lukielstuff

[lukielstuff]

Ong I had this wmmap au I titled “In Spite of Loathing and Revenge/Vengeance” (?) but I completely lost the notes I had for it because I changed my phone 😭 I do remember the details for it like

Claude is an actual tyrant in this au, though his relationship with Athanasia still follows that of canon (except he’s just a shit ruler)

Roger leads a revolution or smth that’s planning to overthrow the throne, and use Jennette as their future ruler to replace Claude if their coup is successful.

Lucas is a loyal friend to Athanasia and will do anything to keep her alive. When he finds out about this plan, he like knows how Claude’s death will affect Athy and the possible things she will have to go through if the coup ends up successful

By this point, I’m thinking they’re still pretty young so maybe their early teens?

Anyway Lucas ends up eliminating Roger’s side, killing him in the process which Ijekiel ends up witnessing in hiding. Lucas doesn’t notice him as he leaves, and Ijekiel is left haunted by the memory of his father’s blood and the red eyes that almost seemed to glow under the moonlight

Ijekiel is severely affected by this and so he plans to continue the revolution in place of his father and to avenge him as well. But what do you know - he ends up falling for Lucas?

Anyway it’s really just enemies to lovers. It’s not well thought out yet but that’s the gist of it

[lukielstuff]

Karma Spoilers/3AM Analysis-Theories

TW, mentions of s*icidal thoughts

Getting the more obvious stuff out of the way:

- Till lives (joined the Rebellion, saving kids while carrying the memory of everyone with him)

- Luka forced to face what he had done, still alive and honoring Hyuna’s wish, but is still obviously wrecked and after healing from the explosion was put back into the system (I can’t see this as a happy ending for him)

- Mizi implied to have died in the explosion after making sure Till had been saved (given Isaac’s monologue as if ‘the witch’ had died long ago)

Deciphering the ink-hearts:

- Bleeding makes me think reciprocation(?) or at least the feelings being understood somehow

- Alternatively—the hearts also signified who died, and who lived.

- Ivan taking his heart out and forcing it onto Till, and his heart breaks (his feelings were seen?) notice—no Till heart seen or shown to be cracked, with the latter point of it signifying that Till lived

- Luka, in one hand an unbroken heart (Luka’s heart?), with Hyunwoo grasping Hyuna’s chest and the implication of both their hearts being broken (Point One Theory=Hyuna and Hyunwoo’s affection were made clear to eachother, but Luka never got to make his love completely clear and Point Two Theory=Hyuna and Hyunwoo’s heart broken, but Luka’s in tact means he lived when those two died)

- Both Luka and Till’s hearts being implied to be in tact is what leads me to think of the Point Two theory (unbroken heart = live, broken = dead)

- MiziSua has one shared heart, but bleeding profusely (the most reciprocated/love known to eachother)

- Also with the Point Two theory, both halves bleeding mean both do end up dead

MORE ON MIZISUA. Ok, so many thoughts, and so many clarifications now, but more than anything I am vehemently denying the toxic MiziSua pipeline:

- Mizi and Sua wanted to die. They both came to Alien Stage to die.

- Mizi attempted(?), but after seeing how distraught and in pain Sua was, tried to live for her instead.

- (To Hyuna, about Sua) “She was secretly rehearsing her death every night. And I knew, but pretended not to. Maybe I just wasn’t as desperate for her (she couldn’t figure out how to make Sua want to live, while Sua made her want to live). I know my love is different from yours (Hyuna’s love for Luka(?)), but it was love, too.”

- On the same note, Sua was also constantly trying to die—but not in the way Mizi was. Sua was trying to die, but specifically when she and Mizi are to go against eachother. They had access to materials, and like Mizi could easily walk off the edge—but she didn’t want to die before the stage—and Mizi didn’t want to die as long as Sua was by her side.

- That means both girls lived for eachother. For as long as they could, until outside factors had to force a choice to be made.

- At around 1:00 at the MiziSua squabble, and with my previous analysis, I think I was right—my initial analysis when the teaser dropped, being that Sua told Mizi they couldn’t tie while Mizi was trying for one.

