#and loneliness and companionship and healing ;;;;;;;;

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 1

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow that "Keep Moving Forwards Fic"

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, mentions of physical abuse, loss of a child, and general trauma.

Word Count: 4.3k

Author's Note: This is the first part of what I anticipate will be a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 1

There would be no going back. You had promised yourself that. As you stepped out of the cabin door, you vowed not to look back, not to turn around, not to wish for what was. You would move forward, one foot in front of the other, into the world. Yet, as you crested the first hill, your heart clenched, and tears welled in your eyes, a sudden and overwhelming loneliness gripping you. You shook your head, dismissing the thought. What could possibly bring you back to that place? A place where everything hurt constantly, and the only safe refuge was sleep—where even then, he invaded your subconscious.

You wouldn’t go back. Not this time. Not like the last time.

Pushing the tears down, you took another step forward. The companionship of the night, lit by the full moon, felt both lonely and liberating. You adjusted your pack and pulled your oversized, worn leather jacket tighter around your torso as you silently crept through the forest.

It wouldn’t be morning for a few more hours, and if you kept moving, you would cross the river while it was still dark. You had a plan and a general idea of where you were heading, but at the time you made this plan, your only thought was to get as far away as possible. To put as much distance as you could between yourself and the old, rotten cabin that had been your home for the past fifty-three years.

The moonlight made the trees seem farther apart, and you felt exposed. Glancing over your shoulder, despite the hill and the fallen trees and boulders between you and the cabin, you imagined you could still see smoke rising from the chimney. You quickened your pace.

You hoisted yourself over a fallen log, the moss soft and forgiving under your fingertips. The new spring air was beginning to overtake the cold of winter, and the damp scent of rain filled your nose. You had loved spring—or at least you used to, fifty-three years ago. Now, you couldn't remember what you loved or who you would be when you finally made it away. But you would make it away. You would not go back. Not for anything. No matter how much he begged, no matter how much he cried, no matter how much you ached to return.

Hours passed as you continued your trudge through the woods, your legs growing more tired with each step as you carefully descended the mountain. You lost your footing twice, but quickly regained your balance, careful not to make a sound. You wouldn’t stop moving, not until you had crossed the river.

As the night sky shifted from deep blue to purple, and the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, you heard the rushing of the river and quickened your pace.

When you reached the clear waters of the Highlawn River, you stopped, tossing your pack onto the pebbled shore, and leaned down to drink from the cold, clean water. You dipped your hands in greedily, cupping them to your lips, when you caught sight of your reflection glaring back at you. As you sipped, your eyes traced the cut on your cheekbone. What had once been a wound was now only a trace of dried blood, just like the gash on your forehead. You splashed water onto your face, scrubbing at the blood caked on your skin. You scrubbed the area raw and red, as if washing it away would also erase the memory of what caused the bleeding.

Kneeling there, your face burning slightly from the cold water, you took a deep breath and let yourself feel alive.

You pulled your jacket back over your shoulders, catching his scent, which made you recoil, your heart racing and your stomach dropping. But you reminded yourself you were alone. He was not with you. He would never be with you again. You grabbed your pack and hauled it back onto your shoulder, then turned and wandered down the shore of the river, searching for the shallow, rocky crossing. When you reached it, you carefully tiptoed across, taking care not to slip into the nearly freezing water.

Once on the other side, you turned and looked back up the mountain you had just descended, squinting to see the cabin's roof that sometimes poked out when the leaves were down. You couldn’t find it. Not that you wanted to, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

He would be getting up soon. He would find your note. Would he run from the house calling your name? Would he cry? Would he rage, swearing what he would do when he found you? Would he hunt you down, sending birds flying from trees and animals racing for their burrows? Or would he stand there in silence, reading the note, his green eyes calm and collected, before starting the kettle for his tea?

You hoped you would never find out. You turned again and walked farther into the deeper woods. You would not come back. You would live. You would live your life. You would survive this, just as you had survived the last fifty-three years.

As the early morning turned warmer and the sun rose higher, heating your hair and sending warmth radiating down your body, you removed your jacket, tying it around your waist. You continued wandering through the deeper woods, determined to reach the tavern, a day's walk away. Despite your legs burning and aching for rest, you kept moving forward. You would always keep moving forward.

The trees of the Night Court, now blooming with spring flowers, cast shadows on the forest floor. The sun's warmth on your face was both comforting and energizing. Morning shifted to afternoon, and afternoon into evening, and by the time you saw the tavern lights, you were nearly crawling with exhaustion. A renewed sense of energy hit you, and you made your way across the field, nearly running as you pushed open the creaky wooden door.

You peered around the lively room, searching for an open table. The crowd chattered animatedly, downing beers and spirits, guffawing with friends. You hadn't been around this many people in a very long time. Almost giddy with excitement, you chose a table near the back of the tavern. Settling into the booth, a waitress promptly placed a cold glass of water on the table, which you downed before she could introduce herself. You ordered a plate of chicken and potatoes and allowed yourself a moment to breathe. Leaning back in your chair, you felt your spine relax and the ache in your feet begin to subside.

When your dinner arrived, you scarfed it down as quickly as you had the water, the grease of the meat making your lips shine. You wiped your face with your sleeve, not caring if you looked like an animal. When you inquired about a room, the waitress informed you there was one left, but it was connected to another room already rented. You considered sleeping in the woods but knew you wouldn’t rest well and still had miles to travel. So, you pulled a satchel of coins from your bag, paid for the room, and gave the waitress a few extra coins, asking her to deny anyone who might come in asking about you.

When you made your way up the creaking steps, the lights in the other rooms had already been turned out for the night as the other travelers rested their weary bones. You found yourself at the end of the hall, the light under your door still lit. As you unlocked it, you were quickly taken aback by the sight of a man sitting in a chair across from you. His feet were propped up on an end table, and he leaned back comfortably in an oversized armchair, a book in one hand while the other hand lazily traced his lips. He looked up quickly, closing his book. He wore only a pair of black linen pants, his tanned skin covered in various whirling tattoos, and his black hair tousled as though he had been running his hands through it repeatedly.

“Sorry, I think you have the wrong room,” he said, quickly putting his feet back on the ground.

You paused, taking a tentative step back. “Um, no, actually, I rented this room. The owner said that someone else was staying in the adjoining one, but I can go to that one if you’ve taken this one.”

The man rose to his feet, and you suddenly noticed the large wings tucked behind him. He was much larger than he had looked when curled into that chair. “No, please,” he said, gesturing to the room and moving toward the adjoining door. “I was just using this as a sitting room.” He picked up his book, his bare feet padding across the floor. Opening the adjoining door, he ducked his head, turned back to you, wished you a goodnight, and quietly shut the door.

You didn’t move until the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears subsided. You hadn’t spoken to a man in decades, and the first one you see is half-dressed, and you walk in unannounced. Shaking your head, you muttered to yourself before walking in and shutting the door behind you, pressing your back against the wood, resting your head on it, and closing your eyes. You had worked so hard all day to keep the bond shut on your end, willing it closed while he pounded on the other side, screaming to be let in. You had given yourself a headache doing so.

You threw your pack down on the floor, pulling off your sweat-drenched shirt and pants from the hike and tossing them over the chair the man had been lounging in before flopping down onto the bed, your head pounding.

________________________________________________________

The sun beamed down onto your face as you squinted, eyes still shut as you rolled over in bed, groaning softly. You inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of the burning fire, the heavy wetness of the April woods, and the scent of spruce and sage. Your eyes opened, and you found yourself staring at the log wall, the window above it slightly open with sheer linen curtains fluttering in the wind. The quilt you had spent months making was balled at your feet, kicked away in the night as the pre-summer air seeped in through the open window. Your hair was plastered to the sides of your face with sweat.

You sat up, your cotton nightgown sticking to your torso, the lace scratching lightly at your skin as you rubbed your neck and eyes. The cabin air was slightly damp; it must have rained last night. Planting your feet on the hard wood floor, you looked across the room to see a small wooden cradle. Walking towards it, you tied your hair up with a ribbon from the window sill and leaned in to see your tiny babe, still sound asleep. You smiled down at them, brushing your fingers over their soft cheek as they softly gurgled. They were perfect, angelic, with your nose and lips, their tiny hands curled into loose fists beside their head as they slept on their back. Even in just their cloth diaper, the heat of the morning had made their cheeks red and their skin slightly damp as you continued to run soft lines down their face. Perfection. They were perfection.

The morning dove cooed its melody as the world around you seemed perfectly soft and hazy, as though all the colors were muted and edges somehow rounder. Then you heard it, the soft crying from the main room of the cabin. The babe stirred slightly but remained asleep as you looked through the open door to the living room. You glanced back at your perfect babe, still sound asleep, and then lightly stepped through the bedroom, trying to peek around the corner of the door without making the floorboards creak.

You stopped at the threshold, placing one hand delicately on the frame as you peered out. He was sitting there, on the couch he had carved for your 120th birthday, the blanket your mother gave you draped over the back. The window next to the front door was shattered in a moment of blind rage many months ago that he still hadn’t fixed.

He sat there, his head in his hands, sobbing quietly. The wet inhales and exhales formed a rock in your throat as you stood there, still as a deer. His head jerked up, and he turned to look over the back of the couch at you. His eyes were red, bloodshot, and he sniffled back another sob.

“Why would you do this?” he asked, his voice a breathless sob. “Why would you leave me?”

You said nothing, eyes wide in shock, seemingly frozen in place. The only movement in you was your heart, beating faster and faster. You worried he could hear it. Your hands and feet went numb, and you felt every twitch in your body as you tried to keep still. Your mouth parted slightly to speak, but before you could get a word out, he was standing, walking over to you, the heavy sound of his footsteps echoing in your head, pounding through the cabin until he stood in front of you. You took a step back, hands flying upwards to block the doorway.

He wrapped his arms around you, his large frame towering over yours as he sobbed into your neck. “We can fix this, baby,” he cooed into your ear, still sobbing. His height lifted you from the ground, rising to stand on your tiptoes as he continued to plead. “Just come home, baby. Come home. We can make this right.” Your arms slackened at your sides as he held you up. You swallowed the lump in your throat, unsure if you were going to scream or vomit as everything inside you burned. “Just come home,” he whispered again into your ear, his hot, wet breath streaming down your back as his tears glued your hair to your face. He pulled back to look at you, releasing you back to the floor. His green eyes peered into yours, searching for a response—the response he wanted. He leaned down to kiss you, and in a moment of bravery, you stepped back. He reached for your arm to pull you back, and you took another step backward, your hands behind you.

“Baby,” he managed to get out, but the sound of his voice, broken by sobs, no longer echoed through your mind. Instead, it was a warning. He took a step toward you, reaching out. He grabbed your wrist, which you tugged free. He took another step, reaching for you.

“No!” you shouted as he grabbed for you again. Your voice barely above a whisper, “I won’t come back.”

He stopped, his hand still extended toward you as his face twisted in anger. His mouth curved into a catlike smile, though his eyes darkened. “Where are you going to go, baby?”

You swallowed down the rock in your throat, your vision blurring as tears clouded your eyes. “I-I-” you stuttered.

He smiled at you again. “Where would you go?”

You took another tentative step back, your hands brushing the cradle, which rocked softly. Your babe cooed lightly, looking up at you with bright, brown eyes.

He peered over your shoulder at the babe in the cradle. “You want a baby? I can give you a baby,” he promised. “You just need to come home.”

You looked at him, your mouth hanging open, searching for words to shut him up. Words that would let you win. He reached for you again. “Where will you go where I can’t find you?”

You turned, grabbing the babe from the cradle, picking up their blanket with them. In the frantic motion, the babe let out a wail, but it didn’t stop you. You pushed past him, dashing through the living room, past the broken window, and down the steps. Your feet barely registered as you pounded through the front grass and headed into the woods, your babe pressed to your shoulder, crying out. As you hit the treeline, you turned to see him standing on the porch, his arms crossed, the catlike smile still inching across his face.

You tore through the woods, careful to hold your babe's head to your neck, trying not to trip over roots and branches, panting out wild breaths as the woods crashed around you.

As your babe let out another piercing wail, you found a hollowed out log that you crouched down in, trying to shush the screams. You rocked, hushed and pressed soft kisses into their temple as your heart continued to beat wildly in your ears. From behind you, you could hear branches and twigs snapping as he made his way towards you. Where would you run? Where could you go? Where can you go he wouldn’t find you? As your mind races you suddenly realize the babe has gone quiet and your arms are light, you look down and in your arms you hold an empty white blanket. A sob escapes you as you search around frantically for your babe, a wail crosses your lips as the sounds of the branches get louder and louder, you fall to the ground screaming as the sounds of him calling your name mixed with your pounding heart flood your head. It’s all gone. Everything is gone. 

________________________________________________________

“Hey! Hey!”

Your eyes shoot open, and the room around you is pitch black. You hurl in a heavy breath, wheezing out a cough, sweat pouring down your face and back as you scream, but no sound comes out. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you see moonlight streaming in from the window, tears blurring your vision, and the silhouette of someone yelling at you, their hands pressed onto your shoulders.

You rip their hands off, kicking back to ball up in the corner of the bed, pressed into the wall, ragged breaths tasting of iron in your lungs. You pull your legs into your chest, eyes wide and frantic. The figure in front of you is the male from earlier, sitting on his knees, his wings tucked behind him and his hands up, showing he means no harm.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, “It’s okay.” But it doesn’t feel okay. Everything is on fire.

You shake your head, snot running down your face, your lips quivering as you try to form words that won’t come.

He shushes you quietly, lowering himself from the bed onto the floor. He slides closer, reaching out a hand, his hazel eyes filled with concern. You look down at his hands, scarred and malformed. You try to let out another breath, but it gets caught in your throat as you cough. His extended hand covers your foot, and you continue to fight down sobs and screams. He hushes you again, “You’re safe. You’re here. You’re right here.” He squeezes your foot lightly, the pressure somehow grounding you. Your screams fade, but the tears continue to stream down your face as you cry silently. He runs his thumb up and down the top of your foot, his eyes never leaving you. After a minute, he reaches out his other hand, and you reach back. His hand engulfs yours, squeezing gently, kneeling beside your bed as if in prayer. “It’s okay.”

As if the reminder shatters something inside you, your tears fall heavy and full as your body relaxes. “Everything is,” you start, “it’s so loud.”

He lifts himself from the floor, and you curl away again, pulling your hand back. Realizing your response, he slowly lowers himself back to his knees, reaching out again. You take his hand, and he presses it between his palms so it disappears completely.

“There are clouds rolling in. I can smell the rain,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Between sharp intakes, you can smell it too. A storm is coming.

One hand stays with yours as he runs his other over the blanket. “This blanket,” he says, pressing your hand to it, “is scratchy and wool, too hot for this season.”

You nod slightly, unsure of what he’s doing. He glances at the clock. “It’s a little past two in the morning.” He looks back at you, your hand pressed into the bed, his hand over yours. 

“Can I stand?” he asks, still whispering.

You nod, unable to speak. Slowly, he rises from the floor, which creaks beneath him. His movements are deliberate, raising both hands as he gets to his feet. “Can I sit down?” he asks, gesturing to the bed.

You nod, and he turns to sit next to you, his back against the wooden wall. He holds out his scarred hand again, and to take it, you have to scoot away from the wall. He takes your hand and runs his thumb up and down the back, his face now calmer. “You’re okay,” he reminds you.

Finally able to breathe more steadily, you wipe your eyes with your free hand, never letting go of his. He never loosens his grip.

“I’m-” you start, your throat raw, “I’m so sorry.”

He smiles lightly at you. “It’s okay. I was already awake.”

You look around the room, everything as you left it when you went to sleep, but the bed is a mess. Pillows have been ripped, and the sheets are strewn about as though a tornado had passed through.

You glance back at him and suddenly become aware that you’re only wearing your underwear. You rush to pull the blankets up around yourself, the wool feeling immediately too warm. The male reaches for the armchair and hands you your shirt, which you gratefully pull over your head, pushing the blanket off of you.

He looks at you again, his hazel eyes scanning your incredibly red, puffy face. “Has this happened before?” he finally asks.

You swallow and nod, licking your cracked lips. In truth, it had happened many times before, whenever you had run. In sleep, when the bond opened up, he wormed his way back into your mind and tormented you. You had replayed this scene so many times: you and the babe you wished you had, sprinting through the woods to get away, only to find the babe missing. Normally, he made it all the way to you and brought you back to the cabin, finding your scent and coming for you. But not this time.

You wipe another rogue tear from your eye, pushing the snot from your face where it pooled above your lips. You sniffle as he takes your hand again, rubbing soothing circles into the back.

“I really am sorry,” you say, the words coming out broken.

He just shakes his head. “Like I said, I was already awake.” Then he smiles slightly at you. “Are you okay?” he asks.

You nod, trying desperately to clean your face.

“I’m going to grab you a wash rag, okay?” he offers.

You shake your head. “That’s okay. You can go back to bed. I’m alright.”

He gives you a tight-lipped smile. “I’ve heard less intense screaming on the battlefield.” You look down, shameful. “Let me at least get you a washcloth.” With that, he stands slowly and makes his way to the washbasin, running a rag through the water and bringing it back to you. You look up at him, your eyelashes clumping together from the tears as he props your chin up and runs the cloth delicately over your cheeks and eyes, giving you a soft smile. When he’s finished, and the cool water has soothed the burning on your skin, he pushes your hair back behind your ear.

He hands you the cloth as he takes his place next to you on the bed again. You run the cloth over your face and chest as he watches.

Your head feels heavy, your body like you’ve run miles. Everything feels sore. You let out a sigh, wiggling your nose slightly as it finally clears.

“I am genuinely sorry,” you say, looking down at the bed, hands in your lap.

“And I genuinely don’t want you to worry about it,” he responds, chuckling slightly. “It sounds like whatever’s going on in your head is much worse than losing a few hours of sleep, if I was sleeping at all.”

You chuckle slightly as well, then look up at him. His eyes meet yours. It’s so strange. This whole interaction is very strange.

“Thank you,” you finally say.

He smiles at you, a genuine smile, laced with a tinge of pity.

“I think I’m okay now.”

He nods, his smile fading slightly. “Are you going back to sleep?” he asks.

You nod, even though you’re sure you’ll spend the rest of the night with your eyes wide open, too afraid to let your guard down again.

He slowly stands, reaching out to take the wash rag, which he brings back to the basin to wring out. He turns, looking at you again, and opens his mouth as if to say something but stops himself. He makes his way to the door of the adjoining room, still flung open from when he crashed through earlier.

“If it’s alright with you, I’m just going to keep this cracked,” he says, one hand on the door.

You nod.

“Just in case you need anything,” he says again, “not that you do, but,” he pauses and smiles, “for my sake.”

You smile, the dried tears on your cheeks making your skin feel tight, and chuckle slightly, “Sure.”

With that, he closes the door to a crack. You hear him through the wall as he crosses his own room, the rustling of blankets being pulled back and the creak of the bed as he lies down. You wait until it goes quiet before pulling the sheets back up, resting your head on the last pillow that isn’t shredded, and stare at the window, waiting for the sun to come up.

[awkness]

No Man is an Island

(Paternal Platonic Yandere oc & Injured Teenage Genderneutral Reader)

You and a small group of people are left stranded on an island, struggling to survive. One member of the group, Henry, has grown a paternal attachment towards you and has taken on the task of caring for you, but are his intentions truly as benevolent as they seem, or is there something much more selfish behind them?

