#zayne coded

[lighting-and-shadow]

So Zayne coded it’s ridiculous

[hyperfixationhobo]

Sylus: “Hate to break it to you kitten, but I don’t think we’ll be finished decorating by the time Caleb returns.”

MC: “Caleb is always a little bit late, I think we have a bit more time.”

Caleb: “Hey guys, I’m back!”

Rafayel: “…shit.”

MC: “Of course this is the one time he’s actually punctual.”

Xavier: “What do we do? He’ll see the decorations.”

Zayne: “Hey Caleb, can you pass me my glasses? I left them near the front door.”

Caleb: “No.” *Grabs Zayne’s glasses and hands them to him.*

Zayne: “Good boy.”

Caleb: “…”

Caleb.exe has stopped working

Zayne: “Ok we got about 30 minutes before his brain reboots and he’s able to think again. Let’s finish decorating.”

Sylus: “What just happened?”

MC: “Caleb always short circuits when he’s called a good boy.”

Sylus: “…noted.”

[buckiverse]

☆ warnings: mdni, this is literally just a cock analysis for sylus, zayne, and caleb

☆ a/n: SYLUS HOLD MY HAND—CALEB IS ABOUT TO DRAG ME AWAY!

rafayel and xavier ver.

S8GSBTV - #b0685a

As we all know, Sylus is tall, with a broad, muscular frame and an imposing set of shoulders. He’s strong—insanely strong. The man boxes, for god’s sake. I would hate to take a liver shot from him; he might accidentally send me straight to the afterlife. He’s in phenomenal shape, with stamina to match—because, of course, it’s a requirement for his sport.

And his cock? Well, it follows suit. A solid eight inches (20.32 cm), and yes, he’s a shower. I mean, have you seen that perfect print in his pants??? He doesn’t even know where to put all that. It’s big—long, thick, girthy. No wonder he has a size kink. And let’s be real, so do you. The stretch is delicious, always leaving you working to take him all the way.

The head? A deep, rich brown (go look at the hex code <3). His pubic hair? Trimmed, but left a little longer—just how he likes it. And side note? He loves when you do the same. Says he wants to "explore the jungle." Oh, and let’s not forget: it’s straight and a slightly darker gray than his hair. Perfection.

And the veins—the veins. His cock is thick with them, pulsing, prominent. The most sensitive part? That sweet little slit. Run your tongue along it, and he will hiss, grip your hair, and growl something like, “Don’t do that unless you want me to come in your mouth, kitten.”

And, of course, you’ll keep doing it anyway. Hehehe.

Z7LSLCGBPLT - #9C524F

As we all know, Zayne is tall, with a lean yet well-built frame and broad shoulders. He’s strong—moderately muscular—but more refined in his strength. Being a doctor, he has a natural responsibility to stay in shape and take excellent care of himself.

And his cock? It follows suit. A solid seven point three inches (18.542 cm), and he’s a grower. The print in his pants might be deceiving at first, but don’t be fooled—it’s big. Not just long, but with an ideal girth. The best part? It leans slightly to the left, and when he’s inside you, he knows how to move his hips just right, angling to hit that perfect, sensitive spot.

The head? A beautiful brownish pink. His pubic hair? Trimmed low—because he understands the importance of keeping some. He’ll never go completely bare, and honestly? He prefers when you don’t either. And yes, it’s perfectly straight.

Unlike some, his cock isn’t overly veined—but what it lacks in texture, it more than makes up for in sensitivity. The head? Insanely responsive. Pull back his foreskin, drag your tongue along his frenulum, and just like that, he might lose control—maybe even come all over your face.

C7GGPTV - #DF9796

As we all know, Caleb is tall, with a lean yet powerfully built frame. He’s easily the most muscular of the bunch—his body honed to perfection. Being a fighter pilot demands peak physical fitness, not just for endurance but for absolute control in the cockpit.

And his cock? It follows suit. A solid seven inches (17.78 cm), and he’s a grower. The print in his pants might not always give it away, but trust—it’s big. Long, with just a bit more girth than average, making every inch of it something to savor.

The head? A gorgeous pink. His pubic hair? Trimmed low for convenience, though he’ll go completely bare if that’s what you prefer. Naturally, though, he keeps it neat, with a slight, loose curl to it.