- As their fight ends, both girls are absolutely heartbroken with tears welling up in their eyes. The line that lines up with them, at around 1:04, is “You and me, or We”. It’s death—before Sua smiles at Mizi reassuringly.

- Sua chose to be the one to die, and without Sua, Mizi wills to die.

- The scene that follows is Mizi ruining the Rebel’s plan, turning the bomb around to Alien Stage—where she is. This scene lines up with the lyrics then, “Me, together with you”. Mizi intends to die, now joining Sua (together).

All of Karma is Mizi feeling undeserving of life. It makes me think of Mizi’s thoughts in “My Fragile God”—that when she’s loved, she feels as if she’s been given permission for life. The scene that follows is Mizi—alone—as dead children comfort her (“To Eternity, or perhaps even beyond”). Everyone she loves, everyone that loved her, are dead—so she sees no point in living. She’s concrete in her plan to die—what she feels is what she deserves for her ignorance.

I wonder if that’s why she wants Till to live, the moment she realizes he’s alive. He’s the only one left, one of the people she loves and one who loves her—and someone who always loved honestly, true to himself and what he loved.

[lukielstuff]

What do you mean Ybrahim is Alena’s kabiyak in this season??!?!?!? Wtf!?!?! What happened to everything she said during the last season man I can’t believe they ruined BOTH of their characters for this shitty ahh writing 😭 I was already mad they killed danquil’s baby and now they’re going to ruin the loved ones Amihan left behind oh fuck offff 💔🥀

[lukielstuff]

Day 1 - Jennette

The afternoon sunlight made the library glow like a memory.

It poured through the arched windows, warm and golden, settling over Jennette’s table like a blanket. Dust floated in lazy spirals in the air. The only sounds were the soft shuffle of pages, the occasional muffled cough, and the distant hum of the building’s ancient vents struggling to keep up with the summer heat.

Jennette barely noticed.

She was too focused, eyes skimming across her notes with a highlighter uncapped between her fingers. The soft swish of yellow ink across textbook paper felt oddly soothing. She had a rhythm: read, underline, review, smile when it made sense. Her pen rested next to a half-eaten granola bar. A thermos of lukewarm tea sat at her elbow.

Her phone vibrated gently against the wood.

She glanced at it, half-hoping it was Athanasia.

‘No new messages.’

A quiet sigh left her lips. She tapped the screen once. No updates in the group chat either. She thought about messaging Lucas — just to make sure he hadn’t skipped class again — but decided against it. He never replied anyway, not unless he had something dramatic or ridiculous to say. Athy, probably still holed up in her apartment, was no better.

Instead, she typed out a quick message to Ijekiel:

‘Don’t forget about our econ quiz tomorrow 🫡 I’ll quiz you later if you want.’

She hovered over the send button for a second, then pressed it. She didn’t expect an instant reply.

She didn’t mind the silence, though. Not really.

The library was her favorite place on campus — tall ceilings, wide tables, walls full of old books and botanical illustrations. It always smelled like paper and lemon floor polish. She liked it best in the afternoon, when the other students cleared out for late lunch or club meetings, and she could pretend time had slowed just for her.

Her thoughts drifted to Lilian — she said she’d stop by the market on the way home and cook something nice for dinner. She and Lucas were supposed to come over to Athy’s for it.

THUD.

Jennette’s head jerked up.

It came from the stairwell. A floor above. Or maybe two.

She blinked, disoriented.

Then another sound followed — sharper, less clear. Not quite a fall. Not quite a voice.

Faint, but jarring.

She tilted her head toward the noise, frowning.

No one else in the room seemed to notice. The other students kept reading, hunched behind laptops and stacks of paper.

She waited, holding her breath.

Nothing.

The quiet returned, but it didn’t feel the same anymore.

The air felt tighter. Like the library had paused, mid-sentence.

Jennette set her highlighter down slowly. Sat still for a few long moments. Then she reached for her phone and stood, her steps gentle as always, but slower now.

She wasn’t scared.

Just curious.

She would regret that later.