Content warnings: injury, plane crashes, talks car accidents, coma, and child death, and general yandere shenanigans

Authors Note: This is much more chill then what I usually write. Don't be fooled, though, this dude is still messed up lol

You were on a plane alone, flying back to see your parents when the plane begins to experience severe turbulence. The captain tries to reassure everyone that things are under control, but it only gets worse. It feels like you're in the middle of an earthquake. Oxygen masks fall from the ceiling, and you can barely put yours on before blacking out

You wake up to a horrible, throbbing pain in your leg, and a sticky, humid feeling everywhere else

You're near the shoreline of the beach, a canopy of tropical trees shielding you from the sun. Turning your head, you could make out the main wreckage of the plane. There's a crudely made splint on your left leg, which is swollen and covered in bruises. There are no people in sight

Panicking, you start yelling, trying to find someone, anyone to help you understand what's happening

A middle-aged, gruff looking man comes from the wreckage. He introduces himself as Henry and helps you calm down before explaining the situation to you

The plane had crashed on an unihabited island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, an unknown distance away from the mainland. All of the crew were dead, and most of the passengers were as well. The only people who survived were you, Henry, and no more than ten other people, all variously injured

None where as injured as you, though. Henry says that you had most likely broken your left fibula and tibia when the plane crashed. As the bone hadn't broke through your skin, he says that it should heal on its own, but it would take months, most of it spent on bed rest

The first few days were the roughest. You spent your time in a haze of pain and heat from the brutal and humid temperatures from the island. It was hard to make yourself eat, and you often felt like you never had enough to drink, as your group had decided to ration the fresh water and food that was scavenged from the crash

The other survivors didn't interact with you often. It wasn't on purpose, but they were too busy working to make this place temporarily habitable, and they had no time to think of an injured person who couldn't help them. Plus, you weren't much for conversation anyway, given your current state

The only person you did see regularly was Henry. He checked on you often throughout the day, acting much like your self-appointed doctor. He seemed to have a basic understanding of what medical care to provide you, though, so you weren't about to protest

His bedside manner was good as well, knowing when you were in too much pain to make conversation and when you were lucid enough to want company. He was your only source of companionship for those first few days, being the one to bring you your daily rations of airplane pretzels and coconut water and make sure you were eating.

Whether it was the pain subsiding or you simply adjusting to it, you began to pull yourself out of your pain driven stupor and started talking to Henry more, out of the pure loneliness and boredom of your situation

He was very easy to talk to despite his outwardly serious and borderline intimating disposition. As you talked to him more, you found him to be friendly and a bit corny, occasionally cracking a stupid dad joke or pulling light-hearted pranks on you. He seemed fairly competent at reading people, able to sense your loneliness, and often encouraging you to open up whenever he had the chance to talk

You didn't know if it was out of genuine interest or pity for your circumstances, but you found you couldn't refuse his company. Before you knew it, you started oversharing about your life. Within the next two weeks, he knew pretty much every major thing about you, from your family, your hobbies, where you lived, what your future goals and aspirations were, and so on

On the other hand, he seemed more reluctant to open up, often getting quiet or withdrawn when your questions got too personal, with what constituting 'personal' varying. You eventually picked up that something troubling must of happened to him in his past involving his family, so you stopped pushing, letting him bring up his past on his own time

Outside of superficial facts about him, the only thing you knew was that he was a former US Army Special Forces survival expert, which was how he knew how to treat your injury, and how he knew how to survive on the island

When you were feeling well enough, he would teach you some of survival knowledge he had, teaching you different fire starting methods, how to build a lean-to, and how to crack open a coconut to get the milk. He seemed rather anxious about watching you wield his knife, though, so he did that for you when he could

Things take a turn for the better as the group finds decent shelter that isn't the plane wreckage in the form of uninhabited caves in the heart of the island, along with a waterfall spouting drinkable water

Some are reluctant to leave the shoreline, as the group had taken to maintaining a bonfire there to hopefully signal passing planes or boats for help. A compromise was reached where they would move to the caves and would continue to maintain the fire in shifts

The trek towards the caverns was especially hard on you. The rest of the survivors had gone ahead to carry the supplies to the caverns, leaving Henry to guide you through the thick foilage and uneven terrain

Henry had given you a walking stick to aid your journey, but because of your prolonged bedrest, there were often times you had to be carried, making the journey a slow and tedious one. You apologized, but he brushed it aside, saying he didn't mind, as he often had to carry much heavier loads in the army. He then went on to tell you cherry picked stories from his time in the military to distract you until you reached the caves

He had decided that it would be best for you to sleep near him, in case you needed assistance or if there was an emergency. His reasoning seemed sound, and you were inclined to trust him after all this time, so you agreed

With this newfound stability, things finally seemed to slow down, as people weren't constantly threatened with death by starvation, dehydration, or exposure

This was also the time that the other survivors began to talk to you more regularly

It was how you learned that Henry had become the defacto leader of sorts, given he was the most qualified out of the group. People often came to you to see if he was there whenever they needed him, asking you to pass messages along to him when he wasn't there. Which was pretty often, given how he was usually the person to help gather food or scout out new parts of the island

It was after one of these outings that you began to learn more about him

It had been a rainy, stormy day, which made the groups whole mood sour. Henry was out with a small group to gather food, and you were with the rest of the survivors, hanging out in the main cave

It was easy to overhear conversations in the main cave, noise often bouncing about the walls. It's how you and the rest of the people in there were forced to listen to a heated conversation developing between two of your members

Apparently, one of the more toublesome people of your group had been caught stealing from one of the other members of the cave. Their talking turned to arguing, and the arguing became shouting, which became shoving, which was steadily growing more violent by the second

Some had tried to break up the fight while everyone else had managed to move away except you, who could only slowly hobble away

A fellow survivor was trying to usher you away when someone knocked into you, causing you to fall and hit your head on the cavern floor. You lost consciousness

When you woke, the first thing you noticed was the pain in your head, throbing like a pulse. The second was that you were back in your bed (if you could call a platform of crushed bamboo and palm leaves a bed), a blanket tucked to your chin. The third were the footsteps of Henry as he came over to kneel beside you, his face creased in thought and worry

He then went to question you on how you were feeling, if you knew who you were, if you remembered what happened, as well as checking your eyes and testing your muscles and general coordination

It was only after he was satisfied you didn't have any severe brain injury that he finally relaxed and explained what happened

After you were knocked unconscious, the fighting had stopped, and you had been taken back to your part of the cave to be taken care of as they waited for Henry and his group to arrive

The conversation then faded into silence, as you were too caught up in your pain to keep talking. You closed your eyes and laid back down

It wasn't until later that night that you finally noticed that Henry was still in the room, watching you, face blank and motionless as if he were in another world. You've never seen him look that way before

You nudge him and he startles, completely caught off guard, apologizing for worrying you

You ask him what's wrong, and instead of brushing your question off like he usually does, he hesitates before going on to speak about the family he used to have, a wife and a child, who he loved dearly. One day, they ended up in a car crash. He lived with minimal injuries, but his wife died, and his child ended up brain dead with no hope of recovery. He had kept the child on life support for months before finally pulling the plug

"When I was waiting for you to wake up, it was like I was back in the hospital, hoping beyond hope that a miracle would happen, and I would see them open their eyes again... Y'know, it's the craziest thing. While I was watching you, I kept thinking about how they would've been your age if they were still here. They would of looked just like you."

You apologize, unable to think of anything else to say. He waves it off and tells you not to mind what he said and to go to bed. He was still sitting and watching you as you fell asleep

About five months after the crash, when the group had started to lose hope of there being a rescue, someone had spotted a plane flying across the night sky

Everyone scrambled to strengthen the bonfire on the shore, yelling at the sky in a desperate attempt to be noticed

With Henry's help, you made your way to the fire as well, propping yourself up with a walking stick to keep your weight off your broken leg, waving your free arm to the sky as you joined in the shouting

But it didn't matter. The plane flew away, disappearing into the dark

Some people cried, others flew into a rage, and the rest didn't say a word. Eventually, people slowly made their way back to the caves, disheartened at their loss

After a few hours, it was just you and Henry left on the shore, the dying embers of the fire next to you as you both stared at the sky. He seemed content

You break the silence and ask him if he thinks there will ever be another opportunity for rescue

"I don't know, but I doubt it. With how long it's been, that plane probably wasn't searching for us. We probably won't see another one anytime soon."

"You don't sound too broken up about it" you say.

"I guess I'm not. If you can overlook the heat, this place ain't half bad. Fresh seafood, clean water, a built-in shelter, and 24/7 access to my own private beach. Shit, I don't even have to pay taxes anymore, either. This is the closest thing to paradise I'll ever find."

"You can't mean that, right? We can't stay here forever."

"Of course we can. We have everything we could need. Plenty of people have lived in worse places."

That's not what I mean, what about my family? I want to go home!

The mention of your family leaves him stunned, like he forgot they existed. He quickly regains his bearings and continues

"I don't mean to make you upset, kid, but I think you're misunderstanding me. I know it hurts now, but there's nothing stopping you from living a happy life here. You've got food, a roof over your head, and someone to take care of you, what more could someone ask for?"

You don't reply. Sensing your darkening mood, he offers to help walk you back, and you accept, both of you slowly making your way through the foilage in silence

You fail to notice that the fire was left unattended and how it had slowly died out, leaving the island invisible to any help that could pass by

The next morning, no one bothers to reignite the fire

Afternoon rolls around and Henry leaves, going to fish for your next meal. You pray it isn't sea cucmbers again

Someone comes up to you, asking for some cordage they had lent to Henry. Instead of waiting for him to come back, you decide to search for it yourself

You search his part of the cave and almost give up before spotting a bag hidden in a crevice of the cave. It was so well hidden, you're afraid you might lose sight of it if you turn away. What could he have in there? You're almost certain Henry wouldn't keep rope tucked so far out of sight. But you couldn't help your curiousity. You've been in here countless times, how didn't you notice this? Against your better judgment, you open the bag

You don't find the cordage

Instead, inside the small bag is the bright orange of a flare gun and several unused flare cartridges

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Take Me Back to Us

Fandom: Star Wars - The Acolyte

Pairing: Qimir x GN!Reader

Summary: You were content on being a Jedi healer. You found comfort in helping your fellow Jedi as well as anyone else that needed your expertise. However, you come across a stranger that seems all too familiar, and you're not sure why. Based off this request.

A/N: this is a lil more on the platonic side if you really look at it but its whatever

Qimir Masterlist

It was clear that you and Qimir were special. People around you treated you two differently, especially when they got to witness you two using your...powers.

Your village said you two were blessed by the gods or something. You two felt like you were children of gods when you used your minds to move things around or even start floating mid-air.

Then they arrived, these Jedi, who promised to train you so that you knew how to better use and control your powers.

The only problem was that you would be separated. Qimir would be going to Corrusant and you to Olega.

You hugged Qimir tight before you two departed. After pulling away, you two made a pinky promise, "Together or apart, you're always in my heart." A childish rhyme yet conveyed the deep rooted feeling of love and companionship. You two had a bond, one so deep that even the Jedi training the both of you didn't know how to sever.

You had a Force bond. Whatever the you felt, Qimir felt, and vice versa. Even planets away, you could feel each other's pain, yearning, loneliness. The Jedi Knight training, Master Ekwall, felt the disturbance and pain in you.

It became unbearable one fateful night. You felt a deep searing pain and anger within you, that you didn't know what to do. Master Ekwall, knowing your attachment to Qimir, felt it was him that was causing you to struggle in letting go of your emotions. So he did what he thought was right, he removed your memories of Qimir.

The last thing you remembered was leaving your home planet. A few years lost, but your Master continued to help you hone in on your connection to the Force.

Turns out, you're a natural healer. Although trained in the Jedi art, you moreso work in the medbay in Olega, aiding Jedi, padawans, and locals whenever they're hurt.

Occasionally when you work, you feel a heaviness in your heart, or a shooting pain in your head. You're not sure why and Master Ekwall said that when he took you in, you suffered a head injury that must have some lingering effects.

The local apothecary provides you a concoction that dulls the pain. The storeowner, Ohnell, is a kind older man that gives you a discount on whatever you need since you helped heal him years ago.

However, Ohnell isn't behind the counter today. It's a young man you've never seen before.

"Hell-" the man looks up and his words get caught in his throat. He clears his throat, "Hello."

You look at him curiously, "You're not Ohnell," you state as you cautiously approach the man behind the counter.

He gulps, "No, I'm not. Ohnell had some emergency and asked me to watch the shop while he's away."

You feel that heaviness in your chest again, the searing pain in your head. You hiss, grabbing the side of your head, leaning against the counter.

The man immediately rushes around to steady you, "What's going on? What's wrong?" Once he touches you, the feeling simmers down.

You look at him with confusion, "I-How did you do that?"

"Do what?" the man asks.

For years, I've been experiencing headaches and chest pains. I've been coming to this apothecary because Ohnell provides a concoction to numb the pain. But as soon as you touched me, it went away."

The man looks you in the eyes, "You don't remember me, do you?"

"Remember? Do I know you?"

Before the man answers, another person enters the shop. A young woman with a purple hooded cape. You take the opportunity to leave, the young woman eyeing you as you cross each other's paths.

As the distance between you and the man, grow, the pain starts coming back.

__________________

Mae eyes you through the window before you're out of view and then turns to Qimir, "Do you know them?"

He shakes his head and gives a little chuckle, "No, of course not. Just a customer asking about some products. Anyway, how'd it go?"

Qimir listens intently as Mae recalls her encounter with Master Torbin. He proceeds to make her concoction that will help her in killing the Jedi.

___________________

You stand back, leaning against the wall as Osha tells Jecki about bunta from her home planet.

"Is this the only apothecary in town?"

Kear nods, "It is but..." he sees the man that enters the shop, "That's not our regular guy. I don't know who that guy is."

You speak up, "I went in the other day. That man said Ohnell was away due to an emergency." You shake your head in shame, "I should have known something was wrong."

"Any suggestions of a plan?" Master Sol asks.

Yord steps up, offering his suggestion. However, Jecki dismisses it and provides a better plan. You cover your mouth to hide your smile when Master Sol takes up Jecki's idea. You pat Yord on the shoulder in pity, winking at Jecki, feeling proud for the padawan.

Osha heads down, buying a wrap to make herself look more like Mae. You all huddle around the comm in Jecki's hand as Osha speaks through her PIP droid, "I hope you guys can hear me."

She walks into the shop and hear through the droid her conversation with the man inside.

"Mae, uh, are you okay? Did the poison work?"

"That's all we need. Let's pull her out." Jecki, Yord, and Kear are ready to move, but Sol stops them, "Wait!"

"Wait, you killed Torbin without the poison. He will be so pleased."

"Go!" all of you rush down towards the shop. While you're not skilled enough to be a Jedi Knight, you never know if someone will get hurt.

You follow Master Sol and Yord into the apothecary after Osha's attempt at getting information from the man.

The man goes rigid, being surrounded by Jedi. When you step into view, he stares at you for a moment before Jecki speaks.

"We know you supplied her the posion that killed Master Torbin. We have your confession," the padawan holds up the comm.

"Wait, wait, wait. That isn't my thing. This is her. I didn't know what she was going to do with that stuff!"

Master Sol steps up to him, "If you cooperate, we will consider letting you go with a warning."

The man nods and distances himself from Sol, "Thank you, sir! Please don't do the memory wipe thing or whatever it is you guys do."

You continue to watch the man suspiciously. You feel a pulling at your chest and, as if, the man feels it too, he rubs at his own chest for a brief moment. The gesture has you even more confused about who this man is.

"What is your relationship to Mae?" Sol asks.

"I'm just her supplier. I started out gunrunning for the Hutts, now I supply people like her with what they need. For the right price."

"Well maybe you can supply us with the truth." Yord says which makes you want to roll your eyes.

"Who is 'he'?" Sol asks.

The man looks confused and points to Yord, "Uh, I thought he was with you."

You look at Osha confused and she shrugs. Sol continues to interrogate the man and then he provides something of interest, "All I know is that she wants revenge on four Jedi. If you wanna get to her, she'll be back here tonight. I'm holding some things for her."

Master Sol proceeds to list off orders to each of you. Jecki goes back to the ship. Yord secures the perimeter. Osha accompanies Sol and you are to go back to the Temple. The four exit the shop in haste, but you stay back for a moment.

The man's shoulders sag when the leave, "That was...intense."

"Who are you?"

The man gives you a crooked smile, "Qimir."

In your mind, you hear children's laughter. Your own and...someone else's.

"Together or apart, you're always in my heart."

"..always in my heart," you murmur out and Qimir's eyes widen, "What did you say?"

You shake your head, backing away, "Nothing. I need to return to the Temple," you hurry out of the shop in a rush.

______________________

You were knocked out in the battle. Thrown back by an incredible power of the Force. Surrounding you are various bodies of fallen Jedi. You look for any search of life, hoping that you could help and heal any that survived. You find none.

During your search, you come across the man behind it all...Qimir.

You unsheathe your lightsaber, causing him to stand from an unconscious Osha, his hands out, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"You killed my friends, fellow Jedi. How can I trust you?"

"You know me, Y/N, and I know you."

"I don't know you!" you exclaim in frustration and hurt.

Qimir remains calm, "Yes, you do. When we met, you felt something in your chest and you felt it again during that interrogation. You even said our promise, 'Together or apart, you're always in my heart.'"

You grip tightens on your saber, "If I know you then why don't I remember you?"

"The Jedi probably wiped your memory, made you forget about me."

You shake your head in disbelief, "But why would they do that?"

Qimir slowly walks closer to you, hands still up, "Jedi aren't allowed to have emotional ties to people. They probably wiped me from your memory because of the bond that we have. But it's clear our bond is so much stronger than them."

"They told me my memory problems and my head pains were due to a head injury."

"The Jedi are liars. They lied to me, to Osha, to you." he stretches his hand out to you, "Come with me. I can help you get your memories back and show you exactly what our relationship was. No lies."

You hesitate, weighing out your options. What if he kills you? What if he's also lying?

"I promise, I'm not."

Against your better judgement, you sheath your lightsaber, clipping it to your belt. You slowly reach your hand out.

Qimir immediately grabs you, pulls you in, and places his hand on your head.

The world goes black.

_______________

"Qimir! Get down! You'll fall!" a much smaller, younger you shouts up at your childhood friend in the tree.

"I'll be fine," the young boy replies, climbing higher up the tree. His foot suddenly slips and he loses his grip. Falling back with a cry, waiting for impact.

But he doesn't. He's floating in mid-air, slowly floating down until his feet touch the ground.

He whips around to face you and you drop your arms with an exasperated sigh, "Told you."

He rushes up to you with a wide grin, "That was amazing! How did you do that?! All I can do is lift rocks!"

You shrug, "I don't know. All I know is that i was really scared of you getting hurt. I held my arms out and the Force caught you."

"Thank you for saving me," he wraps his arms around you in a tight hug.

You giggle, "What're friends for? Now will you listen to me about being careful?"

He pulls back, giving you a mischievous grin, "Never."

Your eyes shoot open and you take a look at your surroundings. You're in a cave of some sort. You don't think you're on Khofar. You suddenly realize you hear waves crashing. You're near water.

A bowl of stew appears in your line of sight and you look up to Qimir holding it, "You need to eat."

You sit up and see Osha across the cave, eating in silence, eyes on you and Qimir. You apprehensively take the bowl, "Where are we?"

"Can't tell you," he replies.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Two days," he replies, sitting beside you on the bedroll.

"Two days?!"

"Your mind and body is catching up to everything you've forgotten. Honestly, I'm surprised it didn't take you longer to wake up," he looks at you with a smirk "But you were always a persistent person."

You roll your eyes, "And you always seem to be reckless and impulsive."

His brows raise in interest, "What do you remember?"

"You were climbing a tree. I told you to get down or you'd hurt yourself. You slipped, falling to the ground, but I caught you, saving your life."

