, chin cradled in the space between his thumb and forefinger. The house is quiet like it always is when you aren’t there, but it bothers him more now. It unsettles him to think it might be like this forever, and he pleads with himself for the hundredth time not to go there in his head.

He started watching the news more often, almost religiously. The second he gets home and his keys rattle onto the counter, the tv is on. If the association releases any kind of statement, he doesn't want to miss it. 

A fatigued sigh blows from his nose after about an hour of menial news reports, and he's just about to get up to cook something when the newscaster's voice cuts out. 'Breaking news' flashes across the screen.

"We can't make any definitive statements, but we believe we were able to recover data of the last signals their watches sent out before everything went dark. Again, the location of this mission was incredibly remote and difficult to navigate, so this doesn't guarantee we will find them. That is all in terms of developments. It has taken a long time to regain access to our systems and grab those signals."

His eyes are wide, and all he can think about is storming your building and demanding information. He knows it doesn't work like that. He still considers it. He had hoped when an update finally came, he'd be sprinting through the door to his car to pick you up. The ghost of that hope lingers in his legs, and he doesn't know what to do with the residual energy. He feels utterly helpless.

🜺

Your body wakes before you, searing pain striking through your limbs. Your eyelids feel glued together as you struggle to open them, but once you do, all you see is white. Fear kickstarts the rest of your functions, and you start to regain sensation. Quick and panicked breaths scratch their way out of your throat as your eyes dart around. You become aware that you are encrusted in icy crystals, sunken about two feet into some snowy expanse. Moving proves difficult, but you manage. Snow slides off your form and you stumble and trudge forward with hardly any mental recognition that you are actually moving. Things are fuzzy. You're not sure you're even really alive.

You're not all there, if there at all, but you feel a tinge of what you loosely recognize as rage floating in you somewhere in response to the snow that never seems to end. That anger blooms in your chest as you plow through what seems like miles of pure white, and your body feels like it's stinging all over. It's all you have. 

This all just feels like an infinite dream. Maybe this was death. A cruel one, and maybe it came with a sentence. A punishment. Doomed to push through miles of numbing, freezing cold, thinking it'll end eventually, but it never does. All with half a mind, which is enough to feel the pain in your heart, but not enough to remember how to cry or scream or shout or plead. Condemned to carry a heavy sorrow that you don't even know how to put down.

Please let it end soon. You can't put the words together in your mind, but you feel them. You feel them for a while, until you don't anymore. You are none the wiser as your body collapses in a more shallow clearing.

🜺

Zayne doesn't even know how to describe what he just saw. Vocabulary wasn't an issue. He was well versed in nearly every medical term he encountered in the stacks upon stacks of textbooks and learning materials he revised in undergrad and beyond. 

It was you, but it wasn't. Your skin was nearly a shade of grey he couldn't even fathom on a living human being. That thought sunk something in him as soon as it passed through his mind. He stood there paralyzed as you were rushed past him, the team of doctors wheeling you shouting up a storm of vitals and medications. All of which, for the first time in Zayne's life, were incomprehensible. He couldn't make out a single thing they were saying, and not because it was unclear. He couldn't think at all. He didn't realize he wasn't breathing until Yvonne stood up from the reception desk to lightly lay her hand on his shoulder. A turbulent breath suddenly thrusted out of him like water through a broken dam, and he ignored Yvonne's voice calling out to him as his body carried him down the hall as fast as it possibly could.

He caught up, and grimaced at the sight of you. He catches bits and pieces of what the doctors are saying as you are rushed into a room and CPR protocols begin. At some point, a catheter is placed and they begin pumping you with warmed intravenous fluids. The door swings closed as a doctor rushes past, and the only thing that stops him from crashing through that door is Yvonne finding him again. He only looks at her for half a second before he's staring through the tiny window in the door. He wants to say something, but stands there in silence.

"She has a pulse." Yvonne addresses the worry she can see written all over him. She stares into the window with him, and her next words feel strange when they eventually come out. "They're doing everything they can." 

She's offered this line to countless anxious families, but never did she think a time would come where she'd be saying it to him. Greyson comes along at some point, having heard of the situation, and lightly gestures for Zayne to sit down. 

"She's gonna come around, Dr. Zayne. She’s in good hands. You know you're not in a state to do anything right now, anyways, or you wouldn't still be standing out here instead of in there. Come on." He says gently. "She'll come around."