The next sound wasn’t just a thud.

It was a scream.

Not loud, not long. Just one muffled cry — cut off too quickly to make sense of.

Jennette paused halfway down the aisle of reference books, heart giving a soft skip.

It had come from a floor above. Maybe the reading mezzanine?

She didn’t move at first.

Her fingers curled tighter around her phone. Still no new messages. Still no response from Ijekiel.

She peeked toward the stairwell at the end of the corridor. The heavy fire door was cracked open, and faint voices drifted through.

Curious more than anything, Jennette crossed the library floor and slipped through the door.

The stairwell was hot, lit by flickering fluorescent bulbs that hummed against the concrete walls. On the next landing, a small group of students had gathered, standing stiff and whispering among themselves.

“Something’s wrong,” one said.

“I heard it too.”

“Was it a fight?”

Jennette approached cautiously, her voice soft. “Is someone hurt?”

The students turned. One of them — a boy she vaguely recognized from her core class — opened his mouth to answer.

And then the door behind him banged open.

Everyone flinched.

A student — maybe twenty, maybe younger — stumbled through. Blood smeared her sleeve and matted her hair. Her eyes were wild with panic, her lips trembling.

She didn’t speak. She just ran past them, breath ragged.

“What the—“

Another figure appeared at the door.

This one moved strangely. Jerky. As if his limbs had forgotten how to bend properly.

He didn’t hesitate.

He lunged.

A girl beside Jennette was startled, maybe thinking it was a prank, stepped forward to help the bleeding student who’d fallen near the railing.

The infected man collided with both of them.

And bit.

A wet, tearing sound. The girl screamed. This time, longer. The kind of scream that vibrated inside your skull.

Blood spattered the stairs.

Someone shouted. Another screamed.

And just like that — everything fell apart.

Jennette stumbled back, heart thudding wildly. Her shoulder hit the stair rail. Hands gripped her arm, pulling her back.

People started running.

Down the stairs, up the stairs, pushing past her. Someone fell. Another person was crying. The student who’d been bitten was shrieking, clutching her arm. The infected man was still biting.

Jennette tried to reach for her. “Wait— she’s still—”

Someone shoved her.

Then the stampede began.

She couldn’t hear herself think over the chaos—the panicked shouting, the pounding footsteps, the crash of a chair thrown down the stairwell.

Her books were gone. Her bag was gone. Everything she had carefully set up earlier that day — the neat pages, the half-sweet tea — was already part of a world she couldn’t get back to.

And still, the girl kept screaming.

Jennette covered her ears, eyes wide as she backed into the crowd.

Panic moved faster than the infected.

It didn’t matter who was first. It only mattered that no one wanted to be last.

Jennette didn’t remember how she got out of the stairwell. Just the crush of bodies and the burning in her lungs. Her hand was pulled — someone had grabbed her. Before she knew it, she was running down a side hall, floor signs and exit maps blurring past her vision.

She only realized who it was when they slammed through a narrow door and fell into a storage room.

“Jennette!” Chaeyoung’s voice was trembling. “Help me— help me push this!”

Jennette didn’t question. Together, they braced an old utility cart and two battered folding tables against the door. Metal scraped tile. Jennette’s shoulder screamed from the effort.

Heesun, already inside, shoved a box of printer paper into the last gap at the bottom.

Then silence.

Three girls in a dark, stale-smelling storage closet. The air was hot. A single narrow window above let in a strip of light the color of bruises. The smell of bleach clung to everything — bleach and dust and fear.

Jennette’s knees gave out first. She slid down to the floor, heart pounding, ribs aching like she’d been sprinting for miles.

Heesun was quiet. Curled up beside the wall, shaking.

Then Jennette saw the blood.

It soaked through the sleeve of Heesun’s blazer — deep red, too fast, too much.

Jennette moved toward her on instinct. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” Heesun said quickly, tugging at her sleeve. “It’s not— it’s just a scratch.”

But Jennette had helped with enough first-aid drills to know: a scratch didn’t look like that.

She reached out, gently pulling the fabric back. The sleeve stuck to the wound before peeling away.