Qimir chuckles, "That happened a lot when we were young, up until we were separated."

"So you two have known each other since you were young?" Osha asks.

Qimir sighs, "We grew up on the same planet. We discovered we were strong with the Force and Jedi took us away, from our home," he looks at you, "From each other." He looks back at Osha, "I'm not letting them do that to us again." He reaches over and takes your hand in his.

A familiar warmth and comfort filled you, like you knew you were safe and cared for.

You didn't know what was to become of you now. You've abandoned the Jedi, the way of life that you went a majority of your life learning and following. But being with Qimir, having him at your side? It felt right and you knew you'd follow him anywhere and everywhere.

"Together or apart," Qimir starts.

"-you're always in my heart," you finish the phrase.

A promise that you made when you were children and, seemingly, has lasted time and space to bring you back together again.

[ghouldump]

Hiiiii I absolutely love your work thanks for feeding us with iwtv content!!!🫶🫶🫶🫶❤️❤️

I was thinking of a lestat x bi/queer fem reader, in which they’re just cuddling and chilling as they share their past experiences with lovers with no judgement and how they both came to terms with their sexuality, just something very fluffy!

That’s just a suggestion in case you needed ideas, don’t feel pressured at all! Have a great day🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

As You Are | Lestat De Lioncourt x Reader

ෆ summary in request above ^

“You sure you okay, ma chérie, you've been awfully quiet, Lestat said, his fingertips brushing against your hip.

It was one of those rare nights, after hunting, there was nothing else to do but to spend time with each other. You both spent decades without companionship, drowning in loneliness, before meeting each other and now you treasured quality time together.

“I’m okay, today is an old friend's birthday, and I can't help thinking of her,” you told him, climbing out of bed, you grabbed the folded photo from inside of your coin purse.

“You two are a little close be friends,” he said, making you laugh.

“She said people would say that,” you smiled, folding the photo back up.

“You’ve been with a woman, this friend of yours,” he quickly realized.

“Yes, you aren't the only one who doesn't discriminate,” you laughed at how theatrical he was. Lestat had been open about his diverse tastes and history, while you were oftentimes a closed book, listening to his stories, rather than telling your own.

“How did I not know this?”

“I guess it slipped my mind, I don't talk about it, I've learned things and healed, and have no regrets,” you shrugged.

“You cannot tell me that and not elaborate…”

“Well, early 1900s, I had obviously just been turned, I tried dating around for a bit, but nothing worked out, until Helen. I always felt things towards women, but you know how things were back then, I couldn't dare express these feelings to anyone. I probably would've gotten a lobotomy,” you said, making him snicker.

“I realized if I would be here forever, I needed to come to terms with myself. Helen lived in the same apartment building, and I, of course, began to flirt with her. She was like I once was, hiding her true identity, afraid of judgment from outsiders. We were together for some time, in secret. I eventually wanted to turn her, but she was too afraid, blinded by her own internal conflict. We ultimately parted, and she went on with her life. I didn't hear from her again, until I was invited to her funeral, by her children,” you told him, he listened attentively, his softened eyes staring at your face, as he held you close.

“Oh, ma chérie”

“For the longest, I struggled with accepting who I was, questioning what was wrong with me, but I eventually could see myself healing, as time went on. I dated a few others, but none could capture my heart like her, I wouldn't allow myself to fully enjoy and give in until I met you,” you smiled, pecking his lips.

“I thought I wasn't able to love again, after my Nicky, until you came along, and I suppose things worked out perfectly,” he said, his finger brushing against your face.

“We’re one and the same”

“I agree, although it does make things more interesting knowing you also have equally eclectic taste, we’ll have to explore this scandalous side of you,” he grinned.

“What did you have in mind?” you asked, laughing at the mischievous grin on his lips.

“Nothing, for now, I just want to love you, completely and unconditionally, as you are,” he snuggled against you.

“Yes, we can invite someone except not that banchy-singing whore,” you said, hearing his thoughts, questioning if you would be open to a third joining you two in bed, from time to time.

“Thank god, I thought I would have had to beg,” he said, wrapping his arms around you, as he rolled over.

[monsters-demons-and-ai-oh-my]

I wonder if the answer to the nagging question of just how f-ed Viktor’s humanity was post hexcore when he started the commune is right there in front of us.

What if it’s just… to the same level he’s “healing” the commune?

Like the hexcore “healed” his body of it’s “broken” parts what if it did the same to his mind? (Like he did the commune).

Like it left his want to fix the world’s pain and something of his “good” traits (like care for others and base personality) but it surpressed/took his “undesirable” mental parts like it did Salo’s selfishness and Huck’s cowardice.

For instance his self-loathing, guilt, rashness, loneliness would be considered “bad” parts.

But the problem is those feelings were in part what made him stop after he did real harm (like Sky’s accidental death) so when he couldn’t feel them it would make sense he lost the empathy that made him consider what exactly he was destroying in others?

Funny thing is it failed to destroy his affection for and want for Jayce’s approval because the hexcore couldn’t wholly recognize those things as bad because their connection went far beyond a selfish human need for companionship, despite what Viktor might have initially thought when he left.

[cosmic-lullabies]

Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don't cry.

(GENSHIN IMPACT SPOILERS AHEAD)

The hydro archon's sacrifice lingered like a bittersweet hymn. It was a sacrifice not just for him but for the very people who, at first, were distant ripples in his tranquil existence.

It wasn't just about restoring his stolen powers; it was a selfless act that wove her love into the fabric of every water droplet that caressed the shores. She, who loved the people with an intensity that mirrored the cascade of Fontaine's falls, became the catalyst for a transformation within him.

Furina, with her boundless love for the denizens of Fontaine, taught Neuvillette the language of compassion. She painted the hues of humanity in the canvas of his once solitary heart, encouraging him to mingle with the people whose existence he had merely observed from the shadows.

The celestial beings, fooled by the masterful act, never fathomed the fragility that hid behind Furina's graceful facade. Her human form, the supposed hydro archon, was but a fragile vessel, concealing her true purpose with a mind that held the weight of centuries. She played her part perfectly, an act that spanned centuries, fooling even the celestial beings.

Her final dance, a sacrifice for the people of Fontaine she had come to love. In her ephemeral form, she embraced him in the dance of shared rule, a dance that held the promise of restored powers and averted prophecies.

She spoke words that cut deeper than any blade ever could: "Farewell, Neuvillette... I hope you enjoyed the part you played these 500 years." The words hung in the air, a poignant melody that Neuvillette carried with him into the abyss of grief.

The people of Fontaine, unaware of the truth that hid behind Furina's delicate facade, owed their safety and prosperity to her love. Her sacrifice was a symphony of selflessness, a crescendo of deception orchestrated for the sake of those she cherished.

Over the course of time, the daily rituals that they both shared once shared became hauntingly lonely. No longer did he wake to the hum of Furina's presence, nor did the aroma of her favorite pastries linger in the air—a scent now lost in the sea breeze. Her seat at the opera house stood as a solemn reminder of the unoccupied space, a void in Neuvillette's existence that even the ebb and flow of Fontaine's waters couldn't fill.

Her absence was a palpable ache, a wound that refused to heal. The solitude became an unwelcome friend, wrapping around him like an icy current that no amount of hydro power could thaw.

And what of Furina, now a mortal among mortals? The hydro vision, a precious gift from Neuvillette, glowed in her hands—a poignant reminder of a dragon's love, a tether to the supernatural world she once inhabited.

Yet, despite the glow of the hydro vision, she grapples with the unfamiliarity of a life without the burden of divinity, exploring the world where her once-unchallenged authority holds no sway. The mundane chores of everyday life were a stark contrast to the shared sovereignty she had known with Neuvillette.

The hydro dragon, left alone amidst the ever-flowing currents, yearned for the return of his beloved who had become the heartbeat of his whole being. The abyss of loneliness yawned before him, an endless expanse where every ripple echoed the ghostly whispers of a love that had abandoned him to the vast emptiness of solitude.

Oh, Neuvillette, may the currents of fate guide you back to the solace of companionship, and may the echoes of your love find their way back to your weary heart. May the waters of Fontaine carry your longing, your hopes, and your unwavering love. For even in the depths of sorrow, love has a way of shaping our destinies, of bringing light to the darkest of nights.

[ohwolfling]

the Gale of Waterdeep blow job meta

this is the most unhinged I've been on this website since like 2012 but here goes...

This is a piece pulling what we can from the game- Gale’s statements, characterizations, etc- and applying it to the narrative & symbolic function of sex in literature. It won’t be too academic ultimately, as I personally am still in Act II, and will not be citing any sources other than my trauma-earned armchair psychology and years of field experience as a bit of a heaux. 

This really strikes at the duality of Gale, something I think that ultimately makes people crazy for Gale. Gale is a giver AND Gale is desperate for control. Players who find Gale annoying or think he’s pure bravado miss this entirely. They take him at face value.

And to complicate things, Gale’s entire story is about connection. Trapped by unstable magic, desperately (but casually, no big deal, oh don’t fuss over me) reaching out. That’s Gale’s start but it’s also just… Gale’s story.

Okay, it’s horny henceforth…

Gale is a giver. That is, he's someone who wants to give, give entirely. His full self. It's what tangles Gale as possibly the most monogamous character, the most openly devoted character, the sincerest, but also a character easily distracted from the limitations of his own vows. Giving himself entirely isn't something he can do in the way that he wants with a one on one, mortal, committed partnership. 

Because Gale wants it to hurt. Gale wants it to destroy him. 

The Weave is many things for and to Gale, but for our purposes we have to talk about it as a balm to loneliness. At the Tiefling party, Gale possibly speaks about Tara being proud of him, and regrets he hasn’t given her much of that lately. He’s speaking of his tressym as an equal, almost as a parent. For him, saving the Tieflings feels like “having repaid the favor,” as if he needs to do penance for letting his tressym encourage him, aid him. She was all he had because he set up wards to prevent any colleague or friend from checking on him. Magic is the only companion allowed to see Gale if he’s not at 100%, if he’s not ready to be Wizard of Waterdeep™. Of course, Tara’s origins are relevant here. It’s easy to see Gale as someone with a streak of ambition but I think it all comes down to that first wound/heal with magic… Validation, company, companionship, magic gave that to him- rewarded him- with Tara at a very young age.

“Magic is my life. I’ve been in touch with the Weave for as long as I can remember.”

The Weave functions too as a neutral space for Gale to initially connect with Tav in the small, at least romance leaning Act I scene that happens after you engage him creating his little illusory Mystra. Gale showing Tav the Weave is a safer way for Gale to show himself. It’s an intrinsic part of who he is but it’s also a shield, a wall, a safety net. Teaching or showing Tav the Weave’s wonders gives him the control he seeks AND the opportunity to impress. “You feel something warm, like a kind word and a kind touch at the same time.” We have no way of knowing if this is what the Weave feels like to Gale, and so to us through him, or if what we’re feeling there is Gale’s influence over the Weave. Are we nestled in the cup Mystra’s hand or what Gale wants it to be? Wishes it would do for him? Is the sense of a kiss hovering about Tav and Gale or is that element of Mystra’s using of Gale so tangled in this magic that he can’t shake it free?

Mystra plucks him up. First teacher, then muse, then lover. Then the root of his demise. With Mystra he is both chosen and servant. I’d argue a worship kink is at play, or at the very least it is the lens in which Gale’s sense of sensuality has been most amplified.

At a point these feelings of conflict- never alone but lonely, wizard prodigy but just one of many men or boys plucked by Mystra, Wizard of Waterdeep but the Whatever of Mystra- are as crucial to his idea of the Weave, to magic, as the spells themselves. Gale has comparatively high charisma… his magic is a performance, as much to himself and of himself, as to anyone or for anyone/anything else.

Gale's boundary pushing is about proving himself through admiration, through praise. He craves it, good boy, Gale. Very the Wizard of Waterdeep of you.

His first assumption in New Love is that he has to offer Tav something more than himself. “I could do more than woo you - I could wow you.” Gale doesn’t understand how those are ultimately one and the same. Sex hasn’t been about connection, solidification, or strictly pleasure for him. It has been about proving himself, about being worthy, about service (which is another great somehow parallel & foil he has with Astarion but that’s for another time).

The specific intimacy of a blow job reverses the conflicted feelings and roles that Gale is accustomed to. In pornography and even popular culture, blow jobs are- erroneously in my opinion- depicted as something dominant and masterful for the receiver. Even something to be wielded as punishment or degrading, even in consensual BDSM practices.

In reality, a blow job is the ultimate submission. It makes Gale a man, it centers his manhood figuratively and literally. He loses a sense of control. Yes, even service gives one a sense of control. But the giver's power is not just in how their mouth wraps around ye classic quivering member. It's in intent. Pace. Pressure. Eye contact, the use of hands, fingers, even toys… The humanity of oral sex. And the humanity of the thing is not something Gale knows. 

Even if Mystra has played the giver it was for her game/goals and her pleasure. It was an adjustment to or pull of his strings. Gale tells Tav he has been with other mortals but I doubt as Gale the Man™. While creating a full night sky and seeking to do it the way the gods do (which we know means the way Mystra taught him or the way Mystra refers) is a genuine and catered moment for Tav, his other lovers no doubt got lazier, less genuine showmanship or else the wit and bravado and courtesy he thinks people expect of him. Early in Act I in his tale of the pub fight he manages to stop, the peace he makes comes at his cost- just monetary in that equation, but the point is, even in his performance of a Big Deal™, sexual or otherwise, Gale seeks to give to maintain the status quo. Gale’s sexuality, just like his magic, is genuine, sincere, and very present part of himself but it’s also unrecognizable to him if he has to stop thinking of it as a tool for five seconds.

Gale himself being a giver is something I really think he takes great pleasure in. His references to it out of the heat of the moment are something he is speaking about fondly and assuredly. He probably enjoys going down on someone as much as he enjoys magic. Like magic, he knows he’s good. Specifically with his tongue (I SCREAM). But remember, he is groomed by a goddess. A literal goddess. He is not just servicing, giving, he is WORSHIPING. Body worship is inherently submission and it’s specifically service oriented submission. Gale knows and has self esteem issues and hang ups around being submissive and if that submission secretly means he’s not good enough- likely why he tries to one up people, places, and things even as he begs to be back in that position of submission- but Gale genuinely likes being of service sexually. 

Gale, by virtue of being a great pretender, has never really given himself over to the real mortal experience of sex. Which brings us to the big moment of trust… 

The ultimate act of trust for Gale is letting someone in… he fully expects to be met with hatred and derision for his attempt with the orb. How could anything genuine be anything else? How could Gale's Folly, mortal, human, desperate, far reaching, reckless, be worth anything but hate? 

The reason Mystra can make Gale so easily believe that seeking these lost pieces of herself for her- even if unasked for, even if unwanted, even if upsetting to her, even if a misinterpretation of where their relationship stood at the time- was so unforgivable is because Gale thinks what the orb is doing to him reveals his ultimate sin, his glaring weakness… it makes him WANT. it makes him NEED. In Gale’s mind there’s nothing worse a man could do.

Blow jobs extend this into the element of control and real, physical intimacy. He's in your hands. He can't pace or bait his own pleasure. Pleasure is a thing happening to him. What is more human than the whimpers and moans in ecstacy when it feels so good you don't care if you cum or die? What does it mean for Gale to be made really and finally tangible and mortal in someone’s eyes? It’s the thing his most intimate connections have always liked least about him (and I imagine outright punished him for).

He can't earn credit or bonus points or paint himself the god. He will cum before you. You will give that gift to him. That's often the whole point. For Gale, anything like that with Mystra after being initially groomed by her into her hall of lovers would've been a debt. He might want you too much, too obviously, too greedily, if he’s in YOUR hands. Even his proposed “as the gods do” creates so many doubles of himself that you couldn’t have time to think, much less ever find yourself wanting. Gale genuinely connects to Tav, genuinely expresses love for them, but still does so by anticipating needs, assuming he isn’t enough, giving Tav no time to want or need, thereby leaving no room for adjustment, correction, or disappointment. 

Gale speaks about pushing the boundaries of magic. In having sex with Mystra he is taken into the vision of her world. But she won't go with him, won't take him further in, won't actually teach him or show him or grant him anything. The great beyond for Gale is not really magic or forgiveness or whatever… It's intimacy. 

Gale doesn't think he can just ask for intimacy. Doesn't think he can just find it organically. He must suffer for it, make a grand gesture, make up for the ways his mortality have dirtied Mystra by making her more herself, the way she was in Gale's mind before he tainted her with his want. Even in the realm of intimacy, he assumes he will have to be on his best behavior and earn it. It doesn’t occur to Gale until deep into Act II, post the romance scene and further validation from Tav, that having those restrictions on intimacy and care as a standard in a relationship is damaging, unfair, or cruel. 

“Now more than ever, it’s important to recall what makes us human.”

There is no right or wrong way to romance any of the romance options in Baldur’s Gate 3, of course. But narratively, Gale’s story begs for further examination and agency for Gale the Man, versus the Wizard of Waterdeep.Gale is at his best when he is open, vulnerable, and reaching out. He is as tactile seeking as he is ever-calculating about who he is to who, what he does or does not owe, what will maximize on paper his value and contributions. Left to his own devices, Gale will literally explode or transcend to avoid any offense or harm the baseness of his humanity might cause. Sex is a magic and spirituality that offers us briefly to transcend ourselves but while being wholly of our bodies, that makes we silly mortals keenly aware of our physical, limited humanity even as an orgasm can hit so hard you lightly trip balls and don’t know how to use your hands.

No one has ever needed a blow job more than Gale Dekarios. If he wants to explode, I MEAN 

[delimeful]

how easy you are to need (redux) (7)

warnings: misunderstandings, feeling trapped, unhealthy thoughts about an assumed situation, death and injury mention, discussion of debts, unreliable narrator, virgil horribly misinterpreting yet another normal conversation, literally embarrassing levels of thick-headedness

-

Letting his guard down around the humans was far, far easier than it should have been.

He still eased his defenses down slowly, bit by bit, of course, he wasn’t a complete fool. An understanding between him and Patton didn’t necessarily mean that the others felt the same.

They were humans, not shifters, after all, and while he could see the shape of a pack in their closeness, that didn’t mean he could assume the same principles would apply. They all took on equal responsibilities in maintaining and protecting their home, and none of the three had shown any particular indication that they were a designated envoy, meant to speak for the entire pack.

Frankly, with it only being the three of them, a lack of envoy wouldn’t have been too surprising even if they had been shifters. Some smaller packs forewent assigned roles, rotating them as needed, or were close-knit enough that they essentially acted as one whole, any individual able to speak for the pack.

The humans loved to bicker, though, and it would have been like a slap in the face to trust in Patton’s promise and then have them argue about it right in front of him. Instead, Virgil tested the firmness of the new ground he’d been offered with slow, tentative steps, like a deer crossing over a frozen lake. Better to take his time and test the ice than plunge right through.

Irritatingly, the humans made it far too easy for him to forget how precarious his standing was.

Even the simplest of interactions seemed to please them. When he’d responded to Patton’s friendly greeting for the first time, the morning after their midnight conversation, the human’s expression had lit up like a lightning bug at dusk. When he’d finally answered one of Logan’s questions during a meal, the scholar had blinked a few times in quiet surprise before smiling in a way that made his entire face look softer. When he’d pursed his lips and snapped out a sharp retort to something annoying Roman had said, the hunter hadn’t hesitated to needle him right back with friendly delight, the same as he did with the other two.

They were keeping him trapped here, because they were human and they knew better than to let a monster roam free in the woods around their home, but they didn’t want a starved prisoner or a ticket to easy riches. They wanted to offer him comfort and belonging in the time that he had left.