And let’s talk about that vein. A single, prominent one that runs up the length of his pretty shaft—one he loves when you trace with your tongue. Oh, and let’s be clear—he’s uncut. Don’t care, won’t argue on that point <33

☆

btw this is what the codes mean (excuse my behavior because now that I actually typed it out i realize how crazy i look rn):

S8GSBTV: sylus-8inch-girthy-shower-brown-trimed-veiny

Z7LSLCGBPLT: zayne-7inch-left slant-long cock-grower-brownish pink-light trim

C7GGPTV: caleb-7inch-grithy-grower-pink-trimed-veiny

[boobearymuch]

Grabbing you by the scruff of your collar rn bc when tf were yall gonna mention that zayne is a GAMER???

He OWNS a NINTENDO SWITCH?????

[xayspancakeee]

ଘ( ･ω･)_/ﾟ･:*:･｡☆

may this spring guide your flower babies to find their way home to you girlies °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[todayisdeadinside]

that is LESBIAN BEHAVIOR

@princesslouist

[serasmores]

the first time you noticed his eyesight getting weaker was when he was reading a book.

he sat on the far end of the couch, leaning on a soft, round cushion behind him, a leg crossed over the other. his head rested on his knuckles while the other hand held the book by its spine.

even from the kitchen, you could hear him emit a low gruff under his breath. quiet, subtle, frustrated. you would've missed it from the way your mind constantly drifts from one space to another, swallowed by a void that leaves you with no thoughts to entertain yourself with — because home today had apparently learned how to be silent. eerily so.

and that's exactly why. in silence, you can hear everything. maybe the world decided it was best if you take a break from noise; since only then could you stop in your tracks and notice small, almost hidden details of your world. your home.

in silence, you began to wander. your ears drowned in on the ticking hands of the clock, relentless and irritatingly inconsiderate. yet it was lulling. then your focus drifted to how the fridge seemed to click then rattle, and somehow there was a persistent humming ringing into your ears that won't go away even when the pan clacked against the stove and you flipped the pancake with a wooden spoon. it reminded you of the old timed when the old television in your childhood home showed distorted rainbow and made loud static and incoherent buzzes when a lightning hits the antennae and your father had to climb up the roof to find the right angle to make it work again despite the chances that the lightning would hit him next.

luckily, that never happened. thankfully.

you heard him shuffling on the couch, how the pages fluttered when he turned to the next one. even when he ran his fingers through his scalp as a strand of his hair fell just enough to caress the skin below his eyes. just enough to irritate him. he did the motion once again, then another, until his mouth scrunched up to one side, and he pursed his lips and exhaled deeply.

you glanced at him, quite secretively, from the corner of your eyes, but your gaze must have lingered for a second more than what was comfortable; because he noticed and composed himself — shifting in his position so he could sit straight, shoulders tense, and the soles of his feet suddenly grounded to the floor — then he went back to read the book as indifferently as his facial expressions could muster.

you don't realize the pancake was burning already. it sizzled, the smell of cinder wafting through the kitchen and tickled your nose. there was ash creeping on its edges, the crusts thick and stiff, staining the pan with its residue. you turned off the heat and placed the pancake at the bottom of the plate along with the others which, in comparison, looked far less gloomy and more delightful in taste.

you walked up to him and plopped on the couch beside him, the plate served on the center table along with two cups of coffee served hot. he dropped the book on his lap and snaked an arm around your waist to pull you in closer. he puffed his cheeks and pressed a kiss on your lips. deliberate and brief but he dawdled. wanted more of you, longer, almost as if he tasted something sweeter in them, although you were pretty sure your mouth was dry and they reeked of something foul because of sleep. like expired milk bread, since that was the last thing you ate yesterday.

your head leaned on his shoulder, legs spread out on the couch as you shifted your entire weight on him. he didn't seem to mind, even adjusted his position so your back was against his chest instead. he snuck his head in the space under your ear, both arms now wrapped around you — one held the book so you could read it too while the other one gently tapping the side of your stomach with two fingers respectively. he was tapping in the same beats that your hearts did, or maybe he was singing in his head the song he sang to you before, that enthralled you into a lifetime relationship with him.