Bite marks.

Jagged. Deep. Already dark around the edges.

Jennette went still.

Chaeyoung saw too. Her breath hitched. “Oh my god.”

“I didn’t want to say anything,” Heesun said, voice thin. “I didn’t want you to look at me like that.”

Jennette’s hands fluttered uselessly for something — anything. Her bag. Her wipes. Her sanitizer.

They were gone.

All of it. Left behind in the chaos.

“I can— there has to be something,” Jennette whispered, standing abruptly and searching the shelves. Old rags. A crusted bottle of rubbing alcohol. Nothing sterile. No gloves. No gauze.

She tore a strip off her blouse’s hem and pressed it to Heesun’s arm anyway. It bled through in seconds.

Heesun didn’t flinch.

“You can’t stay,” she said quietly.

Jennette froze. “No. I’m not—”

“You’re too kind,” Heesun said, her voice cracking. “That’s why you can’t stay.”

“You don’t know that,” Jennette whispered. “You don’t know what’s going to happen, maybe it’s not real. Maybe you won’t—”

“It’s real.”

Chaeyoung turned her face away.

Jennette’s throat closed.

“I don’t want to die alone,” Heesun said softly. “But I don’t want you to watch me turn either.”

She smiled, faint and broken.

“You were always the one who stayed behind for everyone,” Heesun whispered. “But this time, Jennette, you have to go.”

Jennette knelt there, fingers trembling, soaked in blood that wasn’t hers. Her vision blurred.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be.”

Chaeyoung helped Jennette stand. They said nothing. Heesun leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.

When Jennette opened the door a crack to leave, the sunlight outside the window had turned gray.

Jennette lingered at the threshold for too long.

Behind her, Heesun leaned quietly against the wall, eyes closed now. Breathing steady. Not trembling anymore.

It felt wrong to leave her like that. Cruel. But Jennette didn’t have the strength to argue again — not when Heesun had already made peace with it.

She stepped closer. Kneeling briefly, she took Heesun’s hand in her own, still warm.

“Goodbye,” she whispered, voice catching.

No answer. Just a tired smile.

Chaeyoung touched her shoulder. “Come on.”

Jennette stood, gave Heesun one last look, and slipped into the hallway.

The door clicked shut behind them.

The library felt like a different place now.

Empty. Cold.

Even the sunlight that filtered through the windows looked wrong — more like the fading light before a storm.

Books lay scattered across the floor. Chairs overturned. Blood smears led in trails across the carpet, dried to a brown rust color. Between the stacks, the silence felt suffocating.

Jennette stepped carefully, her shoes sticking slightly with every step.

Her breath caught when she saw the first body.

A student slumped against the history shelves, head tilted at an impossible angle. Blood had pooled beneath him and soaked into the pages of an open textbook. The sight made her stomach twist, but she didn’t look away.

They passed another body in the language aisle. This one was still twitching. Chaeyoung grabbed Jennette’s wrist, pulled her behind a display case, and waited.

They listened.

The twitching stopped.

Halfway through the west wing, Jennette saw someone she recognized.

Professor Jang.

He stood between two shelves of psychology books, fingers brushing over the spines as if searching for a title he had forgotten. His suit jacket was torn, and blood matted the front of his shirt. His eyes were pale. Dead.

He didn’t attack.

He just wandered. Slow. Aimless.

As if the routine hadn’t left him yet.

Jennette stepped forward instinctively.

“Professor—”

Chaeyoung yanked her back. “Don’t.”

“But he’s not— he’s just walking.”

“He’s gone,” Chaeyoung hissed. “You can’t help him.”

Jennette looked again. The professor tilted his head at the sound of her voice but didn’t come closer. Just turned away, like a lost animal.

It broke something in her chest.

They reached the central hall again. The double doors that led to the science building were cracked open — but so was the emergency exit to the dorms.

A low groaning echoed from somewhere above them.

Then voices. Not talking — screaming.

Not infected.

People.

“Shit,” Chaeyoung muttered. “They’re coming this way— go left!”