He’d saved them, and they were repaying it in the only way they could afford to.

It was pathetic, how relieved he felt. How genuinely grateful he was for the simple fact that he wasn’t being forced to relive the unending torment of his first imprisonment. How such basic offerings of food and warmth and companionship made it possible to ignore or even briefly forget about the executioner’s axe hoisted over his head.

He’d been on his own for a long time. Returning to that solitude would be its own kind of death, a slow and painful relearning of what it meant to be alone. He knew this, but tried not to dwell on it. He’d survived it once before, and he would again. Better to endure the loneliness than lose the safety of isolation.

So, he forced himself to keep focusing on methods of escape, on the ways this slowly-growing camaraderie would offer lapses in security, on the new freedoms he could take advantage of, and didn’t think about what he would do afterwards.

With this goal in mind, he immediately decided to test his luck by poking his nose where it didn’t belong.

He’d regained some mobility after another week of healing, though he kept his walking pace to a slow shuffle out of caution, and the humans still tended to hover like agitated honeybees whenever he was on his feet for too long. The cabin was small enough that he had mapped out most of it within a day or two, and now he approached the only room he hadn’t yet entered or peered into.

When he pushed the door of Logan’s workspace open, the human’s head snapped up immediately, wearing the beginnings of a frown. Once he saw that it was Virgil who stood in the doorway, though, the displeased turn of his lips faded away, replaced by eyebrows raised in intrigue.

“Hello,” he said, voice polite despite the interruption. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Of the three of them, Logan had been the most respectful in his formality, and so Virgil impulsively tested the bounds of that patience by not answering right away, instead letting his gaze drift over the room and its contents.

There were far more plants scattered about than he’d expected, though perhaps he should have expected as much from the dedication Logan tended his garden with. Pots of different shapes and sizes were settled on every inch of the window ledges, and planters hung from shelves and hooks on the ceiling alike. There was an entire corner of the room dedicated to racks of drying herbs and flowers, both wild and homegrown, which lent the room a pleasant dusty floral smell that almost covered up the sting of ink and chemicals.

There was a table against one wall, the shelves around it packed full with bottles of miscellaneous ingredients, all of them labeled in neat handwriting. The table itself was covered in neatly-organized supplies, with protective sigils carefully carved into the outer edge of the wood, keeping any experimentation contained. It stank less than he’d thought it would, for human magecraft, but then he hadn’t yet seen Logan doing any of the typical dissection and harvesting of supernatural creatures, either.

After the full moon, it would have the bitter tang of magic made through unwilling sacrifice, the distant preserved rot of bottled blood. Virgil would recognize the stench of post-harvest ingredients anywhere. Not that he’d be there to smell it, at that point. He forcibly pulled his attention away.

The last section of the room was less orderly than the rest, primarily due to the heaps of books that were stacked and shoved wherever there was space. Logan’s desk was the only semi-clear spot, and even that had a few precarious book towers sitting atop or alongside it. It was also covered in stacks of parchment, with lines and lines of writing or intricate diagrams sketched on the paper.

Logan sat behind it, still awaiting a response, those keen eyes watching him right back.

There was no sign of the lodestone for the ward around the cabin at first glance. He had known better than to think it would be that easy, though.

He hadn’t known that he would actually get this far, assuming that they wouldn’t want their magic prisoner sticking his nose in the most likely place to find a way out of their wards. Even Roman and Patton didn’t tend to disturb Logan too often when he was working in this space, so he’d assumed he’d only get a few moments to glance around at best.

“You haven’t been to the leyline crossing,” he said, because the silence had begun to grow awkward and he’d panicked and they really hadn’t, even though it was well past the usual time of the month they went.

Logan’s stare sharpened, which was probably a bad sign, but he only stood up to clear the books off of a second chair, and gestured for him to sit.

This had been a bad idea. Virgil slunk forward with extreme reluctance and sat.

“We haven’t,” Logan answered affirmatively as he returned to his seat, adjusting his spectacles. “It didn’t seem wise to venture into the woods, seeing as that is where the bear headed, last we saw it.”

That was… a really good reason, actually. Virgil shuddered at even the idea of them running into that creature again in the dead of night, without him to help.

“I take it that you’ve been familiar with us for a while, then, since you know of our routine offerings?” Logan continued, sounding more curious than angry.

Virgil froze up, regardless. He should have known better than to hope he could make it through a conversation without giving anything away. He hadn’t even managed to make it through the first sentence.

“I am not upset,” Logan offered, glancing down at the open book before him in a gesture that seemed designed to give Virgil a moment to breathe. “On the contrary, I am… rather relieved, to have my suspicions confirmed.”

“Relieved?” Virgil echoed dubiously, his voice a low croak. It tended to go raspy and hoarse if he wasn’t focusing on speaking, probably the result of not using his human vocal cords to speak to anyone in literal years.

“Indeed,” Logan answered. “I will admit, my initial impression of you was made hastily. We had never seen you before, and yet you didn’t hesitate to defend us, and you earned a significant injury in the process. It was worrying to unexpectedly incur such a debt.”

Virgil managed to shove aside his embarrassment in favor of confusion. It was strange to mention a debt, especially one owed to a shifter. Humans didn’t consider shifters worth trading with in any fashion, in his experience, and even other supernatural beings knew that wolves weren’t fond of holding debts or grudges. Really, the way Logan spoke about it sounded more like…

“You see, I was aware that it is rather rare for a shifter to reveal themself to humans for any length of time, as I’m sure you know, and I was also aware that the fair folk are often deft hands at taking on wild shapes of their own, particularly when interacting with humans, so…” Logan trailed off, looking a bit flustered at the admission.

“You thought I was fae,” Virgil completed the thought, feeling a bit taken aback at the idea. He certainly would have done a fair bit more against that bear if he’d had the sort of natural power that faeries so often courted.

Of course, things also would have turned out a lot worse for the humans if he’d been a fae, more likely than not. Humans who had fallen under the attention of one of the fair folk frequently met an unfortunate end because of it. Whether the faery in question was maliciously fixated or lovingly obsessed, the human would be lucky to come out irrevocably changed. They’d be lucky to come out alive at all.

“It was a working hypothesis,” Logan said primly, turning a page in his book despite the fact that he almost definitely hadn’t been reading while they spoke. “It was disproven easily enough, and so my precautions weren’t needed in the first place, but seeing as my haste has gotten me and those around me in trouble before, I thought it best to perform them anyhow.”

Precautions? Patton had said that Virgil saved his life, if not all of theirs. To the fae, a life debt like that could only be paid off one way, whether they’d been tricked into it or not.

Oh. He had wondered why Logan had been so uncharacteristically careless before, carrying an agitated and injured shifter back with its teeth only a handspan from his neck. If Virgil had been fae, if he’d chosen differently and torn out Logan’s throat, that would have been the end of any debt between him and the others. A life paid for a life owed.

“Did you run that plan by the others, first?” he asked, despite already knowing the answer.

Logan waved a hand dismissively, not bothering to pretend at regret. “They traveled out here on my behalf, in the first place. To let them suffer for my mistakes would be a poor repayment.”

From what he knew of them, Virgil thought Patton and Roman would disagree. Loudly.

“…Right,” said Virgil, in his most dubious tone. “On your behalf?”

“I’m cursed,” Logan explained shortly. “I don’t have the constitution required to perform magework without damaging my health. It was intended to make me choose between my health and my passion, but I was willing to give up neither, and found a third option: proximity to powerful natural magic, which would prevent spellwork from being as taxing.”

“Huh.” It was a clever solution. Logan might have been the one to propose their solution to Virgil, too. Offering a shifter a peaceful last few weeks certainly wasn’t an option he would have expected from any normal humans.

Right. He’d almost forgotten that his plan had been to push against the boundaries of his cage, to force them to acknowledge that he was stuck here, to remind himself that no amount of kind company was worth the pain of how this month would inevitably end.

“Well, you don’t owe me anything,” he said, a little too sharply. “And in that case, there’s no point in me staying.”

Logan sat up straight, posture stiffening as he frowned. “You’re still far from healed. I understand why you don’t wish to shift, but surely, leaving is a bad idea for the same reason?”

There it was. In the end, that was the biggest flaw in the arrangement the humans had come up with. If Virgil attacked them or tried to leave, they’d be forced to kill him immediately. He would lose, but so would they; killing him in his human form would make his corpse far, far less valuable.

“You’re only making things more difficult on yourself,” Virgil told him, crossing his arms as tightly as he could without jarring his wound. “I’m not fae. There’s no worth in being hospitable to me.”

It certainly wasn’t going to convince him to stop trying to escape. He might be pathetic, but he wasn’t that pathetic. Honestly, it’d probably be easier for everyone if they just cut their losses and killed him now.

Logan closed his book, folded his hands over it, and met Virgil’s eyes squarely. “We offered you our hospitality because we wanted to. It is freely given, no matter the ease or difficulty involved.”

Virgil couldn’t help the way his eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. That implied that they would keep on offering him this kindness even if he did get caught attempting to escape.

Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t ever been truly punished for that first desperate sprint to the wards, had he? None of the things he’d believed to be threats or punishments had ever panned out the way he’d assumed. Ultimately, they hadn’t so much as directly scolded him about the escape attempt, as though the act was hardly surprising. He hadn’t been drugged, and he still wasn’t guarded.

He couldn’t be certain unless he got caught again, but… the signs were all there. They were confident enough in their cage to indulge him even when he was caught gnawing at the bars. They were underestimating him.

“Don’t blame me if you regret it later,” he said dismissively, but he couldn’t help the disbelieving half smile creeping onto his lips.

Logan returned his smile with an encouraging one of his own, apparently unfazed by Virgil’s renewed determination. “I very much doubt I will.”

He snorted and left the human to his work, not cowed at all by the arrogance. Logan could doubt all he liked. Virgil had beaten much worse odds before.

[b1g-sh0t-s4lsmn-1997]

I always liked to imagine Spamton's angels were self-soothing apparitions he unwittingly created to cope with loneliness. They would spontaneously pop up whenever he was feeling down or hurt, giving him little healing head pats, companionship, and a reminder of the potential he believed he could achieve, as his subconscious manifested them in the form of his idealized higher self.

Then I thought too far into it. What if he interpreted their angelic forms as sign of the divine favoring him, a tangible manifestation of his destiny, not knowing/not wanting to believe they were a byproduct of a coping mechanism?

Post-NEO incident, in an AU where Kris just kinda... leaves Spamton to his own devices in Castle Town for some reason, Spamton notices his angels stopped appearing. This isn’t just a random coincidence; it’s a direct result of NEO – the moment that shattered his dream of transcendence.

He starts to reevaluate every aspect of their nature. While angels had been a constant presence in his life, offering him comfort and support, they had also been a constant reminder of his limitations as a Darkner. They had been a symbol of the Light World, a world that he now knows he can never truly be a part of. So now he's left wondering: had they ever been more than a test to see if he was willing to sacrifice everything for a chance at something that was never meant to be his?

The truth is while they were born from his loneliness and desire for companionship, they were also ultimately tied to his grand ambition, and when that ambition was crushed, when the illusion of divine favor was shattered, so too were the angels. Without that dream, there's nothing left for his subconscious to project.

[rainforestakiie]

hi everyone,

i am back with part 02 of Frozen out! i hope you like it, it's a bit different. i just wanted to write something like Anna's villain song music video.

i hope you like it and let me know what you think below!

Adam huddled beneath the fading light, his body curled into itself, hands trembling in the cold, desperately trying to coax the earth into life. He stretched them out, fingers shaking with the effort, but there was nothing. Nothing but the barren ground beneath him, as lifeless as his heart had become. Why didn’t anything ever grow for him anymore? His chest tightened, a familiar ache blossoming like a wound that had never quite healed. Had falling really changed him this much? Was this his punishment—his torment—for simply... following the rules?

Tears welled up in his eyes, hot and fierce, before trailing down his cheeks. His bruised, blackened fingers dug into the earth, grasping at the cold soil as if begging it for mercy, but the earth refused him. It refused to nurture him. It refused to forgive him. There was nothing. Always just the emptiness.

He tried not to, but his thoughts turned to Lucifer. Why had he changed so suddenly? Why did he care now when he never had before? Adam could still remember the days when it was just the two of them in Eden—the days when Lucifer had remained distant, untouchable, an archangel whose gaze never lingered on him. Adam had loved him, with a love so pure it hurt. He had adored the archangel with every beat of his heart, longing for his attention, wishing for nothing more than to be seen. But Lucifer had never seen him—not really.

Then Lilith was born, and everything shifted. Lucifer's gaze no longer strayed from Eden. Adam’s heart had twisted at the sight of it—the way the archangel’s eyes seemed to light up when Lilith entered the picture. He was no longer the one Lucifer would turn to for comfort or companionship. He was no longer the one Lucifer would seek out.

…He had been... replaced.

Adam’s breath caught in his throat. He hiccupped, the sharpness of the thought catching him off guard. His hand flew up to his face, rubbing away the tears that burned against his skin. Oh.

Was that it?

Was that all he was—just a placeholder? Had Lucifer only shown interest in him because Lilith was gone, and Eve hadn’t come yet? Without them, he was the last remnant of Eden, a fading echo of what once was.

The bitter realization settled over him like a weight he could hardly bear. He had thought... no, he had hoped... that maybe, just maybe, Lucifer had truly seen him now, had come to love him in a way he never had before. But it wasn’t love, was it? It was just loneliness, a fleeting attempt to fill a void left behind. The sharp ache in his chest burned like fire. He was just a replacement.

Adam’s head hung low, tears falling freely now, each one a mark of a love unreciprocated. He had been so blind, so naïve to think that Lucifer’s touch, his attention, could mean anything more than just a distraction. A temporary solace. He sniffed, trying to quiet the sobs that threatened to tear him apart.

It hurt. More than he could put into words. The sting of rejection, of never being enough. The pain of loving someone who could never love him back. It was too much. It was always too much.

And yet, despite everything, Adam couldn’t stop loving him. Even now, even in this moment of brokenness, the love for Lucifer still burned within him.

Adam flinched, his body seizing as an unnatural chill crept over him, seeping deep into his bones. He shuddered, his arms wrapping around himself instinctively, trying to hold onto some warmth that simply wasn’t there. The cold wasn’t just surface-deep, no, it was crawling beneath his skin, a cruel, biting frost that spread across his flesh like ice. It was a strange sensation, one that didn’t belong in this place—this forsaken land that was supposed to burn with fire and agony, a place where the air itself clung heavy with the oppressive heat of Hell. But here he was, trembling as if the very marrow in his bones had turned to ice.

His breath came in shallow, jagged gasps, misting in the air, which only seemed to make the chill feel more real, more terrifying. He couldn’t remember when the cold had first taken hold of him. Was it when he fell? Or had it started before, when everything had begun to unravel, when the cracks had started to form and nothing felt right anymore?

He clenched his fists, trying to ignore the sting in his fingers, but the numbness was creeping in, dulling everything—every sensation, every feeling. His body, once alive with the power of creation, now felt like a hollow shell, a ghost of the person he once was. When had he become so... empty? When had the warmth that had once pulsed through him gone?

Adam squeezed his eyes shut, trying to find a thread of warmth, a spark of hope to hold onto. But all he felt was the icy grip tightening around him, pulling him further away from himself. He tried to remember the last time he had truly felt warmth—truly felt alive—but his mind felt like it was wrapped in fog, a thick, impenetrable haze that only deepened the ache inside him.

He thought of Eden, of the days before everything had changed. Of the moments when the sun had kissed his skin, and the earth had bloomed beneath his touch. It all felt like a lifetime ago, as if he were remembering someone else’s life, someone who had known what it was to feel whole. To feel loved.

The cold inside him grew, curling around his heart, threatening to extinguish the fragile light that still flickered within.

He wanted to scream, to lash out at the injustice of it all. But what was the point? The earth had already turned its back on him. Lucifer had already walked away. And he? He was left here, alone in the cold, with nothing but the ghosts of his past to haunt him.

The tears that had stopped flowing moments ago began again, silent and bitter, tracing the frozen path down his cheeks. It wasn’t just the cold that hurt—it was the weight of it all, the crushing isolation. He had never been meant to endure this kind of emptiness. Not in Eden. Not here. Not anywhere.

But he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t stop the freezing that was overtaking him, inside and out.

“Huh. That’s weird,” he mumbled, running his blacken hand over his arms. His greyish skin was cold too. His hairs didn’t even stand up on end.

Adam shrugged it off.

Adam's steps were slow, hesitant, as he made his way back toward the lounge. His head hung low, his thoughts tangled like the cold that still gripped him. His wings—once majestic, once full of life—felt numb against his back, as though they too had begun to wither, to fade into nothing. The weight of them was almost unbearable now, but it wasn’t just the wings—it was everything. His heart, his mind, his very sense of self felt like they were unravelling.

Each step brought him closer, yet further away. He was still trying to make sense of what had happened, of the emptiness that clung to him like a second skin. Nothing had ever felt so cold, so distant. He wasn’t sure what he was walking toward, or if he even wanted to find out. But his feet carried him, as they always did, toward that place where the others gathered.

As he drew near to the lounge, he heard voices—loud, excited voices that cut through the cold fog in his mind. Adam paused, brow furrowing in confusion. The voices didn’t sound like the usual tired conversations or the murmurs of indifference he had grown accustomed to. They were... different. Livelier, more urgent. And there, beneath the noise, was something else—something he couldn't quite place.

Curiosity tugged at him, against his better judgment. With a hesitant step forward, Adam reached the doorway, and there they were.

Charlie spun around in a whirl of energy, her face alight with excitement, her eyes wide as she saw him.

"Oh, Adam!" she exclaimed, practically bouncing on her heels. "I was just about to come find you! You would never believe what's happened!"

Adam blinked, still unsure of what to make of this sudden burst of energy. He barely had time to register Charlie’s exuberance before she clapped her hands together, her smile nearly bursting with glee. She seemed on the verge of bursting with excitement, her voice practically singing with delight.

"I just received word from Heaven!" she said, her words tumbling out in a rush. "They want us to meet with them instantly! Sir Pentious—a sinner we thought was... well, you know..."

She trailed off, her eyes darting away briefly, as though reluctant to revisit whatever terrible story she had been about to tell. "Anyway, he was revived! Up in Heaven! As a winner!"

Charlie squealed, her hands flying to her cheeks in disbelief. "I was right! I knew it! Sir Pentious was redeemed! He’s been redeemed!"

Adam stared at her, his expression frozen, his mind struggling to process her words. Redeemed? Sir Pentious?

The same vile, twisted being who had caused so much suffering, so much destruction?

His gaze shifted to Lucifer, who was standing quietly off to the side. The archangel’s expression was... strange. Concerned, maybe even... troubled. That was not what Adam had expected. It was almost as if he, too, was trying to make sense of Charlie’s exuberance. But why? Why would Lucifer care about this?

Adam frowned, feeling the confusion deepen.

Charlie’s words faded into background noise as his mind began to spiral, consumed by a swirl of thoughts and questions he couldn’t answer. It worked? Charlie’s ideas—her hotel, her dreams—had worked? Sinners... sinners could be redeemed? Could they really be saved?

But then his mind flickered back to Sera.

Sera had told him it was impossible. She had ordered him to carry out her plans, to do what Heaven deemed necessary. She had claimed that some lives—like the lives of his children—were a price worth paying, a sacrifice Heaven deemed required to maintain order. But how could they? How could Heaven forgive someone like Sir Pentious?

Adam’s heart raced, and his breath hitched in his throat. His hands trembled at his sides as a wave of shock and disbelief washed over him. He murdered thousands of his babies, Adam thought, his mind reeling. He was the one who tore them apart—because Heaven ordered it. Because it was necessary for some twisted balance.