you love to hear his voice. whatever he sang, whatever he said. that much was true — but there was more to it than the naked eye could see or rather, your ears could hear. the tip of an iceberg. your love for him stems from more than just his voice or that he allured you into this. he's an enigma. someone who could make you withstand the flames of hell, and at the same time give you a taste of heaven. it's been years since he kissed your hands and (with an emphasis —because he often, if not always, found a way to kiss or adore every inch of your skin) vowed to god — “until death do us apart” — yet sometimes when you look at him, you wonder if this was all simply a part of a grander scheme.

he's the kind of dream you'd go into a coma for, if it meant seeing him even if they were simply fragments that your mind made up to console you. he could tell you that the earth is flat and you'd believe him without question. he could point a gun in your neck and you'd suck off his fingers before intertwining your own with his and pull the trigger yourself.

you held the book by its spine — or it was more of an excuse to hold his hand. he grabbed a cup on the table and took a long sip, before taking a spoonful of the pancakes.

“these words are too small,” you complained, “i can't read them.”

you could see them perfectly fine. just that you wanted to see if he would read them out loud. maybe you could kiss him out of the blue or even better, do exactly as the characters in the book did. although you would have to suggest him to read a different kind of book then.

“really?” he pondered, grabbing another spoon but this time it was for you. “i thought it was just me.”

you munched. the pancakes were soft, and they easily melted on your tongue. its sweet, buttery fragrance together with the bitter and strong aroma of the coffee — cozy, serene, and just… irreplaceable. hitting your nose in the most comfortable way possible. and this — nothing could ever replace quiet mornings with him. your days with him, life with him. home. with him.

he's home.

and he's home. where his shoulders could be slumped and your eyes could be drooped and your mouths be crooked at ease. not a frown or an overly-enthusiastic smile. just in peace, at ease. never forced.

“just you?” you asked. stirring your cup with a spoon before taking a sip.

“i don't know. they seem… clouded, i think,” he said, “like when you cry as a child because you can't solve 5+7, and accidentally wrote the answer below the equal sign instead of the blank next to it.”

“what did the teacher say?”

“my father? he was disappointed. so i cried louder.”

“oh…,” you chuckled, then pointed to a random excerpt, “can you try to read this part?”

he squinted his eyes, nose scrunched up, and he tilted his head. there were tears pooling in his eyes, not caused by sadness or melancholy. he wasn't about to cry, they were simply dry. he drawled on the longer words no matter how simple, which he could've pronounced better if he recognized the shapes or the outlines of the letters at least.

he read: “…‘well, i agree — that you definitely hated betrayals the most, traitors the second, and liars the third. i can't quite say the same thing for me though, now and then.’

she stood in place, back against him, unmoving. but the words she uttered next left him devastated, and… even more confused?

‘because i chose to fall in love with you even if you were all three.’

— then it hit him. that was the key to the pandora's box, that was himself before he lost his memories.”

(a/n: yes, i am promoting my wip here hahaha)

“that's… hauntingly beautiful,” you commented, “where did you get this?”

“a co-worker gave it me. said it was boring and too tragic for liking.”

you nodded, lifting your head to stare up at him. your forehead nudging his chin. “anyway,” you gave his neck a peck, “my highschool friends and i planned a reunion by the end of the month. i'll need to buy them some gifts sooo let's head out later — then we can get your eyes checked while on it. sounds good?”

“mhm,” his body slumped against you, one hand pulling you in impossibly closer. not quite gentle but his grip didn't hurt either. there was something more in the way he touched, something tucked away in his eyes — that want, that need, that urge to keep you for himself and himself only. but then he thought, would that make you happy at all?

so for now, he huffed. his breath warm against your neck, enough to send a shiver down your spine. and heat to your core. you squirmed. for now, he can only hold you in his arms, close his eyes, and drown himself into your scent.

“yeah, let's do that.”

you were already his, and he doesn't know it yet (probably) but you would gladly lock yourself and him in this house if that meant reassuring him you were only, has always been, and will always choose to be his.