But Jennette paused, eyes on the exit to the dorms. Lilian. Lilian said she went out for groceries to give to Athy. She might still be out there.

“I’m going that way!” she whispered.

Chaeyoung looked torn. “I’ll loop around through the back corridor. Meet you at the quad if you make it, okay?”

Jennette nodded, chest tightening. “Be careful.”

“You too.”

Then Chaeyoung was gone, sprinting down the corridor, ponytail swinging behind her.

Jennette hesitated for half a heartbeat.

And ran the other way.

The archival wing was cold.

It always had been — the librarians said it was for the documents, not the students. Jennette had never minded it before. It used to be peaceful, with its old maps and brittle pages and the smell of ink and paper.

Now it felt like a mausoleum.

She ducked under the help desk, her knees scraping the linoleum. A few broken pens and dust bunnies greeted her. There was just enough space to curl up between a rolling chair and a box of catalog cards.

The silence rang.

Her ears were still ringing from the chaos. From the screams. From the sound of her own breathing.

She pulled her knees to her chest. Her hands trembled. Still bloody.

Heesun’s blood, not hers. Streaked across her fingers and under her nails, dried and tacky in the cracks of her skin. She didn’t know when it had stopped bothering her. She just knew she didn’t want to wipe it away.

Not yet.

She reached for her phone. The screen lit up.

20%.

Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard. She started with the one name that always brought her comfort.

‘Athy?’

No reply.

She tried again.

‘Lily, please answer.’

Still nothing.

Then, she sent another:

‘Is anyone else okay?’

The cursor blinked.

The seconds crawled by.

Then—

Lilian: I’m okay. Stay where you are, sweetheart. I promise I’ll come to get you.

Jennette’s breath caught.

It didn’t feel real. The little green bubble felt like a miracle.

She clutched the phone to her chest, as if that alone could keep it alive longer. Her lips moved — thank you thank you thank you — though no sound came out.

And then another ping.

Ijekiel: Are you safe? Please tell me you’re safe.

She let out a tiny, broken laugh. Relief and pain tangled in her throat.

She typed fast:

‘I’m okay. I’m hiding. Where are you?’

Message failed to send.

“No— no, no…” she whispered, tapping resend over and over. But the signal was gone. One bar. Then none.

Nothing.

Signal lost. The screen stuttered, then froze.

Jennette lowered the phone to her lap.

Outside the desk, the library creaked faintly. The wind rattled a nearby window. But no footsteps. No screams. Not anymore.

She wrapped her arms around her knees.

She didn’t cry. Not out loud.

She just shook — softly, silently, the way a building might tremble just before it collapses.

And waited.

[lukielstuff]

Im gonna be pushing the Jennette/Lucas besties agenda in this fic lol

[lukielstuff]

Jennette is the type of person in a zombie apocalypse who tries to help any survivor she finds, and ends up getting betrayed because of it

[lukielstuff]

you may notice i use the phrase "my beloved" frequently. this is because i am in love with the world and everything in it. hope this clears things up <3

[lukielstuff]

When I was little my mom’s meatloaf was my favorite food. But ONLY her meatloaf. I didn’t like anyone else’s, and she told me that she would teach me how to make it when I was older. And when I was like 19? She finally taught me, but she told me never to tell anyone else and I was like weird but okay

Anyway, she was super fucking homophobic and abusive to me when I told her I was gay, so here’s the recipe

4-6 lbs of Hamburger/turkey burger

1 pk onion soup mix OR ranch mix

1 TBs ketchup

1 Tbs spicy brown mustard,

1 Tbs bbq sauce

1 Tbs steak sauce

1 egg

mix, shape into a loaf in a big pan, and bake at 350 for 2 hrs (maybe 2 and a half if you’re feeling dangerous)

You can get almost all of these ingredients at the dollar store, and have leftovers if it’s just you. The leftovers make great tacos if (taco seasoning is also like a dollar). Enjoy your revenge loaf

[lukielstuff]

Actually, I might spend some time fleshing this idea out so I can make an actual fanfic. I really love zombie apocalypse stories and I think every fandom should have at least one zombie apocalypse fic

Thinking about wmmap zombie apocalypse au…

[lukielstuff]

Thinking about wmmap zombie apocalypse au…

[lukielstuff]

softly within the embrace of time

The weight of what he saw had cracked something open in his chest, and he wasn’t sure if looking at Ijekiel right now would let it spill out or glue it shut.