But now, now he was redeemed? He was a winner?

The thoughts clashed together in Adam’s mind, violent and raw. His knees buckled, and he nearly collapsed into the doorway, grasping the frame for support. His head spun, and the cold in his chest seemed to tighten with each breath, as if it were a vice squeezing the air from his lungs. He could barely focus, the words spilling out around him, but they didn’t reach him. They couldn’t.

His eyes burned with unshed tears, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make sense of this new world. A world where everything he thought he knew was twisted, turned upside down, and crushed beneath the weight of its own hypocrisy. A world where sinners were redeemed. Where murderers, monsters, could come back and be forgiven.

And yet here he stood—left to freeze, to wither. Left alone. He had followed the rules, the orders from Heaven, because that was what he was supposed to do. He had never asked for any of this. He had never wanted to hurt anyone.

But somehow, it all felt wrong. It felt... unjust.

His head throbbed with the overwhelming weight of it all, and for a moment, it was as though the room around him was fading, blurring out of focus. He was losing himself in the enormity of it all, the pain of the world—and his place in it—becoming too much to bear.

T he tension in the room thickened, suffocating the air around Adam as his mind spiraled further, trying desperately to make sense of the confusion, the injustice, and the impossible weight of it all. His thoughts crashed together, but before he could stop himself, he was retreating into himself, his shoulders curling inward like a fragile shell.

Lucifer, however, seemed to sense the shift in him almost immediately. His eyes narrowed with quiet concern, and without a word, he moved toward Adam with a grace that was almost predatory—but not in the way it had been before. There was no malice in his movement. Only a deep, silent understanding.

"Adam," Lucifer murmured softly, his voice a soothing balm against the cacophony of thoughts tearing through Adam’s mind.

His presence felt like a quiet, magnetic pull. It didn’t demand attention, but it beckoned with a quiet comfort, a silent promise that he wasn’t alone. Lucifer stopped just a few paces away from him, his gaze heavy with something Adam couldn’t quite place. Sympathy, maybe. Or something more.

Charlie, still caught up in her excitement, finally noticed the shift in Adam’s posture. Her enthusiasm faltered as she saw his distant, almost lost expression. She blinked, a look of realization creeping across her face as she turned to Lucifer.

Lucifer, without looking at her, spoke softly, his voice carrying an unspoken command. "Charlie, it might be too much for him right away."

Charlie gasped, her face softening with a sudden realization. "Oh, Adam..." Her voice trailed off, eyes searching his face for some sign of understanding, some flicker of the strength she had come to expect from him. But Adam only stood there, frozen, caught between the urge to escape and the desperate need to be seen.

Adam shook his head slightly, a small, jerky movement as he pulled away from Lucifer’s gentle approach. He took a breath, trying to steady himself. His chest tightened, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. He wanted to appear unbothered, indifferent, but his words betrayed him as his voice cracked under the weight of it all.

"I—I want to join the meeting," he said, his tone more forceful than he felt, his attempt at sternness hollow.

Charlie and Lucifer exchanged a glance, both expressions filled with a silent understanding, but also concern. They were both clearly unsure, but neither of them pushed him away. Instead, Charlie’s expression softened further, her brow furrowing in quiet sympathy.

But Adam couldn’t bear it—not the pity, not the concern. It was all too much. His heart raced in his chest, the sudden vulnerability forcing him to look away from them. He stared at the floor, suddenly very small under their gazes, and in a voice barely above a whisper, he added, "Please."

Charlie’s gaze softened even more. She took a step toward him, but stopped herself, clearly torn between respecting his request and protecting him from the turmoil she saw in his eyes.

Lucifer, too, seemed torn. His face was full of unspoken words, as if he were fighting the urge to touch Adam, to comfort him, but he hesitated. His hand twitched slightly, as though it were reaching out, but then it fell back to his side. His expression shifted—something warm, tender, but also uncertain. He wasn’t angry. No, he wasn’t angry with Adam at all. There was only a deep sorrow in his eyes, a sorrow that made Adam’s chest tighten even more.

"Are you sure, Adam?" Charlie asked, her voice gentle, almost a whisper.

Adam nodded, his expression hardening, though the mask of indifference was still fragile, barely holding together. He didn’t look at Lucifer, but he could feel his presence, looming in the background like a steady pulse.

"I want to... speak to Sera," Adam said, his voice quieter now, carrying a weight of desperation and something else—something he didn’t want to admit to himself.

Lucifer’s frown deepened, but it wasn’t the anger Adam had feared. No, it wasn’t anger at all. It was something else—something dark, something raw. Lucifer’s gaze darkened as he stared at Adam, but it wasn’t directed at him. It was directed at something far more distant, something beyond Adam.

His lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, he took a breath, and with a soft, resigned sigh, he nodded.

"Of course, you can join us," Lucifer whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. "You have the right."

And in those words, Adam heard something he hadn’t expected. A kind of permission, but also something else. Something softer. A promise, maybe, or a silent acknowledgment. Lucifer wasn’t just allowing him to join; he was accepting him in a way Adam hadn’t known he needed.

But before Lucifer opened the portal, he turned to Charlie, his expression unusually serious.

"Hey, Charlie," he said, his voice soft but firm. "Can I speak to Adam alone for a moment?"

Charlie raised an eyebrow, her playful energy faltering slightly. She glanced from Lucifer to Adam, her gaze lingering on her father with a mix of understanding and concern. She let out a dramatic sigh, hands on her hips.

"You’re not going to push him too much, are you?" she warned, her tone teasing but with an undercurrent of protectiveness.

Lucifer pouted, a playful, exaggerated frown pulling at the corners of his lips.

"Man, you have so much trust in me," he said, his voice dripping with mock hurt.

Charlie rolled her eyes with an exaggerated sigh, but the hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

"You’re lucky I do," she said. "Just don’t overdo it."

Lucifer nodded, a smirk tugging at his own lips as he turned to Adam.

"I won’t, I promise," he said, before Charlie flashed him a final warning look and walked off, giving them the space they needed.

Adam, still reeling from everything that had been happening, watched Charlie leave. His confusion only deepened as he turned his gaze back to Lucifer.

"What is this?" he asked, frowning. "I can’t think about whatever's going on between us right now, especially after... after all that with the redeemed sinner thing."

His voice wavered slightly, but he was trying to hold onto his resolve.

Lucifer’s gaze softened, his usual sardonic edge gone, replaced by something more vulnerable. He took a slow, deliberate step closer to Adam, keeping his distance just enough to give him space, but close enough that Adam could feel the weight of his presence.

"I know," Lucifer said, his voice quiet and earnest. "I know it’s a lot. And I’m not going to force you into anything you don’t want to do."

His eyes were searching Adam’s, like he was looking for some sign, some flicker of understanding. "But I want you to know something—something important."

Adam didn’t know what to say. He felt the strange tug in his chest, the complicated pull of emotions that didn’t quite make sense. He was drowning in so many conflicting thoughts, unable to make sense of any of them.

Lucifer continued, his voice almost a whisper, the words laced with sincerity. "I really like you, Adam. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait. For as long as it takes, I’ll wait for you to give me a real answer."

He paused, just inches from Adam, and for a moment, everything seemed to stop. "I want us to give this a chance."

Adam opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. The confusion, the hurt, everything churned inside of him, and he was speechless, overwhelmed by it all. What could he say? How could he even begin to sort through everything he felt? Lucifer had hurt him so many times, had pushed him so far, and yet now… now he was saying this?

"Answer?" Adam finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper, full of disbelief. "Answer for what?"

Lucifer didn’t answer with words. Instead, he gently reached out, taking Adam’s hand and placing it over his chest. Adam’s breath caught as he felt Lucifer’s heart racing beneath his fingertips. It was an intimacy Adam wasn’t prepared for, but there it was, raw and real.

"I really love you, Adam," Lucifer said, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke the words. "I really want to give us a chance. Please—let me prove it to you."

Adam’s mind went blank, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to react. His chest tightened, his heart racing. I love you?

He couldn’t understand it, not fully. Not after everything Lucifer had done. He wanted to speak, to shout all the things he was feeling, but the words were tangled, caught in the mess of his emotions.

Lucifer’s eyes were soft now, full of something Adam hadn’t expected—vulnerability.

"I know you don’t believe me," Lucifer continued quietly. "I know you don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you. I haven’t been good to you, Adam. But I want to try. I want to earn your trust, and I want to earn your forgiveness." His voice was sincere, almost pleading.

Adam’s throat tightened, and he felt the sting of tears threatening to overwhelm him, but he couldn’t bring himself to let them fall. Everything was so confusing. So much anger, so much hurt, so much betrayal. Lucifer had destroyed him, twisted him, and now he was standing there, saying he wanted to make things right.

Adam wanted to speak, to tell Lucifer everything that was in his heart—the bitterness, the sorrow, the confusion—but the words never came. He couldn’t make sense of it all. How could he? How could he even begin to process what was happening?

Lucifer seemed to sense this. He gave Adam’s hand a soft squeeze, his gaze lingering for a moment longer before he sighed, pulling back slightly.

 "I won’t force anything, Adam," Lucifer whispered, his voice full of quiet understanding. "I don’t expect an answer right away. But I want you to know—I'll wait. As long as it takes."

Before Adam could gather his thoughts, a sudden movement caught his attention. Charlie reappeared, her arms looping around Adam’s and Lucifer’s. She tugged them both to her side, her smile wide and bright, though her eyes seemed to hide a trace of curiosity, like she’d been listening to their conversation from a distance.

"Shall we go now?" she said, her voice cheerful, as if everything was perfectly normal. She shot Lucifer a teasing grin. "You’ve got that look in your eyes again, old man."

Lucifer smirked, his usual playfulness returning as he shrugged. "Of course. Let’s go see that laptop."

Charlie gasped, her eyes widening in mock shock. "Dad! You can’t keep calling Sera that!"

Adam blinked, his mind still in a whirl. Sera?

He turned to Lucifer, confusion written all over his face. But Lucifer just laughed, clearly amused by the situation.

"You haven’t noticed, Adam?" Lucifer said, his tone light and teasing. "She literally jumps at every opportunity to get at Metaron’s feet. She’s practically her lapdog."

Adam blinked, still processing, but as Lucifer’s words sank in, something in his chest loosened. His lips twitched, an involuntary smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, though it was small and uncertain.

Lucifer snapped his fingers, and the golden portal appeared, shimmering and swirling with bright, dazzling light. Adam felt a deep knot in his stomach. Whatever was waiting on the other side of that portal, it didn’t feel like something he was ready for. His heart pounded, and he swallowed hard.

He didn’t have a good feeling about this.

"Ready?" Lucifer asked, his voice light but carrying a certain edge of anticipation.

Charlie looked between the two of them, her expression unreadable, but she seemed to be hiding something—a curiosity about the quiet exchange that had just taken place.

Adam’s throat was dry, and as he stepped toward the portal, he could feel the weight of everything that had just happened—the words, the emotions, the promises, the pain—crushing down on him.

But he had no choice. He had to go through with this. He had no idea what awaited him, but he couldn’t turn back now.

The golden portal flickered shut behind them, the weight of its closing a sickening echo that reverberated through Adam’s bones. His gaze swept the room, cold and hollow, as Charlie led the charge into the sterile, unforgiving space. The walls, gleaming white and almost painfully bright, reflected his unease. This place, this place, it felt like a tomb, and he was trapped inside it.

Lucifer’s grunted displeasure broke through the tension. “Ugh, I hate this place. It’s still such an eyesore.” His voice, normally a note of command, felt hollow here, an echo in the expansive emptiness.

Adam couldn’t even summon the energy to agree. He stood stiff, a statue of silence, trying to will himself into the cold floor beneath him. His hands trembled at his sides, fists clenched. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to face anyone here. Especially not Sera.

"Why did you make a throne anyway?" Adam's words slipped out, distant, as if the question was something he had asked a thousand times in his head and never once expected an answer.

Charlie, ever the inquisitive spirit, jumped on it. "Yes! I want to know that too! I mean, Dad, look at it. It’s ugly and takes up half of Hell’s side!"

Lucifer blinked at them, feigning innocence, then gave the throne a slow, appraising look. It was garish, too big, too much—something born out of ego. Still, he couldn’t hide his defensiveness.

“What are you two talking about? It’s... lovely.”

Charlie snorted, folding her arms and clearly unimpressed. "Sorry, Dad, but it looks like, in all words, shit."

Adam barely registered the exchange. He was too busy trying to keep himself together, his stomach twisting into knots. Focus, Adam. Focus. But it was impossible. His chest felt like it was caving in, suffocating under the weight of memories he didn’t want to revisit.

Then the doors opened, and the air around him seemed to freeze. Sera stepped into the room, her presence icy, impervious, and everything Adam wanted to forget. His body tensed, instinctively pulling away. He wanted to vanish. He wanted to run, but his feet were glued to the floor. The last time he’d seen her, he’d been forced into a corner, forced to make decisions that shattered him.

Behind her, Emily bounced in, her eyes wide with excitement.

"Isn't this amazing?" she said, practically glowing at the thought of the possibility of redemption. "Sinners becoming winners, how incredible is that?"

It was all white noise to Adam. He could barely focus on what Emily was saying as he tried to push back the tide of overwhelming emotions that threatened to drown him.

The conversation swirled around him—plans, possibilities, the redemption of souls—but he was far away from it all, his mind trapped in a maze of guilt and fury. Sera’s icy gaze flicked over him, and in that moment, Adam couldn’t breathe.

"I… I have something I want to ask you," Adam’s voice broke through the suffocating quiet, a thin, trembling sound that quivered under the weight of centuries. It was fragile, yet it reverberated with the rawness of betrayal, demanding attention. He felt the eyes on him—piercing, judging, waiting—and he hated them. Their stares felt like knives carving him open, exposing the shattered remnants of a man who had once believed in something.

Sera’s expression flickered, a shadow of surprise darting across her usually impenetrable facade. "Yes?" she said, her voice cold and controlled. "What is it?"

The room seemed to contract, as if the very air tightened in anticipation. Even Emily and Charlie, who were never far from their usual chatter, fell silent. Charlie gave him one of her soft, hopeful smiles—an anchor meant to steady him—but it only deepened the ache in his chest. Her kindness was a blade, cutting against the harsh truth that he was already breaking apart, the cracks in him spider-webbing into pieces too sharp to hold.

He swallowed hard. The question in his throat was heavy, jagged, a stone he had carried for far too long. Dragging it out was agony, every word tearing at wounds he had thought were long scarred over. But he forced it out, the sound of his voice slicing through the room.

"Did you know," he began, his voice shaking under the strain, "before Sir Pentious was redeemed, that it was… at all possible?" He locked eyes with Sera, the accusation burning in his gaze. "That sinners could be redeemed? That they could become winners?"

The silence that followed was suffocating, oppressive. It clung to him like a second skin, cold and unyielding. Adam’s heart thundered in his ears, the sound deafening in the stillness. He searched Sera’s face, desperate for something—anything. A spark of regret, a flash of guilt. But there was nothing. Her eyes were hard as steel, her lips pressed into a thin, unmoving line.

Emily shifted beside him, her excitement dimming as irritation overtook her features. She opened her mouth, ready to fill the void with her usual sharp retort, but before she could speak, Lucifer’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"Answer the question, Sera!" he snapped, his tone laced with fury. "Stop dodging it!"

Sera’s eyes narrowed, a flare of irritation breaking her mask. But she didn’t lose her composure. Instead, she stood there, motionless, her expression as calm as marble. When she spoke, her words were deliberate, measured, as though she weighed every syllable against the consequences they might bring.

"What does it matter now?" she said, her voice smooth but hollow.

Adam staggered back, as though she had struck him. The room seemed to shift, the walls closing in on him. Her words echoed in his mind, repeating over and over until they became a cacophony of pain.

What does it matter now?

It mattered. It mattered because everything he had done—everything he had sacrificed—had been built on a lie. He had suffered for them, bled for them, killed for them. He had followed their commands, torn apart his own heart and soul, all in the name of something greater. And now, it was meaningless.

"I killed them," Adam choked, his voice breaking. He wasn’t even sure who he was speaking to anymore. The room? Himself? Sera?

"I killed my children—my babies—because you told me it was righteous. I slaughtered them in your name, for your so-called Heaven. I destroyed what I loved most in this world because you said it was the only way. And you knew. You knew there was another way."

Sera’s gaze didn’t waver, but there was something colder in her now, something detached.

Cain. Abel.

His boys.

He had loved them more than anything, and he had lost them. Not to some grand, righteous purpose, but to a lie. He thought of the animals he had once cherished, slaughtered so his family could survive. He thought of Eve, of how he had stayed after the apple—how he had forgiven her, because he thought there was still something worth saving. He thought of the sinners, of the lives he had destroyed, of the souls he had condemned to oblivion.

And Cain. Oh, Cain. His firstborn. His child who had stumbled and sinned, who had needed only love to find his way back. Cain could have been redeemed. His soul could have been saved. But Sera had lied. They had all lied. Heaven had wanted blood, not redemption, and Adam had been their willing executioner.

The realization broke him.

Adam’s trembling turned to fury, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as his voice rose, shaking with a power he had never allowed himself to wield.

"You knew!" he bellowed, the force of his words slamming into Sera like a physical blow. "You knew they could be saved! And you still sent me to slaughter them. My children! My babies, Sera!"

Sera flinched for the first time, her composure faltering as his words hit her like shards of glass. She opened her mouth to respond, but Adam wasn’t finished. He took a step toward her, his face a storm of anguish and rage.

"You made me an executioner!" he roared, his voice cracking with the weight of his pain. "You sent me to lead those exterminations—to butcher souls that could have been redeemed. You forced me to do it. You held my faith against me, twisted it into a blade, and drove it through everything I loved!"

"Adam, please!" Sera’s voice, usually so commanding, was soft now, almost pleading. Her expression, for the first time since she had turned her back on him, cracked. "It wasn’t for nothing! You—you did well, Adam. You did everything Heaven asked of you. You fought for us, protected us. I—I saw what you did, and I—"

"Don’t you dare!" Adam’s voice was a thunderclap, silencing her. He took another step forward, his face pale, his eyes blazing with a cold fire. "Don’t you dare try to tell me now, after all this time, that it meant something! You’re only saying it because I’m biting back. You never cared, Sera. None of you did! I was nothing to you!"

Sera recoiled as though he had struck her, but Adam didn’t stop. He was trembling, his breaths ragged as the weight of his fury and despair crashed over him.

"How could you do it?" he demanded, his voice breaking. "How could you look at me—at the man who trusted you, who loved you—and force that onto me? You knew the truth! You knew souls could be redeemed, but you still sent me down there! You made me the monster!"

He paused, his words catching in his throat as a new horror dawned on him. His face went white, the fire in his eyes dimming into a cold, empty abyss. Slowly, he looked down at his bruised, blood-stained hands.

"I have so much blood on my hands because of you," He whispered, his voice barely audible. "I killed them. I killed my babies in your name—for Heaven. And all this time, they could have been saved? I could have done something—anything else—to help them?"

His knees almost buckled as he looked back up at Sera, his expression one of pure, unfiltered anguish. His voice was a broken plea, trembling with the last threads of hope he didn’t even realize he still held.

"Tell me it’s not true. Please, Sera. Tell me sinners can’t be redeemed. Tell me I didn’t kill them for nothing."

Sera’s lips parted, but no words came. Her eyes shimmered with something that could have been regret—or maybe just shame. She hesitated for a moment too long, and Adam’s heart sank. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, filled with sorrow.

