「final lord I served」
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「final lord I served」

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rkgk
Endmin sitting on Wulfgard's lap 🐺🐧
Oh my man's a YEARNER, the amount of times he reached out his hand for us, the gentleman he is 😫🙏
Clips from Arknights: Endfield
Edit by me :D
Something to Hold in the Dark / Algo para sostener en la oscuridad -ardaminA
«Endmin just wanted to have a lung.»
Notes:
English is not my native language, so I use the translator to bring it anyway, if you don't mind that and any errors that may be found then... go ahead!
He had awakened without memories, like someone emerging from a dream that leaves behind only the faint sensation of having been someone else. And yet, the truths found him far too soon: in a not-so-distant past, he had been a leader, powerful, at the very least, and shrouded in a mystery that now weighed upon his shoulders like a lingering shadow. It was something Edmin still had to grapple with, day after day, overwhelmed by the expectations of faces he could not recall and names that stirred no echo within him.
Even so, he carried out each mission with diligence, piecing together fragments of a world that had been struck by misfortune time and time again, as though fate itself were determined to break it beyond repair. And, deep down, that was fine. It was almost as if his former self had shaped him with care, leaving him with an unyielding will and an invisible compass that kept him from forgetting his true purpose in Talos-II.
But that was not the real problem, no, the difficulty lay in something far subtler and, at the same time, profoundly human.
His words, curious and born from an innocence that contrasted with his former greatness, often became, without his intending it, a source of torment for his companions. Every seemingly trivial question or remark was received as though it concealed a deeper meaning, or as if it were a veiled command or an urgent priority. Unable to separate the man he was from the leader he had been, they lost themselves in interpretations that had never once crossed Edmin’s mind.
It had all begun shortly after his arrival in Wuling.
There, amid the strangely intertwined bustle and calm of that place, something small caught his attention: a tiny, adorable creature they called a lung. There was no threat in it, no deep mystery or burden of responsibility. It was simply cute. And perhaps because of that or for reasons even he could not explain, Edmin felt a desire as simple as it was perplexing: he wanted a plush of his own, something he could hold close in the quiet of the night.
From the moment he had awakened, Endmin could not understand that strange need that followed him each night: the almost instinctive urge to cling to something in his arms, as if the emptiness surrounding him demanded to be filled. It was a persistent feeling, soft yet insistent, one that seemed to come from a distant echo of a time he could no longer remember.
There were nights when that restlessness became more evident. When silence thickened and darkness settled in with unsettling familiarity, he had the vague impression that, once, he had not been alone. As if someone or something had remained by his side, watching over his rest, chasing away nightmares before they could take shape and drag him into their domain.
But now, nothing of that remained, save for the incomplete sensation of an absence.
And perhaps that was why his mind, in an almost innocent attempt to remedy that emptiness, clung to a simple idea, nearly childlike in its purity: perhaps a plush could help. Perhaps, by holding something close to his chest in the stillness of the night, he might deceive the silence, soothe his thoughts, and, with a bit of luck, find a rest that had always eluded him.
—I… —he had begun one morning, his voice barely more than a thread, yet enough to draw Perlica’s attention. She turned to him at once, as though that simple hesitation were already cause for alarm—. I want…
Doubt seized his words. Beneath his mask, his cheeks had taken on a soft rosy hue, and for a moment he hesitated, caught between what he felt and the difficulty of expressing it.
—Endmin, are you unwell? Do you wish to return to the ship? I’ll prepare everything immediately —Perlica replied, stepping aside just enough to begin, with impeccable diligence, the necessary arrangements.
—No, no, I want… —he tried again, but his gaze drifted, settling on Chen Qianyu.
—Oh! I see! —she exclaimed, as though she had solved an invisible riddle—. You want to train, right? Being the boss must be tough. Leave it to me, I’ll prepare the battle area.
And, proud of her deduction, she hurried off, already absorbed in her own interpretation.
—What I mean is that I want… —he tried once more, but his words once again hung suspended in the air.
Then, a pair of attentive, serene eyes settled on him. Zhuang Fangyi approached with elegance, with a gentleness that contrasted with the others’ energy, as though each of her movements were guided by a memory only she retained.