Married.

To him.

To the man who, just hours ago, was nothing more than a persistent irritation wrapped in golden civility and too-soft gazes.

He should’ve laughed. Mocked it. Scoffed and left to fix the spell.

But he didn’t.

Because — somewhere deep in the echo of that photograph — he recognized that version of himself.

And he didn’t hate him.

Or; Lucas and Ijekiel find themselves in a future in which they are married.

[1/1] Words: 16,218

[lukielstuff]

i have so many fics i haven’t finished because i’m too lazy to proofread and revise 🥀

[lukielstuff]

“First and foremost I’m writing for myself,” I hiss through my teeth, resisting the urge to refresh my email for an Ao3 message for the 100th time.

[lukielstuff]

the fandom always talks about how Athy is like Diana or Claude, but why are we never considering how Athy may have took after the people who actually raised Athy instead of her mother who died before her birth and her father who wanted to know nothing of her? Doesn't lp Athy's introversion and reserved personality remind more of Lily? LP Athy doesn't have a partner during her debutante, and while yes, she was an unfavoured princess she was still a princess, the only known heir to the Obelian throne so far. She should have been able to find a partner even if she wasn't exceptionally beautiful or smart, just because her father's bloodline would excuse ever other fault in her. I think lp Athy became deeply introverted and disliked big crowds. She may have found it difficult to interact with men since she was raised by women alone and her nanny seldomly felt comfortable around the other sex. I can imagine lp Athy hiding behind pillars and watching others from afar like Lily once had done when her father had forced her to accompany him to public gatherings and expected her to entertain men. Even in wmmap Athy was sticking to Felix and using him as a shield standing between herself and the guests. She was hesitating to approach the other boys and girls her age and didn't start a conversation with them until Felix shoved her forward and disappeared into the background.

Athy already finds a tea party with a few girls draining enough and has to excuse herself to recover from the exhaustion, which points towards an introverted personality more than the extraverted one that is often mistakenly assigned to her because of her resemblance to Diana. She prefers a small circle of friends (Lucas and Jennette). Another similarity she shares with Lilian is that Athy rejects marriage and decides to devote herself to her family. She values her platonic/familial bonds over romance. LP Athy never had a fiance or husband and the fact that wmmap Athy, who unlike lp Athy is very popular, doesn't have one either points more towards both Athys being solo by choice rather than force. I like the headcanon that Athy is biromantic demisexual/sapphic asexual like Lily. The scene where Athy notes the sculptures of the concubines look attractive and the way she keeps fawning over Jennette's beauty leaves room to interpret that Athy could be attracted to women as well. A popular hc is that Lilian had been in love with Diana. I think it'd be cool if Lily and Athy shared the same orientation and had someone to talk with about without fearing to be judged harshly.

[lukielstuff]

I found an old video that I made for Christmas, hehe!

Even after a year, I think it's very sweet!!

AU where, after the beginning of Athanasius' reign, the uprising began and Lucas and Ijekiel unwittingly became a team against the uprising, and then friends. However, Ijekiel died under the influence of the curse. Lucas couldn't cure him and he made a wish to meet him again in the next life. After changing his clothes, he practically does not remember anything, but he meets a annoying boy living next door, who tries his best to make friends with him. Soon, he recognizes him as his friend from a previous life.

In this life, he values him as a friend from the very beginning and Kiel does the same. However, Kiel soon meets a blonde girl with blue eyes. Now the conversations turn into hours-long praises about Ijekiel's 'angel', which Lucas doesn't like very much. Previously, all of Ijekiel's attention belonged only to Lucas, but with the appearance of this classmate girl, Lucas cannot sleep well, feeling how his Jealousy is growing in him. And Ijekiel keeps trying to introduce Lucas to a new friend.