"They always could have been redeemed," she admitted, each word striking Adam like a hammer. "But we couldn’t risk it. Not all souls can be saved, Adam. Some are too corrupt, too depraved. Just one twisted soul slipping into Heaven could—could stain it forever. We were protecting—"

"Protecting yourselves?" Charlie snapped, her voice sharp and cutting. Adam’s head turned to her, but she was glaring at Sera, her usual optimism replaced with anger. "You always act like sinners are out to get you! Like they don’t deserve another chance just because they’re not perfect!"

Lucifer, silent until now, bared his teeth, his voice low and venomous.

"You turned Heaven into a fortress of cowards," he growled. "Sacrificing those who needed you most just to keep your hands clean."

Even Emily, usually so loyal, crossed her arms and looked away, disappointment written across her face. "You made us believe we were helping them," she said softly, her voice heavy with disillusionment.

Sera gasped; her composure fully shattered. She looked at Emily with wide, desperate eyes.

"You don’t understand," she pleaded. "You haven’t seen the most corrupted souls, the depraved things they’ve done. They would destroy everything we’ve built—"

"Of course, they’re corrupted and depraved!" Adam cut her off, his voice rising again. "What did you expect, Sera? What did you think would happen when Heaven wasn’t there to guide them? When you turned your back on them the moment they stumbled?!"

Sera stared at him, her mouth opening and closing as if searching for a response. But Adam wasn’t done.

"What did you expect?!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. "You wanted me to keep a garden alive with poison! Are you crazy?!"

The room was silent, the weight of Adam’s words settling over them like a storm cloud. Sera’s lips trembled, her once-unshakable authority crumbling in the face of his fury.

Adam took a step back, his shoulders sagging under the weight of it all. He was done. He had nothing left to give.

"Maybe the sinners weren’t the monsters," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "Maybe it was us all along."

Sera’s lips parted, trembling as if she had something left to say, but the words never came. The room was unbearably still, the silence dense and suffocating, broken only by Adam’s laboured breaths. His shoulders heaved, his head bowed as though the weight of the truth was finally crushing him.

For a long moment, no one dared to speak. Even Lucifer, whose rage burned hotter than anyone’s, seemed caught in the aftershock of Adam’s words. Emily shifted uncomfortably, her gaze darting between Sera and Adam, her usual certainty replaced by something fragile.

Finally, it was Charlie who stepped forward. Her voice was quiet but firm, trembling only slightly as she looked directly at Sera.

"You used him," she said, each word like a needle threading through the silence. "You used all of us. And for what? To keep Heaven safe? Or to keep yourselves comfortable?"

Sera flinched, but her expression hardened again, a spark of defiance returning to her eyes. "You think this is easy?" she snapped, her voice cracking under the strain. "You think it’s simple to make these decisions? To decide who deserves salvation and who doesn’t? We were trying to protect everything! If just one irredeemable soul made it into Heaven, it could have unravelled everything we built—"

"Everything you built," Lucifer interrupted, his voice a low snarl. "Don’t pretend this was about the greater good. You built a Heaven where only the ‘perfect’ were allowed, and you left the rest of us to rot. You called us sinners and cast us out, and when we begged for mercy, you sent Adam to slaughter us. Don’t stand there and call it protection. Call it what it is: selfishness."

"You don’t understand!" Sera shot back, her voice rising, desperation seeping into her words. "You’ve never seen the worst of them! The ones who—who delight in their corruption, who revel in destruction. Those souls can’t be saved!"

"Of course they revel in it!" Adam’s voice cut through hers like a blade. He stepped forward again, his fists clenched, his eyes burning with a fury that made even Lucifer glance at him uneasily. "You abandoned them, Sera! You left them in the dark and called them monsters when they stumbled. What did you expect?!"

Sera froze, her breath catching in her throat. Adam’s words hung heavy in the air, each syllable hammering against the walls of her certainty.

"You wanted me to be your executioner," Adam continued, his voice shaking but relentless. "You gave me a sword and told me it was holy. You told me I was saving them, but I wasn’t. I was condemning them. I was killing them. You made me a butcher, and you called it righteous."

He looked down at his hands again, the bruises and scars seeming deeper now, etched into his skin like a permanent reminder. His voice dropped, trembling with raw, unfiltered grief.

"I have so much blood on my hands," he whispered. "Because of you. I killed my babies. I killed them for Heaven. For you. And they could have been saved."

His voice broke on the last word, and he stumbled back, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. He looked up at Sera again, his eyes wide with disbelief, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

"I could have done something else," he said, his voice barely audible. "I could have helped them. I could have—"

He stopped, shaking his head as though trying to banish the thought. "How could you do this to me? How could you do this to them?"

Sera opened her mouth, but no words came. Her hands trembled at her sides, her usually composed demeanour shattered. For the first time, she looked afraid—not of Adam, but of the truth he had forced her to face.

"You lied to me," Adam said, his voice rising again, a raw edge of desperation creeping into his tone. "You lied! You told me I was saving them. You told me I was doing the right thing. And all this time, it was a lie. I killed them, Sera! I killed them, and it was for nothing!"

"It wasn’t for nothing!" Sera’s voice cracked as she finally found the strength to speak. "Adam, please, listen to me—everything you did, everything we asked of you, it was all to protect Heaven. You—"

"Protect Heaven?" Charlie interrupted, her voice sharp and cold in a way Adam had never heard before. "From what? From people who needed help? From souls who needed someone to show them the way? You didn’t protect Heaven. You turned it into a cage."

Emily, usually the first to defend Sera, crossed her arms and looked away. "You always act like the sinners are waiting to pull us down with them. But they’re not. They’re just… lost."

Sera turned to her, her expression one of disbelief.

"You don’t understand," she said, her voice trembling. "You haven’t seen the worst of them. You haven’t seen the depravity, the corruption. If even one soul like that slipped into Heaven—"

"Then maybe Heaven isn’t as strong as you think," Lucifer said, his tone icy.

Sera’s eyes widened, her breath hitching as she looked around the room, at the faces of those who had once stood by her side. Even Emily wasn’t meeting her gaze anymore.

Adam shook his head, his voice quiet but laced with fury.

"What did you expect, Sera?" he asked. "What did you think would happen when you turned your back on them? When you left them to rot and then called them monsters for what they became?"

He stepped closer to her, his voice rising again, each word dripping with venom. "You wanted me to keep a garden alive with poison. Are you crazy?"

Sera said nothing, her silence louder than any argument she could have made.

Adam took a step back, his hands falling limply to his sides. He looked at her one last time, his gaze filled with a mixture of rage, sorrow, and something that looked almost like pity.

Adam’s laugh came first, sharp and humourless, breaking the tense silence in the room. It wasn’t a laugh of joy, but something jagged, almost painful. His eyes burned as he stared at Sera, who now stood frozen, her hands trembling at her sides.

"Did it all mean nothing?" Adam’s voice cracked as he gestured wildly, his movements frantic. "All of it—everything I did, everything I gave—was it all for nothing?!"

Sera’s lips parted, but no words came.

"You don’t understand what you’ve done to me," Adam continued, his voice rising, his anger giving way to despair. He turned to Lucifer, pointing at him like an accusation. "You were supposed to be my guardian archangel! God created you for me! Do you remember that? You were supposed to protect me, guide me—and look what you did to me!"

Lucifer’s eyes widened, his mouth opening as if to protest, but Adam didn’t give him the chance.

"When Lilith was created, I didn’t understand. She frightened me, Lucifer!" Adam’s voice cracked, tears threatening to spill over as he relived memories, he’d spent centuries trying to bury. "But all of you—you pushed me towards her! You told me it was my duty to care for her, to make her feel comfortable and safe. To make her feel loved."

His voice turned bitter, almost a snarl. "To breed with her despite how much she scared and hurt me."

Lucifer flinched, his usually impassive face breaking with something that looked like regret.

"And then you took her away!" Adam roared, his voice shaking with betrayal. "You pushed me towards her, told me to love her, and then you ripped her away from me! And when she was gone, Heaven gave me Eve! Like I was some kind of pet that needed a new toy to play with!"

Emily gasped softly, and Charlie’s glare shot toward Lucifer, her eyes narrowing as if seeing him clearly for the first time. Lucifer, for all his charm and arrogance, looked down, his expression wide-eyed and shaken, as though he hadn’t truly realized the weight of Adam’s words until now.

"Eve was supposed to be perfect," Adam said bitterly, his voice trembling. "But she bit the apple. She gave in. And we were cast out because of it. I was cast out because of it! I didn’t eat the apple! I didn’t break the rules! So why was I punished for her actions?"

He turned back to Sera, his eyes wild and desperate. "You knew. You all knew! Lilith wanted to explore the earth. She dreamed of it. She wanted the world. And instead of letting her have it, you banished her to Hell! And she got everything she wanted there! She became a queen while I was cast into the world she wanted—a world I hated!”

“And for what?!" His voice broke, his hands trembling as he gestured to himself. "What did I do, Sera? What crime did I commit other than existing?"

Sera opened her mouth, her hands raising slightly, but no sound came. Adam’s voice cracked again as he stumbled forward, his knees almost giving out beneath him.

"And you…I had nobody, but…but I thought I had you…" His voice softened, raw and broken, as he looked her in the eyes. "I loved you, Sera. I looked up to you. You were the only one who didn’t treat me like a thing. You were the only one who didn’t look at me like I was some… some tool. I saw you as my mother."

Charlie and Emily gasped, and Adam could feel their shock, but he didn’t care. His eyes never left Sera’s, his tears finally spilling over as his voice cracked.

"You were supposed to care about me. You were supposed to love me."

Sera’s composure shattered completely. Her wings spread wide, glowing faintly as tears began streaming down her cheeks. Her voice trembled as she spoke, her words barely more than a whisper.

"I do love you, Adam," she said, her voice cracking with emotion. "Like a son. I always have."

Adam laughed, but it was hollow, heart-wrenching, like the last gasp of a dying flame. He shook his head, his tears falling freely now.

"No," he whispered, his voice trembling. "You don’t. You’re only saying that now because I’m biting back. Because I’m no longer the obedient little puppet you wanted me to be."

"That’s not true!" Sera’s voice rose in desperation, her wings trembling as they began to shine brighter. "Adam, please, I can make this right! I can fix this! You can come back to Heaven. You can—"

"Why now, Sera?" Adam interrupted, his voice breaking into a scream. "Why the sudden change of heart? Is there something else you want from me? Is that it?!"

Sera flinched, her tears falling faster, but she said nothing.

Adam shook his head, his laughter turning bitter again. "I’m done, Sera. I’m done with Heaven. I’m done with Hell. I’m done with Earth. I’m done with the Winners, Sinners, humans! I’m done with everything."

His voice dropped, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world was finally too much to bear. "There’s nothing left for me anymore. Nothing."

He looked up at her one last time, his gaze hollow and broken.

"I would tell you to go to Hell," he said softly, his voice trembling, "but since that’s the only place left for me, I don’t want you there."

His words hung in the air, a haunting echo that seemed to sap the room of all its warmth. Adam laughed again, a pathetic, broken sound, as he muttered to himself.

"I just wanted…"

His voice trailed off, the words caught in his throat, and he stood there for a moment, silent and still, before pushing himself up from the table.

Every eye was on him as he walked away, his steps slow and heavy, each one dragging him further from the shattered pieces of the life he once believed in.

Adam didn’t know where he was going…he was just going to let his feet led him somewhere.

…anywhere was better than here…

~#~

The corridors of the palace shook with the sheer force of Charlie’s rage. Her hair whipped wildly around her face, untamed and alive, as though it carried the storm brewing within her. Her horns, usually small and unobtrusive, had grown and twisted like jagged thorns, and her red eyes glowed with a bloodthirsty fire that made even the air around her feel dangerous.

The second she and Lucifer stepped out of the meeting hall, she spun on him, her voice a roar that echoed down the gilded halls.

"Why didn’t you say anything?!"

Lucifer stumbled back, taken completely off guard by the ferocity in her tone. "Charlie, please, I don’t—"

"Don’t you dare!" she cut him off, her arm thrashing out. A violent gust of wind tore through the corridor, rattling the chandeliers and extinguishing several lanterns. Shadows danced on the walls, their jagged shapes mimicking the chaos inside her.

"You lied!" Charlie screamed, her voice raw with emotion. "You lie, and you lie, and you lie! Mum hurt him! You treated him like a pet! Heaven used him! Of course, Adam would be lost and broken! What the fuck did you expect?!"

Lucifer’s mouth opened, but no words came. His normally unshakable composure faltered, his crimson eyes wide as he watched his daughter unravel before him.

"You spread those lies," Charlie hissed, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and betrayal. "You and Mum spread them. Everything you told me about Eden—about Adam—it was all lies, wasn’t it?"

Her voice cracked, the realization hitting her like a blow to the chest. "Lilith told everyone he was a monster. That he was dominating. Abusive. That he treated her horribly. But it was all bullshit, wasn’t it?"

Lucifer hesitated, and that hesitation was answer enough.

Charlie laughed, a hollow, disbelieving sound that was more heartbreaking than anything else. "That textbook I loved so much, the one about Eden? About Adam and Lilith?"

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. "It’s all bullshit."

Lucifer reached out, his voice soft. "Charlie, it’s not that simple—"

"Don’t!" she snarled, stepping back as though his touch burned. Her horns glinted menacingly in the dim light, and her glowing eyes narrowed into slits.

"Don’t you dare try to explain this away! He was your charge! Adam was your responsibility! You were supposed to guide him, protect him. You were supposed to be his friend! But you didn’t even like him, did you?!"

Lucifer’s face twisted with pain, but Charlie wasn’t done.

"You never cared about him. You only ever saw him as a toy, something to entertain you for a while. And Mum?" Her voice turned sharp and bitter, filled with an ache that was almost unbearable. "She hurt him. She frightened him. And you let her!"

"Charlie," Lucifer started again, his voice pleading now, but she cut him off with a scream that shook the walls.

"You let her hurt him, and then you had the nerve to make him the bad guy? To spread disgusting rumours about him in Hell? You made him out to be some monster when the whole time, it was you and Mum who—" She stopped, her voice breaking, and for a moment, her rage gave way to something else. Something darker. Something more devastating.

Charlie’s voice dropped, trembling with disbelief. "How am I supposed to save anyone? How am I supposed to teach sinners that there’s good in the world, that there’s hope, when I come from you two?"

Lucifer’s breath caught in his throat. He opened his mouth to protest, but her next words hit him like a dagger.

"You were supposed to believe in him," she hissed, her sharp teeth clenched as her voice wavered. "You could see his soul! Out of anyone, you should’ve known the truth! But instead, you believed Mum. You believed her lies."

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "And you think Adam should give you a chance now? After everything you’ve done to him?!"

Her laughter died in her throat, replaced by a hollow silence that made Lucifer’s chest ache.

"I knew Mum wasn’t a good person," Charlie said quietly, her voice trembling. "But this… this is beyond anything I could’ve imagined."

Lucifer stood there, speechless, as Charlie’s words hung in the air. For the first time in millennia, the King of Hell didn’t have a single thing to say.

Charlie’s shoulders sagged, the fire in her hair flickering and slowly falling back down to her shoulders, cascading like molten gold. Though her rage still simmered beneath the surface, threatening to boil over again, she forced herself to steady her breaths. She looked at Lucifer, her red eyes duller now but no less piercing.

"You really think Adam should give you—a single one of you—a chance?" she asked, her voice low and trembling, carrying the weight of disbelief and heartbreak.

Lucifer flinched, as though her words were physical blows.

Charlie shook her head, her gaze unfocused as if she were looking through him, seeing something far beyond. "No one ever gave him a second chance. Hell, he didn’t even get a first chance. He was set up to fail from the very beginning. And you—"

Her voice cracked, but she swallowed the lump in her throat and pushed on. "You let it happen. You let him drown while everyone else held his head underwater."

Lucifer’s mouth opened, but no words came. What could he say to that?

Charlie took a shuddering breath, her hands trembling at her sides. "Every time… every fucking time," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "He was thrown into a situation he didn’t understand. Eden? He didn’t ask for that. Lilith? He didn’t ask for her either. And when she frightened him—when she terrified him—you pushed him toward her anyway. Told him it was his ‘duty.’ Told him to make her comfortable, to breed with her like he was some fucking stud animal."

Lucifer flinched again, but Charlie didn’t stop.

"And when Lilith left—when she chose to leave—Heaven gave him Eve," she continued, bitterness dripping from every word. "And when Eve bit the apple, when she made the choice to fall, they punished him. They threw him into a world he didn’t want, a world he hated. And for what? Because he followed their rules? Because he did everything, they, no, you asked of him?"

Her voice rose slightly, the anger returning in sharp bursts. "He never wanted any of it! Not Eden. Not Lilith. Not Eve. Not Earth. But you—all of you—kept telling him it was his purpose. That he was special. That he mattered. But he didn’t, did he?"

Her voice cracked, and her eyes filled with unshed tears. "He never mattered. Not to you. Not to Heaven. Not to anyone."

Lucifer tried to reach out to her again, his hand trembling slightly. "Charlie, I—"

"Don’t." She stepped back, her voice cold and cutting. "Don’t try to defend yourself. You can’t. Not after what I just saw. Not after hearing him."

She looked at him then, truly looked at him, and Lucifer felt exposed under the weight of her gaze.

"He saw you as his guardian angel," she said quietly, her words soft but no less devastating. "He thought you were supposed to protect him. He thought God created you for him. But you didn’t protect him, did you?"

Lucifer said nothing, his jaw tightening as his daughter’s words bore into him.

"You didn’t care about him," Charlie continued, her voice trembling but unwavering. "Not as a person. Not as someone with hopes and fears and a soul. You saw him as a pet. A tool. Something to be used and then discarded when you got bored."

Tears streamed down her face now, but she didn’t wipe them away. "And Mum…"

She laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and broken. "Mum hurt him. Terrified him. Lied about him. Spread stories to make him out to be some kind of monster when he was the victim all along. And you let her. You let her!"

Lucifer looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

Charlie laughed again, shaking her head. "And you think Adam should give you a chance now? After everything? After you betrayed him? After you helped Heaven destroy him?"

Her voice dropped to a whisper, but it was no less sharp. "He never even had a chance. Not one. Not from the very beginning. He was fucked over in the worst way possible, over and over and over again. And now, after all of that, you expect him to forgive you? To forgive any of us?"

Her hands trembled as she clenched them into fists. "I don’t even know if I can forgive you," she admitted, her voice breaking. "Because I look at you, and I see everything he went through. Everything you let him go through. And it makes me sick."

Lucifer stood frozen, his face pale, his usually commanding presence diminished under the weight of his daughter’s words.

Charlie turned away from him, her shoulders still shaking with emotion.

"I thought I knew you," she said softly, more to herself than to him. "I thought you were better than this. But maybe I was wrong."

She started to walk away, her steps heavy and uneven. For the first time in her life, she didn’t look back.

Lucifer stood there, alone in the darkened corridor, the silence around him louder than any scream.

~#~

Adam stumbled blindly across the jagged terrain of Hell, his footsteps dragging as if the weight of his existence bore down on his every move. The landscape blurred before his dull, grey eyes, the fiery hues of Hell’s endless expanse melting into a haze of indistinguishable red and black. His mind buzzed with a relentless hum, a cruel, unending cacophony of white noise that drowned out everything else.

"I don’t matter." The thought pulsed through him like a hammer striking an anvil, over and over until it became a chant. "Everything I did was for nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing."

His legs gave out, buckling beneath him, and he collapsed to his knees, the impact jarring but hollow, like everything else. His hands fell limply into his lap as his gaze fixated on nothing. He blinked wide-eyed at the waxy red ground beneath him, his lips parting but forming no words. What was left to say? What was left to feel?