—

[abyssyby]

but but but zayne in a barbie princess & the pauper au where’s he’s JULIANNNN AAAAAGHHH and he’s your private tutor & he’s so invested in teaching you about sciences & literature and is so utterly besotted with the stars in your eyes when you express your thoughts and opinions on a matter.

and he’s your dearest friend, your most trusted partner. your heart flutters when he speaks, even until your eyes roll to the back of your head when sometimes science gets boring and all there is is his beautiful, lulling voice. and he’s always hesitant to wake you, brushes his fingers over your cheek ever so slightly, just enough to feel the warmth of your skin. content in seeing you rest before him.

he knows every aspect about you, everything that makes you swoon and smile. and he loves using that to his advantage— spoiling you in ways that a person in his position can.

accompanying you to hidden excursions outside the palace, showing you places he frequents that you cannot go to because of your protections and duties to the crown.

sneaking you sweets and wildflowers from over the wall. borrowing you books from the town’s library you’ve never seen within your own palace’s. leaving fresh bread from the bakery in the square on your desk or bedroom doorstep.

and you love him. you’ve loved him since, you love him now. but when you’re betrothed to be with another, to be with a king he steps back. he restrains himself from the chemistry that grows between you behind closed doors. keeps his distance. hesitates to touch you. sometimes to even look at you for too long, robs himself of his favorite constellations in your eyes, lest he do something he’ll regret.

he is still a brilliant tutor, a kind hearted and gentle soul— but you cannot help but feel that you’re beginning to lose your best friend.

“but I am not a king. I cannot give you what he can.”

[umamaki]

zayne is absolutely decked out in piercings and i will die on that hill.

he, caleb, and you had all gone to get your ears pierced together once you were old enough.

of course, zayne took one for the team and got pierced first. you and caleb made a scene about being scared lol

anyways, this is just the beginning. after that, he had went and gotten more by himself during undergrad and such.

reason 1 is because of how many compliments you would give to him on his piercings, coming up to him saying "y'know this piercing would suit you soo well..." and how could he deny you when you looked so sweet asking him, when you'd shower him with so much attention afterwards?

and reason 2 is because having multiple piercings was a reminder for him to take care of himself amongst everything else going on. he works really hard, consuming most of his time with taking care of other people, which then causes him to unconsciously neglect his own needs. with his piercings though, he has to constantly remember to cleanse them twice a day with solution, soak them, to not sleep on his side, and whatnot.

for the piercings themselves, i really love to imagine how he'd look with a lip ring, but zayne is lowkey the type not to get one because of the damage it would do to his teeth and gums. rip to my tongue piercing zayne fantasies too..

the only face piercing he has is the eyebrow piercing on his left brow.

he has a bunch on his ears though. 2 on his lobes, a few helixes going up the side, perhaps an industrial on his right ear? 🫣

ouu on his left ear he would connect his second lobe to his helix with a chain. kinda like that one in-game earring set.

getting nsfw... zayne totally has some slutty nipple piercings. they are visible through his workout clothes. and he has a singular jacobs ladder piercing on the underside of his dick. he was originally supposed to get two but he chickened out because of the pain lol. so now he's keeping it simple and classy.

all of his piercings impressively fully healed really quickly, so whenever he's at the hospital or other professional environments he takes all his above-the-neck piercings out and replaces them with clear ones. which is JUST as if not more attractive imo.

i think eventually he would start to stretch his ear lobes, probably just up to an 8g and that is enough for him. not too big but enough for it to be noticeable.

but yes moral of the story zayne is a big jewelry guy and everyone is a fan.

NOTE not really x reader, probz out of character but isn't it nice to fantasize 😌 i wanna write this for all the li's at one point but it will take me a while... shoutout @capitnos for putting up with me through this

[starmocha]

Driven mad by contamination, they are "Praedators."

[nashusglasses]

it's thirsty thursday!!!!!! thinking about wife guy zayne and mc who gets off on him referring to them as his wife Hhhhhfhfhhf walk with me (˶＞^＜˶)!!!

as always, tell me what ur thinking!!!! <3 <3

nsfw below the cut (18+)

⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆

☃️ he sees it happen for the first time when you're on a coffee date. he's done giving his order to the barista, but you're still having trouble deciding between a dirty chai and london fog. "I'll let the wife think about it for a second," he says, rattling off on what he wants for a snack. when he looks at you to ask if you've decided, your pupils are dilated. eyebrows raised. he's tempted to put a hand to your forehead to see if you're getting warmer, but you get over it quickly. you ask for a dirty chai.