Two hours pass, and he's beating himself up the whole time. He should be in there, saving you. He's studied all his life to do just that, and when the time came, he couldn't. Fear got in the way. He loved you so much it paralyzed him. When he looked at you today, grief crashed into him like he had lost you right there in that hall. He felt like a giant hole had been blown in his chest. He starts to sink in that powerless feeling. You’re here, and yet he still feels like he did when the news came on that night in his home.

Your hypothermia was severe enough that invasive procedures were required. Tubes were put in through your esophagus, which connect to an external heat exchange unit. Zayne clicks through your intake form, and through several tabs on the procedure they were currently putting you through. As he sifts through the information, there's a growing tightness in his chest and throat. It pulls tighter, and he tries to ignore the way his eyes are burning. Grief continues to brew inside him, venting out of his chest with periodical sighs as he scrolls, brows knitted. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if you don’t make it.

A knock sounds at the door of his office. It’s Greyson. He offers a tight lipped smile.

“She’s stable. The docs are done and her room is empty.” He hardly has time to finish his sentence before Zayne is up and moving. He hurriedly marches out into the hall and straight for you. All the energy built up over the last 2 months propelled him forward, but dissipated as soon as he got to your door. He’s not prepared when he does see you.

Your skin isn’t quite as ashen anymore. Color is returning to you, but you are clearly emaciated. His mind races with all the possibilities of the kind of trouble you might have been in, and it shakes him deeply. He stands at the foot of your bed for a while, idling. Almost in complete disbelief that he is seeing you again, and not in a body bag with a certificate of death being handed to him.

He pulls a chair up to your bedside. You’re covered in a few layers of thick blankets. He hesitates to touch you, but he reaches under the warm layers, feeling for your hand anyway. Out of pure need. He has to know it’s really you. 

He grazes something cold. His fingers find your hand, wrapping around it and squeezing lightly to warm you up.

He studies your sunken features as his heart starts to settle in his chest for the first time in months. The steady beeping from the monitor is music to his ears, lulling him into comfort as he settles into the chair, still holding onto you. You don't look well, but you're alive. That's all he needs. He falls asleep as he sits there for a few hours, the sky rolling into darkness outside. 

🜺

Your eyelids open with much less difficulty this time. Met with the sterile white of the hospital room, you panic briefly before realizing where you were. Your mind is still foggy as you blink lazily, comforted by the sheer warmth that envelops you. 

A soft noise comes from somewhere to your right, and the muscles in your neck ache as you turn your head to follow it.

Zayne. Slumped in his chair, head leaning toward one shoulder as soft breaths blow locks of hair from his face. Sunlight from the window falls over him, blanketing his features in warmth, and he’s the purest picture of paradise you’ve seen in a long time. The sight of him seems to activate some kind of primal instinct towards warmth, and adrenaline starts to pump into your blood. You long to hold him and ensure that this isn’t a dream, but you feel overcome with weakness, and you can hardly manage squeezing his thumb. 

He doesn't wake. You huff, body going slack after a wholehearted, but futile attempt to move. You stare at the ceiling and breathe deeply, begging for only just enough strength. You turn your head to him again, and determination washes over you. You pull your hand free from his grasp, mustering up all the strength you have plus what you don't, and feebly tumbling out of bed onto his chair and him.

He startles and instinctually tries to catch you, his sleepy, bleary eyes becoming focused on you and expanding once he realizes it’s you, and your skin beneath his fingers. His expression breaks into so many things at once: sorrow, pain, relief and others you aren't even allowed to finish distinguishing before he pulls you into a suffocatingly tight embrace. The sight of the whirling storm in his eyes, maybe even just his eyes alone, were enough to choke you up. You let out an incredulous laugh as he squeezes you, and tears collect in your eyes. It’s the warmest you’ve felt in months.

You wrap your arms around his head, settling your cheek in his soft hair when you start to feel him shudder. Guilt crashes into him, for not being able to do more. He should have stormed into the Hunter's Association, he should have gone out and looked for you night and day, across states and countries. He should have taken care of you when you got wheeled in. He should have, he should have. 

Excruciating recollections of what happened to you on that mission start to creep into your mind as his warmth begins to thaw you from the inside, so you squeeze your eyes shut, and hold him tighter.

[lenallu]

my curse is going back in and adding microscopic changes to pieces I've already posted. Oh well, here he is again while I work on some utonium and keane🫶

[lenallu]

hi so there isn't enough Professor Utonium content in the world. In an attempt to jog the Utonium content economy I am posting these. Please hear my cries❤️