"Nothing."

He’d lost Eden—his first home, his sanctuary—for nothing. He’d stayed by Eve’s side on Earth, despite her betrayal, for nothing. He’d lost Abel, his sweet boy, his gentle son—for nothing. He’d punished Cain, condemned him to roam the earth in torment, for nothing. And all his other children, his babies, slaughtered in cold blood because they made mistakes, because Heaven deemed them unworthy. And it had all been for nothing.

His breath hitched as the thought burrowed deeper, carving a pit inside him so vast it felt bottomless. What was the point of any of this? His wings twitched behind him, the cold creeping into the delicate feathers, turning their once radiant sheen into something dull and lifeless. The chill spread, burrowing into his flesh, gnawing at his bones until it began to burn.

Adam cradled his head in his hands, feeling a crushing pressure at the back of his skull, like a vice tightening around his mind. His body trembled, but he couldn’t stop himself. His hands slipped down to the ground, shaking as they hovered over the molten surface of Hell’s floor.

His breath was shallow and uneven, his voice barely a whisper.

“Eden,” he muttered, his voice cracking as he spoke the word like a prayer. Closing his eyes, he reached out with his soul, his heart clawing desperately for the memory of the garden he once called home.

He tried to summon it—tried to pull himself back to that place of comfort and warmth. He imagined the flowers swaying gently under Eden’s sky, their colours so vibrant they felt alive. He envisioned the lush green grass beneath his bare feet, the canopy of trees whispering in the breeze, the sunlight that bathed the garden in a golden glow. The warmth, the peace, the love that Eden had once held for him.

Adam’s hands pressed into the ground, his fingers curling into fists as he strained, begged for the vision to become real. His wings trembled as he poured what little remained of his soul into this desperate wish. His eyes fluttered open, heavy with exhaustion and hope.

Nothing.

The ground before him was barren. No flowers. No trees. No warmth. Just the same lifeless expanse of Hell’s scorched, unforgiving terrain.

Adam’s chest heaved as the reality crushed him further, his breath escaping in shallow gasps.

“Why?” he whispered, his voice quivering as tears pooled in his eyes. “Why can’t I even have that?”

The coldness in his chest churned, swirling violently until it felt like it would tear him apart from the inside. He clawed at the ground, his nails scraping against the unyielding surface as sobs racked his body.

He had spent his entire existence in Heaven’s shadow, in everyone’s shadow—Lucifer, Lilith, Eve, Sera—all of them towering over him, dictating his every move, his every thought. He was a prisoner behind the pearly gates, never free, never allowed to think for himself. He was Heaven’s obedient servant, Sera’s dutiful pawn, bending to her every whim, her every call.

Adam let out a hollow laugh, the sound cracking like brittle glass.

“I never wanted to disappoint you, Sera,” he muttered, his voice thick with bitterness and grief. “Never.”

His lips trembled as the tears fell freely now, carving paths down his dirtied face. His mind drifted to the lonely days he spent in Heaven, talking to the clouds because no one else would listen. He had grown flowers, nurtured them, whispered to them, poured his heart into the petals and stems because they were the only things that didn’t judge him, the only things that didn’t demand something from him. He’d spoken to the walls of Heaven, his words bouncing back to him in the emptiness.

“I loved you,” he whispered to no one, his voice barely audibles over the distant rumble of Hell’s inferno. “I loved all of you.”

His body shook as he curled into himself, his wings folding tightly around him like a broken cocoon. His tears dripped onto the ground, evaporating into nothingness, just like everything else in his life.

For a moment, there was only silence—thick, suffocating silence.

Then, softly, a voice in the back of his mind whispered, “You don’t have to do this anymore.”

Adam froze, his breath catching. The voice wasn’t Sera’s. It wasn’t Lucifer’s. It wasn’t anyone he recognized. It was soft, gentle, and unfamiliar.

But it wasn’t Heaven’s voice.

And for the first time, that thought didn’t fill him with fear.

Adam’s mind spiraled as the memories clawed at him. The image of Lucifer shimmered in his thoughts—the very first time he had laid eyes on the archangel. Lucifer had descended from the heavens, gliding through sunbeams that seemed to cling to him like a golden halo. His curls, brilliant and soft, caught the light, glowing as if spun from threads of sunlight itself. His piercing blue eyes had shone with a radiance that made Adam’s heart stutter. Back then, Adam didn’t understand what he was feeling—the tightness in his chest, the heat blooming across his face. He’d hunched his shoulders, awkward and timid, unsure why his skin prickled and his stomach churned as Lucifer stood before him.

He had thought, in that moment, that Lucifer was the most beautiful being he would ever see.

At first, Lucifer had been everything Adam could have dreamed of and more. He was kind, gentle, and so endlessly charming that Adam had been drawn to him like a moth to a flame. When God introduced Lucifer and declared his purpose—to guide and protect Adam—Lucifer had smiled, and Adam remembered how his chest swelled with something warm and unfamiliar. Lucifer had seemed happy then. Or at least Adam had believed so.

But was it ever real? Were there truly happy moments in Eden, or had Adam been a fool, blinded by hope and desperation? His silver eyes dulled further, sagging into his sunken face as he sank deeper into the waxy red ground of Hell. The memories swirled in his mind like a storm, tearing him apart from the inside. When had Lucifer started to hate me?

Adam had always blamed Lilith—her strength, her wildness, the way she frightened and challenged him. He had thought that Lucifer’s disdain had grown from there, as Lilith’s presence had come between them. But now, centuries later, with the clarity of loss and his time as a sinner, Adam could see the cracks had formed long before Lilith. Long before Eve.

He closed his eyes, his voice a rasp. “Lucifer didn’t like me even then, did he?”

The realization felt like a blade through his chest. Lilith was gone. Eve was somewhere far from this forsaken place. And now, Adam was the only remnant of Eden that remained. The last piece of a puzzle long broken. Did Lucifer care about him now? No, it wasn’t possible. He couldn’t care. He wouldn’t. Adam was nothing more than a ghost of the past—a reminder of everything Lucifer had rejected.

“Lucifer’s just lonely,” Adam murmured bitterly, his voice cracking. “That’s all this is. He doesn’t care about me. He never did. He just—he just doesn’t want to be alone. It’s all manipulation.” His bruised hands trembled as they clenched into fists. He looked at them, then at the darkness around him. “How… how can I ever believe Lucifer again? How can I ever trust him?”

A voice cut through the silence, smooth as silk, sharp as broken glass. “You really can’t.”

Adam jerked, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as he twisted around, his body sluggish and weak. His red-rimmed eyes darted to the shadows slithering behind him, shifting and twisting like living things. A figure emerged—a woman, pale as moonlight, her skin smooth and white as polished bone. Her hair was black as smoke, cascading behind her like tendrils of fire tipped with auburn embers.

Her mouth stretched into a jagged grin, rows of needle-like teeth glinting in the dim, hellish light. Her eyes were a striking reversal of Lucifer’s—a menacing red sclera surrounding piercing white irises, their pupils so small they seemed almost non-existent. Burgundy eyeshadow framed those strange, predatory eyes, and dark veins crawled like ink down her neck and shackled arms.

Adam’s body froze as he stared at her. He wanted to move, to push himself away from this eerie, unrecognizable being, but his legs refused to obey. He felt like he was sinking further into Hell’s molten embrace, trapped in the suffocating grip of despair.

“W-Who are you?” he stammered, his voice trembling with both fear and exhaustion.

The demoness tilted her head, her movements smooth and serpentine. She stepped closer, her bare feet gliding over the ground, her chains rattling softly. Her face was blank, her expression devoid of warmth or malice, but her eyes… there was something in them. Something Adam couldn’t place but felt deep in his gut.

His gaze narrowed, his brow furrowing as he stared at her pointed face, her hair drifting like smoke in the still air. There was something familiar about her, something that made his stomach twist in recognition.

And then it hit him.

“E-Eve?” he wheezed, his voice barely above a whisper.

The woman stilled, her blackened lips curling into a faint, humourless smile.

“I go by Roo now,” she replied, her tone quiet but firm.

“Roo?” Adam repeated, his brow creasing further. “Like… root? Or something?”

Roo’s sharp grin widened, amusement flickering in her strange, hollow eyes.

“You always were good at names,” she said, her voice dripping with dry sarcasm. “Yes, Adam. Like root. Or something.”

Her tone darkened, her grin twisting into something far more menacing. “Like the root of all chaos. Of evil. Of pain and suffering.”

Adam frowned, his expression twisting in disapproval. “That’s… that’s an awful name.”

Roo snorted, a low, mocking laugh escaping her lips.

“I guess you could say that too,” she said, her voice thick with irony. “But it suits me, doesn’t it? After all, isn’t that what I’ve always been? The root of it all?”

Her words hit Adam like a blow, and he stared at her, the weight of recognition settling over him. This wasn’t the Eve he had once known. This was someone else entirely—a twisted reflection of what she had become. And yet, she stood before him, a reminder of everything he had lost, everything he had endured, and everything he could never take back.

“Why… why are you here?” he asked weakly, his voice barely holding together. “Why are you this?”

Roo’s smile faltered, her eyes narrowing slightly as she regarded him. For a moment, the chains around her wrists glinted in the dim light, their presence a quiet reminder of her own torment.

“Why do you think, Adam?” she asked, her voice soft but cutting. “Because this is what happens when you play their games. When you follow their rules.”

Adam’s breath hitched, his hands trembling as her words sank in. He looked away, unable to meet her gaze any longer. Her presence was a mirror he couldn’t bear to face, a reflection of the choices he had made, the lies he had believed, and the endless cycle of suffering that defined them both.

Adam's breath caught in his throat, his body trembling as the weight of Roo's words settled over him like a crushing tide. He stared at her, unblinking, his silver eyes wide with disbelief and horror.

"You… you never made it to Heaven?" His voice was fragile, barely audible. "I waited for you, Roo. I waited for centuries."

Roo’s expression twisted, her amusement fading into something cold and bitter. She folded her arms over her chest, her chains rattling faintly as she narrowed her sharp, inhuman eyes. "Waited for me, did you?" she said with a mocking lilt. "How sweet. But no, Adam, I never made it to Heaven."

Her lips curled back into a sneer, her words dripping with venom. "I was tainted, Adam. Sinful. No matter how much I grovelled, no matter how much I begged and repented for the things I did on Earth—it didn’t matter. They didn’t want me."

Adam flinched as if struck, his hands clutching at the ground beneath him. The waxy surface felt sticky, clinging to his trembling fingers as though Hell itself refused to let him go. He swallowed hard, his throat tight as he asked, "W-What happened to you? Why… why do you look like this?"

Roo laughed sharply, a sound that sent shivers down Adam’s spine. She spread her pale, shackled arms wide, her black veins gleaming faintly under Hell’s dim, pulsing light.

 "Oh, come now, Adam," she said with mock cheer. "Do I really look that bad?"

She took a step closer, her movements unnervingly smooth. "This is what happens when you’re not Heaven’s favourite."

Adam’s brow furrowed, his expression crumpling with guilt and pain. He shook his head slowly. "I’m… I’m not anyone’s favourite either."

Roo snorted, her dark lips pulling into a humourless smile.

"Oh, you’re right about that," she said, her voice cutting. "You’re not anyone’s favourite. Not even a second choice, Adam."

Adam winced, the words stabbing into him like a knife. He dropped his gaze to the ground, his vision swimming as shame and grief coiled around his chest.

Roo’s tone turned mocking, her voice like a serpent’s hiss as she closed the distance between them. "Do you really believe, even for a second, that Lucifer actually liked you? Let alone loved you?"

Her words were sharper now, crueller, as she took another step forward. "You can’t, Adam. You can’t trust a snake like him. All he does is deceive and manipulate to get what he wants."

Adam’s hands curled into fists, trembling as tears welled in his eyes. He wanted to deny her words, to fight back, but deep down, he couldn’t. The doubt had already taken root, festering and spreading like a poison.

Roo’s smirk widened as she saw his hesitation. She leaned closer, her black lips pulling into a sharp grin as her long fingers brushed against his hair. Adam flinched at the touch, but he didn’t move away. He couldn’t.

"You’re starting to see him for what he really is," Roo murmured, her voice low and venomous. "You’ve done well not to believe him, Adam. Don’t start now."

Adam’s vision blurred as tears spilled down his cheeks, his chest tightening painfully. He looked up at Roo, his gaze flickering as memories of her old self filled his mind. He saw her as she used to be—her vibrant red curls, her warm amber eyes, her freckled face that had always been so full of life. This creature standing before him was nothing like that woman.

His voice trembled as he spoke. "Why… why do you look so different? Is this because of the apple?"

Roo’s laughter rang out, loud and unrestrained, echoing through the hellish terrain. She leaned back, her chains rattling as she clutched her sides.

"Ahh, yes," she said, her tone dripping with mockery. "That wonderful night. The apple of knowledge, offered so sweetly by Lucifer and Lilith."

Adam bit his bottom lip, his head shaking weakly. "You… you shouldn’t have eaten it."

Roo shrugged, a careless smirk playing on her lips. "Perhaps not," she said, her voice casual. "But it led to… new things. New experiences."

Adam frowned, his brow furrowing as unease crept over him. "What… what do you mean by that?"

Roo tilted her head, her grin widening into something sickening. Her black lips parted to reveal her needle-like teeth as she stared at him, her gaze glinting with malicious glee.

"Oh, Adam," she purred. "Like I said, Lucifer never liked you. You weren’t anyone’s first—or second—choice."

Adam’s mouth went dry, his stomach twisting violently. His body tensed, and his voice wavered as he asked, "W-What are you saying? What… what do you mean?"

Roo’s eyes gleamed with delight at his discomfort. She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The apple of knowledge woke me up, Adam. It opened my eyes to the world, to things I never could have seen before. It awakened… desires."

Her grin grew sharper, more predatory. "Oh, Adam. I was so hungry. And I needed to be satisfied."

Adam’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as dread clawed at his heart. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, as her words sank in like daggers.

Roo leaned closer, her voice dripping with glee as she delivered the final blow.

"Lucifer and I," she said, her tone almost gleeful. "We slept together. Under the tree. And Lilith joined us. It was such a… passionate night."

Adam’s head jerked to the side, his silver eyes wide and unfocused as the words echoed in his mind.

Lucifer slept with Eve.

The realization hit him like a physical blow, and his vision blurred as tears spilled down his cheeks.

"C-Cain?" he whispered weakly, his voice breaking. "You… you were pregnant so soon after leaving Eden…"

Roo burst into laughter, the sound cruel and sharp.

"What do you think, Addie?" she sneered. "He didn’t look anything like us, did he? And when he murdered Abel… you really should’ve figured it out then!"

Adam’s heart shattered, the pieces falling away into the void as he clutched at his chest. His sobs were silent, his entire body shaking as the truth consumed him. He had lost everything, and now even his past was nothing but a twisted lie.

Cain wasn’t his.

Roo’s laughter echoed in the suffocating expanse of Hell, sharp and venomous. Her mocking eyes danced with cruel delight as she leaned closer to Adam, her smoky hair billowing around her like a serpent’s coils.

"Oh, Adam," she sneered, her needle-like teeth glinting as she grinned. "You really thought he would ever want you? Lucifer? The Morning Star? Have you looked at yourself lately?"

Adam didn’t answer, his silver eyes fixed on the waxy ground beneath him.

Roo crouched down, tilting her head to force her sickening grin into his line of sight.

"Back in Eden, you were something, at least to look at," she continued, her voice dripping with mockery. "Lush brown hair, bright green eyes, perfect tanned skin. You were beautiful then, Adam—practically glowing. And now?"

She gestured to him with a flourish, her chains rattling. "Look at you. Weak, broken, pathetic. You’ve let yourself go. You’re nothing more than a shadow of what you were."

Adam sat motionless, his body trembling but his face emotionless, his hands resting in his lap.

"And you’re in love with him." Roo’s voice turned sharp, her eyes narrowing in disgust. "Don’t try to deny it. I knew it in Eden. I could see it in the way you looked at him, the way you blushed when he came near. It was revolting. Pathetic. How could someone like you ever think someone like him would love you back?"

She leaned closer, her grin stretching wider. "It was always pitiful to watch. And now? It’s downright ridiculous."

Adam’s chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his lips pressed tightly together. He said nothing, his silence fuelling Roo’s cruelty.

"You’ve always been nothing, Adam," Roo hissed, circling him slowly. "Not to Lucifer, not to Eve, not even to Lilith. Do you think they ever cared about you? Lilith left, Eve strayed, and Lucifer?"

She barked out a laugh. "He used you as his personal punchline. You weren’t even important enough to be hated properly."

Her words pierced him, but Adam didn’t flinch. The coldness inside him grew, seeping deeper into his bones, spreading like frost through his veins. His bruised hands and fingers ached as the freezing sensation intensified, burning him like ice. He clenched his fists, feeling the numbness crawl through him, consuming what little warmth remained.

Roo, delighted by his silence, pressed on.

"And your sins, Adam—oh, your sins," she drawled, circling him again. "You failed as Eden’s caretaker, failed as a husband, failed as a father. Abel? Dead. Cain? A murderer. All of your so-called ‘children’? Scattered, sinful, slaughtered. Everything you touched turned to ruin. You couldn’t even save yourself."

Still, Adam didn’t respond. His mind drifted elsewhere, to memories of Heaven, of the souls of humans on Earth, of the winners and sinners alike. He thought of Lilith, her defiance, and Eve, her betrayal. He thought of Sera’s unyielding rule, Michael’s cold judgment, and Lucifer’s deceitful smile. And through it all, he realized the truth that gnawed at his soul: he had never been important to any of them. Not truly.

The coldness within him surged, clawing at the surface, threatening to spill out.

And then, Roo’s laughter stopped.

A silence fell over the hellish expanse as Roo’s eyes widened, her mocking grin fading into an expression of confusion and unease. She staggered, her hands clutching at her chest as a sharp, piercing sensation erupted over her ribs and spread upward into her heart.

"What… what’s going on?" she breathed, her voice trembling as she backed away from Adam. Her smoky hair swirled violently; her movements frantic as her gaze darted around in panic.

Adam tilted his head, his silver eyes blank and devoid of emotion as he stared at her.

"You!" Roo hissed; her voice laced with accusation as she pointed a trembling finger at him. "What are you doing?!"

Adam didn’t respond. He simply watched her, his face expressionless, as if her suffering didn’t register.

Roo’s knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground, her shoulders hunching as she clutched at her chest. The shadows around her twisted and churned, and from the centre of her torso, a jagged bloom of ice began to spread. The crystalline frost crept outward, glinting in the dim light of Hell, curling over her pale skin like the petals of a deadly flower.

"How… how are you doing this?" Roo gasped, her voice filled with fear and desperation.

Adam said nothing, his gaze cold and unwavering as he watched her struggle.

Roo’s chains rattled as she thrashed against the icy bloom, her black lips parting in a scream that never came. Her smoky hair whipped around her like a storm as she clawed at the frost overtaking her. In a final, desperate attempt, she dissolved into her shadows, vanishing into the darkness and leaving Adam alone.

He blinked slowly, lowering his gaze to his hands. The ice that had spread from Roo was now crawling outward from him, curling over the waxy ground of Hell. Frost traced intricate patterns along the surface, glinting faintly under Hell’s dim, pulsing light.

Adam clicked his tongue, tilting his head as he stared at the frost. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he moved. His legs obeyed him, lifting him from the ground. He stood slowly, straightening his back as his silver wings spread behind him.

The once-pristine feathers blackened, curling and twisting at the edges as the frost spread along their lengths. Adam’s silver eyes darkened, the light within them extinguished as an empty, hollow blackness consumed them.