—Are you hungry? Are you tired? I’ll give the order for someone to prepare a place for your rest —she said softly.
And this time, unlike the others, Zhuang Fangyi did not leave his side. She remained there, ensuring Endmin was safe, accompanying him all the way to his new residence: a recently renovated house, modest yet cozy, offered as a gesture of gratitude for all that, once, he had done for Wuling and for her.
In the silent dimness of his room, Endmin felt hopelessly lost. That afternoon, his only wish had been so simple it was almost insignificant: to ask for a moment to himself and go in search of that small, precious plush that, in his mind, promised comfort. Yet the long chain of misunderstandings, woven from good intentions and a devotion no one dared to break, had once again led him to bury his desire deep within.
He did not want to shatter the illusions of those around him, nor contradict the image they had built of him, and so his longing remained unspoken.
He let out a slow, almost imperceptible sigh and, with a weary gesture, removed the mask that hid his face, as though by doing so he might also cast off the invisible weight that followed him. Then he lay back, allowing his body to find rest, even as his mind continued to wander restlessly.
Perhaps, he thought in that still moment, he was simply overthinking things or maybe not, because even there, with his eyes closed and the world at a standstill, the emptiness in his arms remained impossible to ignore.
—Even if they stand by your side, they do not truly know you —a soft voice whispered from the shadows, like silk brushing against skin, as it silently observed the figure who was slowly finding calm in his breathing, drifting gently into the realm of dreams. A faint smile curved its lips; perhaps, it thought, this was the only way to see him without walls, his guard finally lowered, vulnerable and real.
Ardashir approached the bed with near-reverent stealth, as though he feared disturbing the very air around Endmin. With a gesture full of tenderness, he placed a small plush, round and clumsily adorable, beside his arms. He recalled, with a trace of nostalgia, how in the past he had never quite understood the fascination that man held for such tiny, soft things, especially when he himself had always been there, ready to embrace him, to wrap him in a shield of warmth and protection, keeping the shadows of a past that seemed to grow more distant with every shared heartbeat at bay.
And there, in that suspended moment, the plush was no mere toy: it was an invisible thread binding them together, a silent gesture that spoke of closeness, of care, of a barely restrained desire to remain near, so near that even the air between them seemed to thrum with quiet complicity.
Giving Endmin one last look, Ardashir allowed himself to gently brush his cheek, a touch he had not felt in so long and yet one that was as familiar as that very first moment when… He shook his head softly, stepping back with a restrained sigh. His gaze lingered for a moment longer on the plush, which he had altered with a touch of his own: the small tail of the fluffy creature now curled around one of its little paws, a delicate detail that echoed Ardashir’s own refined and subtle presence in the world. A satisfied smile touched his lips; he was ready to leave behind him a gesture that spoke more than a thousand words.
—How did you know? —The soft, drowsy voice made him stop short. His instincts readied him for a confrontation, but instead of hostility, he found only a pair of blue eyes, bright and filled with curiosity.
—How could I not? I know you better than you know yourself —he replied, smiling into the darkness without stepping any closer. His words drifted between them like a warm sigh—. Rest, Endmin.
—Tonight… can you stay? —he whispered, leaving an empty space on the large bed, an invitation both timid and bold.
—Sleeping with the enemy… —Ardashir murmured, his voice laced with amusement and a trace of tenderness as he gently wrapped an arm around his waist—. Did you lose your mind while you were gone all this time? —he added, barely audible, the whisper dissolving into the shadows of the room, yet his embrace did not loosen.
His arms encircled Endmin’s body with a blend of tenderness and firmness, as though he wished to mark him with his presence, to leave upon his skin an indelible memory of whom he truly belonged to. Each shared heartbeat was a silent vow, an invisible thread binding him to him and only to him with a desire that hovered between the obsessive and the sacred.
Even in the darkness of the night, when memories crowded insistently into his mind, Ardashir remained watchful, like a silent guardian of Endmin’s dreams. Every restrained movement, every measured breath, was devoted to protecting him, to ensuring that no outside thoughts or shadows of the past could reach him.
And there, within the warmth of his embrace and the murmur of silence, an unshakable certainty existed: his Endmin belonged to no one else. Only to him. Only his.