☃️ you're at his cousin's wedding the next time, introducing yourselves to a distant auntie and uncle you've only seen through pictures on social media. "this is my wife," he says, and there it is again. the way your eyes darken. zayne thinks he sees you gulping. as always, you're good at catching yourself, shaking hands with his auntie who coos about how beautiful you are. he smiles when you blush.

☃️ he tests his hypothesis when you're most vulnerable. you're rotting on the couch with your phone, and he's got a lucky day off.

he steadies a hand on the cushion behind you. "what's my wife up to today?"

you freeze your scrolling, snap your eyes up at him. he thinks he sees you squeeze your thighs together. you open and close your mouth like a stupid fish.

zayne tilts his head at your silence. "do you have time for me?"

.

.

.

"you're so obvious," he grunts. he's got you bent over the back of the couch, kissing down the sweat of your back as he fucks into you.

"i can't help it – ugh!" you pant with every thrust. he rubs a wet finger on your clit, and zayne laughs when he sees you bite into the pillow to hide a scream. "you're gonna make me come."

"that's a risk i'm willing to take." you never tap out first. you get competitive, and zayne's got a long refractory period. doesn't mean he won't indulge in your own orgasms; his tongue is what got him here in the first place. "does my wife want to come all over me?"

you squeal. he makes you come five times in 20 minutes.

[twopoppies]

It seem to be that hoodie and that’s a nice message behind the brand!

People can have their opinion about Larry, but to call Louis homophobic is crazy!!

https://x.com/faith_always28/status/1885050746862768501?s=46&t=KM1Y22XQBNGo6oNfvMQrQQ

Hmm. Interesting.

x

[roxynani9292]

LADS redeem code 520DAYBYDAY 200💎 520⚡️

in case u dunno how ⬇️

[xxsyluslittlecrowxx]

MC : ”Why did you turn off the tv?”

Zayne : ”Are we really here for a movie?”

MC : ”Isn’t that what you want?”

Zayne : ”I’ve changed my mind now. Is that okay?”

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDs Men with a Kaladin Stormblessed Coded Reader

AN: idc I really wanted to write this. And this is not perfect so I will write more. No one hold me back. I fucking love Kaladin Stormblessed.

Pairing: LaDS boys x gn reader (Kaladin coded)

Ingredients: 100% honor, 100% angst.

My Fav: Rafayel. Because I like bitter love interests.

(I do not own any of these characters. Literally nothing. Don't sue me please)

Xavier:

The battle was over. The ground was slick with blood. And you...you stood swaying in the center of it all, torn open, barely breathing, but still shielding the fallen behind you.

You hadn’t fought for yourself. You hadn’t even hesitated.

When Xavier reached you, he didn’t speak. He didn’t scold. He just looked at you, at the jagged wound slicing across your side, at the blood pooling at your feet.

How dare you. How dare you value your life so little. How dare you give yourself away so easily, as if it meant nothing.

He carried you back. His armor stained, his gloves slipping slick with your blood, and still, he never once let you go.

Not when the healers came. Not when the others whispered. Not even when you, half-delirious, tried to push him away.

Later, after the chaos settled, he found you again, stitched, bandaged, asleep and pale in your tent.

And he knelt. Sword drawn, point resting against the ground. Head bowed. An oath. Not for a king. Not for a kingdom. For you.

"Next time," Xavier said, voice low, cracking at the edges, "bleed for yourself first." His hand tightened on the hilt. "I’ll be there to cover the rest."

Rafayel:

"There must be another way," you said, loud enough to halt even the bloodthirstiest of the court. "If we flood the lands of the living, we bury not only our enemies... but ourselves."

A scoff split the air.

Yorrick’s voice thundered across the tent, thick with disdain. "And what would you know of it, General?" He spat your title like it tasted foul. "You, who have never worn chains. You, who speaks of mercy for those who would slay your own kin?"

You should have been afraid. You were not. Instead, your gaze slid past Yorrick, and found him. Rafayel.

High Prince of Lemuria. Silent at the head of the war table. Watching.

"You think blood will cleanse blood?" you said, voice steady. "Who has ever bound the sea? Who has ever forced the tide to obey?" You stepped forward, every word a hammerblow.

"Even water trapped in water skin finds its way back to the ocean. Bodies can be enslaved. Minds…" Your eyes locked with his. "Minds cannot."