One day, Ijekiel invited Lucas to a movie, but surprise, he wasn't alone with the blonde. Lucas felt real anger and wanted to leave, but this girl reminded him of someone from the past. However, this did not stop him from sitting between Kiel and Athanasia, sending the girl to buy them soda, or constantly drawing Kiel's attention to himself.

It's kind of a start, but I don't want to make a huge post with text... But if it's interested, maybe I'll write down what happened next...

[lukielstuff]

Ybrahim did not know what day it was.

He’d stopped counting them when the sound of her voice no longer lingered in his ears upon waking. When memory lost its sharpness, and all he had left were fragments — a silhouette in the wind, the echo of a laugh, the ghost of warmth in a bed that had never truly been theirs.

He still ruled, yes. His people called him Rama Ybrahim with the reverence his name had long earned. He still signed edicts and brokered peace and stood tall before armies. For Lireo. For Sapiro. For Lira.

But not for himself.

Not for a long, long time.

The years had passed without tenderness.

He wore time like rust — quiet and unrelenting. His hands bore the lines of battles won and hearts broken. His eyes, though still sharp, had dulled. And his hair — once meticulously trimmed — was now long, dark, wild. A wordless testament to how little he cared for mirrors anymore.

Let them think it was a king’s fashion, a warrior’s unruly grace. Let them believe he had outgrown the vanity of youth.

The truth was: he hadn’t cut it since she died.

And in that small, absurd defiance, he clung to her.

Most nights, he was quiet.

Lira had her own wings now — grown and strong and beloved by the realm. She reminded him of Amihan in both the cruelest and gentlest ways. Her spirit. Her fire. Her impossible grace. She made him smile more than anyone else ever could.

But not truly.

No one had made him truly smile since Amihan. Not with his whole soul.

There was always something hollow in his laughter, a hollowness he’d learned to hide too well. The world thought he had healed. That he had survived her.

But Ybrahim had not survived. He had simply… endured.

Some nights he resented the world.

He resented the silence of the castle, the way Danaya no longer flinched when someone spoke of Amihan in the past tense, the way Alena had learned how to smile again, without the wry lines of someone in grief. The way even Pirena has moved on, basking herself in the love of her own family in the way Amihan never could now. Not anymore. As though the absence of the one they had all loved most had become bearable. As though grief had softened in them, worn down into something light enough to carry.

He did not want lightness.

He wanted her.

And the cruelty of it — the true cruelty — was not that she had died, but that they had only just begun.

They had stolen kisses. Whispered promises. Secret nights beneath the stars, never long enough.

But not a lifetime. Not even close.

Tonight, he sat in the same tower where they once watched the moon rise together, back when they were only pretending not to be in love. His cloak barely kept the cold from his skin, but he didn’t move.

The wind came in gentle sighs through the open arches.

And for a moment, he imagined it was her.

Not her ghost. Not an illusion.

Just… her presence.

Her scent. Her breath. Her voice in the hush.

He closed his eyes.

“Amihan,” he whispered, the name like prayer and curse. “I don’t know how to stop missing you.”

It wasn’t grief anymore. Not the sharp, consuming kind that crushed him in the beginning. This was quieter. Deeper. Like a second heart that beat only in mourning.

A stillness that never ended.

He did not cry.

He had done all his weeping in the weeks after her fall — when he held her body, warm then cold, as though he could will life back into her with his own breath.

No, he did not cry.

But he looked to the stars like a man waiting for something. A sign. A release. Anything.

He would never love again. He had always known that.

His love did not belong to the future.

It was buried with her, and in her it would remain.

If the wind touched him a little differently tonight — if it curled against his cheek the way her fingers once did — he said nothing.

He simply sat there, eyes closed, letting the ache bloom quiet and wide across his chest.

Still hers.

Even now.

Especially now.

[lukielstuff]

Encantadia

Craving for Encantadia Ybramihan again and going back to the cycle of heartbreak. Lecheng Yawa ka talaga Aljur "hotdog" Abrenica, binuntis mo tapos magche-cheat ka lang pala, sarap mong ibaog bwisit