And in that stillness, heavy with tenderness and longing, there was something more than care, there was a consuming fire, a desire entwined with devotion, and an echo of jealousy that reminded him that nothing and no one could share what he had sworn to protect. Each moment was a whisper of eternity, a silent reminder that his love was absolute, possessive, and yet, inevitably, gentle.
The End.
Notes:
~By the way, you can find me on X at @xismare, where I occasionally share previews of what I’ll be writing next and also take suggestions for possible future stories. Feel free to follow me if you’d like to keep up with my work. Thank you for reading!
~~~~~~~~~
«Endmin solo quería tener un lung.»
Había despertado sin recuerdos, como quien emerge de un sueño del que solo queda la vaga sensación de haber sido alguien más. Y, sin embargo, las verdades lo encontraron demasiado pronto: en un pasado no muy lejano había sido un jefe, cuanto menos, poderoso y envuelto en un misterio que ahora pesaba sobre sus hombros como una sombra persistente. Aquello era algo con lo que Edmin aún tenía que lidiar, día tras día, abrumado por las expectativas de rostros que no lograba evocar y nombres que no despertaban eco alguno en su interior.
Aún así, cumplía con diligencia cada misión, reconstruyendo fragmentos de un mundo que había sido castigado una y otra vez por la desgracia, como si el destino se empeñara en quebrarlo sin remedio. Y, en el fondo, eso estaba bien. Era casi como si su yo pasado lo hubiera moldeado con esmero, dejando en él una voluntad inquebrantable y una brújula invisible que le impedía olvidar cuál era su verdadero cometido en Talos-II.
Pero no era ese el verdadero problema, no, la dificultad residía en algo mucho más sutil y, a la vez, profundamente humano.
Sus palabras, curiosas y nacidas de una inocencia que contrastaba con su antigua grandeza, solían convertirse, sin que él lo pretendiera, en el martirio de sus compañeras. Cada pregunta y comentario aparentemente trivial, era recibido como si ocultara un significado más profundo, o se tratara de órdenes veladas y prioridades urgentes. Ellas, incapaces de separar al hombre que era del líder que había sido, se perdían en interpretaciones que jamás habían cruzado por la mente de Edmin.
Todo había comenzado poco después de su llegada a Wuling.
Allí, entre el bullicio y la calma extrañamente entrelazados de aquel lugar, algo diminuto capturó su atención: un pequeño y adorable ser al que llamaban lung. No había en él amenaza alguna, ni misterio profundo o peso de responsabilidad. Era, sencillamente, tierno. Y quizá por eso, o por una razón que ni él mismo lograba explicar, Edmin sintió un deseo tan simple como desconcertante: quiso tener un peluche propio, uno que pudiera estrechar entre sus brazos en la quietud de la noche.
Desde el instante en que había despertado, Endmin no lograba comprender aquella extraña necesidad que lo acompañaba cada noche: el impulso casi instintivo de aferrarse a algo entre sus brazos, como si el vacío que lo rodeaba reclamara ser llenado. Era una sensación persistente, suave pero insistente, que parecía provenir de un eco lejano y de un tiempo que ya no podía recordar.
Había noches en las que esa inquietud se volvía más evidente. Cuando el silencio se espesaba y la oscuridad se instalaba con demasiada familiaridad, tenía la vaga impresión de que, en otro tiempo, no había estado solo. Como si alguien o algo hubiera permanecido a su lado, velando su descanso, ahuyentando las pesadillas antes de que estas pudieran tomar forma y arrastrarlo a sus dominios.
Pero ahora no quedaba nada de aquello, salvo la sensación incompleta de una ausencia.
Y fue quizá por eso que su mente, en un intento casi inocente por remediar ese vacío, se aferró a una idea sencilla, casi infantil en su pureza: tal vez un peluche podría ayudar. Quizá, al estrechar algo contra su pecho en la quietud de la noche, lograría engañar al silencio, apaciguar sus pensamientos y, con un poco de suerte, encontrar un descanso que hasta entonces siempre le había sido esquivo.