A tense silence fell. Yorrick’s hand twitched toward his blade.

Rafayel moved. The sea answered him. A gust of salt wind tore through the war tent as the High Prince rose, the gold of his robes whispering along the floor.

"Enough," he said, voice a low roll of thunder. Yorrick froze. The council froze.

But Rafayel wasn’t looking at them. He was looking only at you.

"You think to lecture me on captivity?" he said, and each word landed like a dagger in the gut. "You think to remind me what it means to have chains set to bone, and salt stuffed in the wounds?"

He descended the steps. Every movement a tide pulling the world with him.

"I was broken," he said, softly now, and somehow that was worse. "And you would have me thank them for it?"

For a long moment, there was only the sound of the sea, restless beyond the walls of the tent.

Then you lowered your gaze, but your voice carried clear and sure: "What better are we than mortals," you said, "if we seek the same ruin in our vengeance, my prince?" You bent your knee. Bowed low before him.

"It is not your nature to destroy," you murmured. "Yours is a soul made for creation."

Zayne:

"Traitor," they called you.

Shunned you from the world of the living. Cast you out into the mist. No longer a person, but a shadow. A sprite.

Your crime: offering mercy to the broken souls of the fallen wanderers. Your sin: seeking redemption for the lost. Bringing back their souls to some peace.

But you became one of them.

Had you been wrong? Had your hands, reaching out in hope, only dragged more souls into ruin?

Zayne saw it all.

Any sane man would have let you fall. Would have watched, silent and grieving, as the world devoured your unyielding heart.

He could have stayed. He was a cardiologist respected, revered. He could have saved hundreds, maybe thousands, safe behind the walls of the world you abandoned.

But he did not. He could not.

When the world turned its back on you. Zayne chose to turn his back on the world. If your fate was to fall, then he would fall with you.

Without hesitation. Without regret. Without ever looking back.

Sylus:

A foot soldier with a rusted spear stood before the dragon. Sent alone to slay the beast that noble knights refused to face. They sent you instead.

Sylus snorted, even in his dragon form, smoke curling from his nostrils. He had enough mind left to know the difference between prey... and bait.

Your death would not glorify him. It would strip him of his title as a noble beast. Seal his mountain in shame. Mark him forever a monster.

So he waited, crouched in the gloom, calculating how best to rid himself of this wretched mortal without bloodshed.

He was still scheming when you moved.

Without hesitation, you stepped forward, and snapped the rusted spear against your own thigh, the brittle wood cracking in two.

Sylus stilled, stunned, as you dropped the broken pieces at his feet like an offering. "I shall not harm you, old dragon of Philos," you said, your voice carrying clean and sure through the cavern's heavy air. "I will return to my world. No harm shall come to yours."

You looked at him eyes steady, unafraid. Clearer than any mortal he had ever seen. Perhaps that was what a foolish, fragile kind of morality did to a mortal body. Made it stubborn. Made it beautiful.

Sylus shifted, his great head lowering, his molten crimson gaze fixing you in place. "They will hunt you instead," he rumbled, the cavern trembling with the force of his voice. "An ineffective bait is a discarded one." There was something like mirth in his tone. A low, curling amusement.

How could he not savor this moment? It was not every day the Creator bestowed upon the world a mortal so foolish, and so brave, that even a dragon found himself... entertained.

Caleb:

You refused to step foot in the town where your failure lay. The charred remains of your once home.

You had failed to save him. Failed to protect him.

The nightmares of the fire still haunted you, licking at the edges of your sleep, dragging you back to that day, again and again.

You had let the fire take Caleb from you. You, who fought for the world, who swore to guard it, had lost the one soul you should have shielded most.

It was always the same. Anyone you sought to protect... was taken from you.

Just like Caleb had been.

You went through the motions of life after. Fighting wanderers. Mining protocores for the Hunter’s Association. A hollow blade wielded by a hollow hand.

But no matter how many beasts you struck down, no matter how deep you buried yourself in work, there was no victory.

Only smoke. Only ashes. And a heart torn apart by its own hand.

"Forgive me," you whisper to the night sky, over and over on lonely nights. "Forgive me, Caleb," you repeat, tears slipping down your cheeks.

"I failed, Grandma. I'm sorry." Your voice cracks as you look up, searching the stars for answers that never come.