—Yo… —había comenzado una mañana, su voz apenas un hilo que, sin embargo, bastó para llamar la atención de Perlica. Ella se giró hacia él con premura, como si aquel simple titubeo fuera ya motivo de alarma—. Quiero…
La duda se apoderó de sus palabras. Bajo la máscara, sus mejillas habían adquirido un bonito tono rosado, y por un instante vaciló, atrapado entre lo que sentía y la dificultad de expresarlo.
—¿Endmin, se siente mal? ¿Desea volver a la nave? Ya mismo preparo todo —respondió Perlica, apartándose lo suficiente para iniciar, con diligencia impecable, los preparativos necesarios.
—No, no, yo quiero… —intentó nuevamente, pero su mirada se desvió, posándose en Chen Qianyu.
—¡Oh! ¡Entiendo! —exclamó ella, como si hubiera descifrado un enigma invisible—. Lo que quieres es entrenar, ¿cierto? Ser el jefe debe ser difícil. Deje que me encargue de todo, prepararé el área de batalla.
Y, orgullosa de su deducción, se había marchado con paso apresurado, ya inmersa en su propia interpretación.
—Lo que quiero decir es que yo quiero… —intentó de nuevo, pero sus palabras volvieron a quedar suspendidas en el aire.
Entonces, unos ojos atentos y serenos se habían posado en él. Zhuang Fangyi se acercó con elegancia, con una delicadeza que contrastaba con la energía de las otras, como si cada uno de sus movimientos estuviera guiado por un recuerdo que solo ella conservaba.
—¿Tienes hambre? ¿Estás cansado? Daré la orden que alguien prepare un lugar para su descanso —había dicho con suavidad.
Y esta vez, a diferencia de sus compañeras, Zhuang Fangyi no se había apartado de su lado. Permaneció allí, asegurándose de que Endmin estuviera a salvo, acompañándolo hasta su nueva residencia: una casa recién remodelada, modesta pero acogedora, que había sido ofrecida como un gesto de gratitud por todo lo que, alguna vez, él había hecho por Wuling y por ella.
En la penumbra silenciosa de su habitación, Endmin se había sentido irremediablemente perdido. Aquella tarde, su único anhelo había sido tan simple que casi resultaba insignificante: pedir un momento para sí mismo y salir en busca de ese pequeño y preciado peluche que, en su mente, prometía consuelo. Sin embargo, la larga cadena de malentendidos, tejida con buenas intenciones y una devoción que no se atrevía a quebrar, lo había llevado, una vez más, a guardar su deseo en lo más profundo.
No quiso romper las ilusiones de quienes lo rodeaban ni tampoco desmentir la imagen que habían construido de él, y así, su anhelo quedó en silencio.
Exhaló un suspiro lento, casi imperceptible, y con un gesto cansado retiró la máscara que ocultaba su rostro, como si al hacerlo pudiera desprenderse también del peso invisible que lo acompañaba. Luego se recostó, permitiendo que su cuerpo encontrara reposo, aunque su mente siguiera vagando inquieta.
Quizá, pensó en la quietud de ese instante, solo estaba sobrepasando las cosas o quizá no, porque incluso allí, con los ojos cerrados y el mundo en pausa, el vacío entre sus brazos seguía siendo imposible de ignorar.
—Incluso si están a tu lado, no te conocen en absoluto —susurró una voz suave desde la penumbra, casi como un roce de seda sobre la piel, mientras observaba en silencio a aquella figura que, lentamente, encontraba la calma en su respiración, deslizándose con delicadeza hacia el mundo de los sueños. Una sonrisa tenue se dibujó en sus labios; quizá, pensó, esta sería la única manera de verlo sin murallas, con la guardia finalmente baja, vulnerable y auténtico.
Ardashir se acercó a la cama con un sigilo casi reverente, como si temiera alterar el aire mismo que rodeaba a Endmin. Con un gesto cargado de ternura, colocó un pequeño peluche, regordete y torpemente adorable, junto a sus brazos. Recordó, con un dejo de nostalgia, que en el pasado nunca había comprendido del todo la fascinación que aquel hombre sentía por esos objetos diminutos y suaves, especialmente cuando él estaba cerca, siempre dispuesto a abrazarlo, envolverlo en un escudo de calor y protección, alejando las sombras de un pasado que parecía más lejano con cada latido compartido.
Y allí, en ese instante suspendido, el peluche no era solo un juguete: era un hilo invisible que los unía, un gesto silencioso que hablaba de cercanía, de cuidado, de un deseo apenas contenido de estar cerca, tan cerca, que incluso el aire entre ellos parecía palpitar con complicidad.
Dando un último vistazo a Endmin, Ardashir se permitió rozar con delicadeza su mejilla, un contacto que no sentía desde hacía mucho, y, sin embargo, era a la vez tan familiar como aquel primer instante en que… Negó con suavidad, apartándose con un suspiro contenido. Su mirada se detuvo un instante más en el peluche, que había modificado con un toque suyo: la pequeña cola del animal esponjoso ahora rodeaba una de sus patitas, una elegancia diminuta que evocaba la misma presencia refinada y sutil de Ardashir en la realidad. Una sonrisa satisfecha se dibujó en sus labios; estaba listo para marcharse, dejando atrás un gesto que hablaba más que mil palabras.
—¿Cómo lo supiste? —la voz, suave y adormilada, lo hizo detenerse en seco. Preparó sus reflejos para un enfrentamiento, pero en lugar de hostilidad, solo encontró unos ojos azules, brillantes y llenos de curiosidad.
—¿Cómo no hacerlo? Te conozco mejor que tú mismo —respondió, sonriendo hacia la oscuridad, sin acercarse demasiado. Sus palabras flotaron entre ellos como un suspiro cálido—. Descansa, Endmin.
—Esta noche… ¿Puedes quedarte? —susurró, dejando un espacio vacío en la gran cama, una invitación que era al mismo tiempo tímida y osada.
—Dormir con el enemigo… —musitó Ardashir, la voz teñida de diversión y un dejo de ternura mientras rodeaba con delicadeza su cintura—. ¿Acaso perdiste la cabeza mientras estuviste ausente todo este tiempo? —Murmuró de forma apenas audible, un susurro que se perdió entre las sombras de la habitación, pero no aflojó su abrazo.
Sus brazos rodeaban el cuerpo de Endmin con una mezcla de ternura y firmeza, como si quisiera marcarlo con su presencia, dejar en su piel un recuerdo indeleble de a quién pertenecía realmente. Cada latido compartido era un juramento silencioso, un hilo invisible que lo ataba a él, y solo a él, con un deseo que bordeaba lo obsesivo y lo sagrado al mismo tiempo.
Incluso en la oscuridad de la noche, cuando los recuerdos se agolpaban con insistencia en su mente, Ardashir permaneció vigilante, como un guardián silencioso de los sueños de Endmin. Cada movimiento y respiración contenida, estaba dedicado a protegerlo, a asegurarse de que ningún pensamiento ajeno o sombra del pasado pudiera rozarlo.
Y allí, entre la tibieza de su abrazo y el murmullo del silencio, existía una certeza inquebrantable: su Endmin no era de nadie más. Solo de él. Solo suyo.
Y en esa quietud cargada de ternura y anhelo, había algo más que cuidado: había un fuego que consumía, un deseo que se enredaba con la devoción, y un eco de celos que le recordaba que nada ni nadie podía compartir lo que él había jurado proteger. Cada instante era un susurro de eternidad, un recordatorio silencioso de que su amor era absoluto, posesivo y, al mismo tiempo, inevitablemente dulce.
Fin.
Notas:
~Por cierto, pueden encontrarme en X como @xismare, donde de vez en cuando comparto adelantos de lo que estaré escribiendo próximamente y también recibo sugerencias para posibles historias futuras. Si quieren seguir mi trabajo, siéntanse libres de hacerlo. Gracias por leer!

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
[to you who came from the stars] 24p, B/W short story collection
thanks for reading this excerpt from my endfield doujin! will be available at manga ichiba at fanime (table B05 on 5/23)! interest check here
EndminA holding Camille hand on screen 🥰
Usually when a male MC holds a male character's hand, the camera is not 5 miles away or it lasts 1 frame or it's simply not shown. Damn, Endfield you might move me