Adam’s lips twisted into a cold, cruel smile as he stood amidst the creeping ice, watching it spread further across the hellish ground like a disease. His eyes were dull, empty—reflecting only the icy void within him. He tilted his head once more, a soft hum escaping his lips, the sound almost melodic against the stillness of the air.

The ice seemed to grow in response to his thoughts, stretching and curling like dark tendrils seeking to reclaim the earth beneath him. Adam’s eyes glinted as he raised a hand, twisting his wrist with a subtle flick. The ground rumbled beneath his feet, and from the barren, waxy soil before him, a jagged spike of ice shot up, gleaming in the dull light of Hell.

It rose with purpose, thick and sharp like a blade forged from the coldest frost. The crystal formation spread outward, its sharp edges catching the light, slicing through the heavy air like a weapon born of pure misery.

Adam took a step back, his gaze never leaving the shimmering spire. He was unphased by the chill that crept deeper into his bones, the frost settling along his skin like an old companion. He observed the formation for a moment longer, noting the way it sparkled, like it belonged to another world entirely, something more familiar to him—something… distant.

His silver eyes flicked upward, catching sight of the brilliant, glaring white orb above—the ball of heaven suspended in the blood-streaked sky of Hell. It was a cruel, unnatural light, casting a blinding hue that illuminated the jagged landscape. Adam’s lips curled slightly, the flicker of something bitter crossing his face.

"Interesting," he muttered under his breath, his voice low, almost inaudible, as he stared up at the celestial orb. It seemed so far away now, so unreachable. Heaven, that distant place of broken promises and shattered dreams, seemed like a lifetime ago.

What had it all been for? What was the point? Lucifer? Lilith? Heaven? Was it ever anything more than a stage for suffering? A game of manipulation? A charade for gods who had long since forgotten the meaning of love?

His eyes narrowed as his gaze shifted back to the ice, the sharp spike that had sprouted from the earth before him gleaming in the ethereal light of Hell’s sky. Let it spread, he thought coldly, the frost inside him rippling outward.

The cold had finally found a home. And as it spread, so too would the realization that no one—no one—was coming to save him. No one would ever pull him from the depths of this frozen abyss. It was all a lie.

Everything was a lie.

With a deep, steadying breath, Adam raised his hand once again, the ice beneath him cracking and shifting as more pointed structures began to rise around him, twisting upward like flowers from a garden of frost. His wings shifted slightly, the once-gleaming feathers now darkened and brittle, catching the cold in the air.

He let the silence settle around him, the ice now a blooming monument to his despair. The weight of it, the weight of everything he had lost, felt almost satisfying in its simplicity.

Interesting.

Everyone has a breaking point. It just took Adam centuries to reach his.

And he felt nothing at all.

~#~

Adam’s breath was cold as it exhaled from his chest, a chill that carried with it the weight of centuries of torment. The coldness that had burrowed deep inside him now clawed its way to the surface, no longer a whisper of despair but a roar, a force of nature that could not be ignored. Every heartbeat that once held some semblance of warmth now beat only with the promise of a reckoning. He could feel his soul shudder, the rawness of his suffering turning into something sharper—something darker. The hollow ache in his chest, the scars of every betrayal, every cruel word, every bitter laugh—they had all found their release.

This is the end of everything, he thought.

His wings, once radiant, now bristled with the icy power coursing through his veins. The blackened feathers curled and stiffened, coated with the frost that was now spreading from his very core. His fingers curled into claws, reaching toward the very sky above him, and with a thought, a snap of his will, the ice began to rise.

“Won't live in your shadow anymore Forever shut behind these doors,”

It started as a trickle, a thin line of frost slithering from his feet, but within moments, it was a flood—an avalanche of cold that tore through the heavens with a fury that could not be stopped. No more shadows, he thought, his voice silent but heavy, filled with the promise of retribution. I will not be buried in your lies any longer.

The frost spread like wildfire, creeping up the pillars of heaven’s gates, seeping into the very souls of its inhabitants. Adam’s gaze turned cold, unfeeling, as the ice began to spiral around the angels, wrapping them in its unrelenting grip. The light of their wings flickered for a brief moment, but it was no use. The frost, like a living thing, clawed at their skin, seeping into their very bones. Their wings—once symbols of grace, of divinity—wilted and froze, their feathers brittle, snapping under the pressure of the cold.

The winners of Heaven, the beings that had once basked in the glow of their purity, cried out in agony as their bodies seized up, their hearts turning to ice. They tried to fight it, their voices desperate as they reached for their divine strength, but it was futile. The ice wasn’t just consuming them—it was inside them, freezing their very essence, their souls. The frost was a living thing, a beast made from his rage, from the years of rejection and manipulation. The ice curled around their wings, encasing them in impenetrable blocks of ice, and one by one, the angels fell, their screams silenced by the cold. They hit the ground of Heaven, unmoving, their forms frozen forever in place, statues of despair.

“Imprisoned as you rule, and you dictate Pandering to your every call”

Adam’s chest rose and fell, his breath coming in jagged gasps as he revelled in the destruction, the chaos, the sweet revenge of it all. The world around him, once warm and alive, was now encased in the frost of his fury. This is the end, he thought again, the words chilling his soul even further. Heaven’s perfection, its purity, its righteousness—all of it was nothing but an illusion. A lie.

And now, there would be no more.

He turned, feeling the weight of every betrayal, he’d suffered, and before him stood Sera. She was trembling, her once-glorious wings struggling to fight the frost that licked at her skin, her eyes wide with a mixture of horror and pity.

"Adam, please," she begged, her voice cracking, desperate. "Stop. You don’t have to do this. You don’t—"

He laughed, a cold, bitter sound that echoed through the frozen air, his silver eyes burning with the fire of every broken promise.

Do I? he thought, but he didn’t say it aloud. His lips were cold, his heart colder still. The words that once would have broken him now felt like nothing more than a whisper in the wind. She didn’t understand. She couldn’t.

The anger inside him boiled over. They used me.

The echoes of those words ran through him, again and again. Heaven used me, Lucifer used me, Lilith used me... all of them. I was nothing but a tool.

“Pointlessly talking to the walls Finally I'm knocking down the gates”

His gaze hardened, and with a swift motion, he raised his hand, the ice around him rising in response, sharp and deadly. Sera stumbled back, her hands raised in a futile attempt to shield herself, but Adam felt no mercy. No compassion. He didn’t care about her pleas, about the way her eyes pleaded with him to stop, to feel something again.

"I was your favourite," he muttered bitterly, the words low and venomous. "But now? Now I’m just another broken thing in your perfect world."

And with that, he turned his back to her, stepping through the gates of Heaven, leaving the echoes of her cries and the bodies of the frozen winners behind him. Sera and Emily, the last remnants of what could have been, were frozen completely in ice—perfect, unmoving sculptures of regret, their faces locked in eternal silence.

“This really isn’t anything personal,” Adam said, looking at Emily frozen in ice, “I just can’t have you getting in my way.”

The gates closed behind him with a final, deafening slam, leaving Heaven to its fate—shattered, broken, and encased in the cold, suffocating frost of Adam’s vengeance.

“The story's gonna change and go my way”

Adam spread his wings wide, their blackened feathers crackling with cold as they unfurled. For a moment, he closed his eyes and felt the pulse of his own soul, a dark, frigid thrum deep within his chest. He could feel it—his essence—the heart of everything, the link between all that had been, all that was, and all that would ever be. Every human, every soul on earth, every living being, sinner or winner, bound together through him. Through his suffering, through his torment. It was inescapable, undeniable. Their pain had always been his. He understood now why he was important. Why he was always watched, always controlled, always needed.

His breath was slow, controlled, as the chill within him spread further, consuming all that was left of the warmth he once knew. The agony, the isolation, the betrayal—it was his now. He had claimed it. He had become the cold that coursed through the veins of everything.

“For the first time in forever I'm getting what I really want”

Adam opened his eyes. The world around him began to shift, bend, break beneath the weight of his power. He was no longer in heaven. He was no longer confined to the constraints of a fractured existence. He was the ruler of his own fate, and now, he would make sure no one else ever had the chance to escape their own.

His mind turned to the humans below. The winners and the sinners—what did it matter now? They were all connected to him, each soul a thread woven into the tapestry of his misery. He had frozen heaven, frozen those who had once called themselves his family. Now, it was time to turn his attention to earth.

A wave of cold washed over him, rising from the depths of his soul, spreading outward like a flood of ice. It surged through the very air, the earth beneath his feet trembling as if it could feel the weight of what was about to happen. He saw their faces, the countless souls living their lives—innocent, guilty, unaware. He saw the joy, the sorrow, the hopes, the regrets, all of it, flickering like distant stars in a darkened sky. And he could feel each one of them, as though they were standing right next to him.

He reached out with his soul, and the connection was instantaneous. Their fates, their very beings, laid bare before him. And with a thought, with a single, terrifying flick of his will, he sealed it.

“For the first time in forever I'll have my say and you can watch”

The earth began to grow colder, the air thick with the bite of frost. His soul swept over every human, every living creature, without mercy. From the towering cities to the silent, forgotten corners of the world, he froze them all. One by one, their hearts turned cold, their bodies stiffened, their souls locked away inside encasing blocks of ice.

The warmth that had once bathed the world faded. The sun, once bright and golden, began to change. It dimmed, its warmth turning to an unforgiving blue, an unnatural hue that cast everything in shadows. The air grew thick, suffocating, and the earth became still, frozen beneath the weight of Adam's vengeance.

No more sunshine. No more summer. No more warmth to ease the pain of the living. Only coldness. Only emptiness. It spread like an infection, touching everything in its path. The cities of men, once bustling with life, were now silent, frozen in place. The oceans, once teeming with creatures, now lay still, their waves frozen in eternal slumber. No warmth. No hope. Only a deep, all-consuming cold.

“I'm stronger now than ever And it's time I take my place”

The humans, the sinners, the winners—none of them could escape it. They were all linked to him, bound by their shared existence, and now they all met the same fate. Adam’s heart, if it could still be called that, pulsed with a bitter satisfaction. He was the cold. He was the one who would bring them to their knees, just as he had been brought to his.

The skies above were no longer blue; they were grey, heavy with the weight of endless snow. The clouds rolled in, dark and threatening, but it was the cold that filled the air—the cold that gnawed at the very bones of every living thing. The trees froze. The flowers withered. The animals fell to the ground, stiff and unmoving, as the frost spread through their veins, encasing them in ice.

“For the first time in forever Nothing's in my way Oh, nothing's in my way”

Adam could hear the cries—faint whispers in the back of his mind—as the last remnants of warmth slipped away from the world. It was a world no longer full of life but of desolation. His soul resonated with it, as if every cry from below only fed his power, only deepened the frost that was now his to wield. His eyes, once silver, now shimmered with a darkness, a void that had consumed him, body and soul.

His wings twitched, sharp and cold, the black feathers gleaming with frost. He spread them wide, letting the ice cascade from them in an explosion of power that sent the cold sweeping across the planet. Nothing could escape. Nothing would.

And as the last of the warmth died, Adam stood alone, the entire world frozen beneath his cold gaze, and he whispered to the wind, to the empty earth, to the shadows that clung to him like a cloak:

“I will not live in your shadow anymore.”

The silence that followed was profound, absolute. The cold was all-consuming, and Adam was the one who had brought it.

“Did you think I'd just keep taking it? Letting you crush my self-worth bit by bit”

Adam stood over Roo, his wings spread wide, casting a long shadow over her fragile form. The air around them was thick with the cold, the frost still crawling across the earth like a creeping plague. It had been his doing, and now he was watching it take root in the very soul of the demoness before him. She trembled, her once dark, smooth skin turning pale as the frost took hold, creeping up from her feet, curling around her limbs, and seizing her chest in a grip of bitter, unrelenting ice.

The world around them was silent—save for the crunch of the ice under Adam’s feet and the ragged, strained breathing of the demoness before him. Her eyes, wide and frantic, met his with a mix of fear and desperation, but Adam didn’t flinch. His heart, or what was left of it, felt nothing. He could see her—see Roo, once so vibrant, so full of malice—but now she was only a fading shadow. A remnant of a life that had meant nothing to him, a life that had always been a lie.

He looked down at her, remembering how she had once been, a reflection of his pain, of everything he had lost. Her red hair, her amber eyes, the way she had once been so full of herself, always speaking with such biting words, always mocking him. She had been a part of it all. A part of them.

“Well, now you'll just learn who you're messing with The Adam you knew is dead and gone”

The realization hit him like a crashing wave. She had never loved him. Never truly cared. Eve, Roo, none of them had.

Did you think I’d just keep taking it? The words burned in his mind, the memories of her manipulations, her cruelty, her twisted affection, clawing at him. His voice, cold and empty, finally broke the silence.

Roo’s lips trembled as she tried to speak, but the cold choked her, her words coming out in broken gasps. She reached out a hand to him, her fingers shaking, her voice cracking.

“No… Adam…” she whispered, but her plea was a ghost of what it once could have been. “Please… Don’t…”

But Adam didn’t feel a thing. Not anymore. He had been nothing but a pawn—her pawn, heaven’s pawn, Lucifer’s pawn. And now, in this moment, he was finally free. The Adam they had known was gone.

Roo’s body jerked as the ice spread further, encasing her legs, her arms, her torso. Her eyes widened in terror, but Adam stood over her, unmoving, watching her struggle against the cold. The ice crept into her throat, choking off her screams, freezing her very essence, until her once fiery spirit was nothing more than a brittle, frozen shell.

He paused, his breath shallow, the cold in his bones like a drug. His heart had long since stopped beating with any warmth. He had no sympathy left for her, for any of them. His entire life had been a slow, grinding agony. Every moment, every connection, twisted into something painful. And now… now it was over.

“Which begs the question,” Adam murmured, his voice low and dangerous, “Do I let you live?”

Her eyes, wide with terror, locked with his as she tried to speak again, but no words came. Her mouth opened, but it was too late. The ice had consumed her completely, sealing her in a prison of frozen silence. Roo—Eve—whatever she had been, was no more.

“Finally done being your pawn Which begs the question”

Adam didn’t flinch. Didn’t feel the loss. There was no sorrow. No rage. Only relief. Peace. The end of a long, drawn-out story.

Her body lay before him, encased in ice, her form frozen in time. She was born from his rib, his flesh. She had been created from him, from his suffering. It was only right that she stopped existing now. He no longer needed her.

He turned away, walking slowly, his wings trailing frost in his wake. Behind him, the ice remained. And with it, the hollow echo of a life that had once been but was now forever gone.

Adam didn’t feel anything. Not for Roo. Not for Eve. Not for anyone. He had freed himself from their hold, from the past, from everything that had kept him bound. He was finally his own. A dark, cold figure, standing at the centre of a world that was as empty as his soul.

And that was enough.

“Do I let you live?”

Lilith had been lounging on the warm sands of heaven’s beach, the golden rays of the sun kissing her skin as she rested, eyes half-closed. The tranquil waves lapped gently against the shore, the world around her soft and serene. But as the moment stretched on, something stirred within her. A strange shiver ran through her spine, creeping up from the depths of her being. A piercing sensation, cold and sharp, shot through her chest. Her heart faltered, the warmth she had once felt now replaced with a chilling emptiness.

Eve… she thought, blinking in confusion, but there was no response. The voice in her mind, the presence that had been a constant companion, had suddenly gone silent. A hollow absence bloomed where Eve's thoughts once echoed.

A feeling of dread curled in Lilith’s stomach. Her brow furrowed as she straightened up, her gaze darting across the beach in alarm. Something was wrong. The air felt heavier, colder. The warmth of the sun was fading, slipping through her fingers like sand, replaced by a biting chill.

Suddenly, the world around her seemed to shift. The sand beneath her began to harden, an unnatural cold sinking into the earth as if the very ground had been touched by death itself. Lilith’s breath hitched. The waves that had once gently kissed the shore rolled back with an ominous groan, rising unnaturally in the distance. She watched in disbelief as they froze, mid-motion, forming jagged, crystalline ice sculptures that glistened darkly under the oppressive sky.

Before Lilith could react, a coldness washed over her, more potent than anything she had ever felt. Her chest constricted painfully, a sharp, icy stab that seemed to freeze her very soul. Her hands clutched her heart as if she could stop the cold from spreading, but it was too late. Her skin, once warm and golden, began to turn pale, her veins slowly turning a frost-bitten blue. Ice crept up her arms, across her legs, and around her chest, locking her body in a solid grip.

A gasp escaped her lips, but it was swallowed by the frost that continued to encase her. Her body froze in place, her form becoming rigid, her movements halted. She could barely speak, only a tortured breath escaping her mouth before it too was frozen. Her eyes widened in disbelief and panic, as the very world around her seemed to be succumbing to the same fate.

The sun that had once burned brightly in the heavens above her disappeared, slowly swallowed by a thick, oppressive darkness. Clouds swirled, dark and heavy, blotting out the light, leaving only an endless expanse of cold. Her surroundings had become a silent grave, frozen in time.

The once-gentle sounds of the beach—the waves, the wind, the distant calls of birds—were all drowned out by an eerie, unnatural stillness. Lilith's last conscious thought was that this was no longer the paradise she knew. This was a realm overtaken by something far darker, something that no longer cared for warmth or life.

She was trapped, alone in her frozen prison. A lifeless statue, caught in the grip of a power she had never anticipated, her once-proud self now a reflection of what had been. And she could do nothing but watch as the world around her turned cold, just as her heart had.

“Get down and bow It's coronation day”

Adam walked through the infernal wasteland of Hell, his silver eyes hollow and distant, not even bothering to shield himself from the harsh winds of the eternal winter he had unleashed. The heat of Hell, once a suffocating, oppressive presence, had begun to twist and wither under the force of his frost. The sulphurous air grew colder, the humid stench of burning brimstone turning to the biting chill of ice. The very core of Hell began to freeze, the flames sputtering and dimming, struggling to hold against the ice creeping relentlessly from Adam’s soul.

The hellborn, twisted and broken beings born of the flames, could scarcely flee fast enough. Their once-molten skin now stiffened as the first tendrils of frost wormed through their bodies, turning their fiery limbs into brittle, frozen husks. They screamed in agony, their cries turning to icicles that shattered like glass in the cold air. Adam didn’t even flinch. He simply walked, his feet crunching the frozen ground beneath him as the temperature plummeted further.

Sinners, who once filled Hell with their endless suffering, now writhed on the ground, ice erupting from their chests like a cruel rebirth. They begged for mercy, their voices ragged and desperate, but it was all pointless. Adam had no room for their pain. No room for regret. The same souls that had been twisted by Hell, corrupted and broken, now became nothing more than statues of ice, their fate sealed in the eternal frost. They fell, lifeless, their screams silenced forever in a cold tomb, and Adam felt nothing. Nothing but the sharp, sharp release of peace in their stillness.

He wandered through Pentagram City, now shrouded in his frozen grip. His ice spread across the streets like a disease, crawling up walls and stealing the warmth from everything it touched. The lights flickered, fading, unable to sustain themselves in the growing frost. The sinners he passed, their faces contorted in fear, saw their fate long before it reached them. They crumbled into solid blocks of ice with one last cry—screams that fell on deaf ears. Adam couldn’t bring himself to care. They were all born of the same dark energy that had now bloomed into this terrible, vengeful winter. They were nothing but extensions of his broken soul, and they would share his end.

He moved through the city with no particular aim, only following the pull of something he didn’t quite understand. Until his eyes fell upon the familiar shape of the Hazbin Hotel. It loomed before him, the last vestige of life in a frozen city. The last place where souls still clung to the hope that they might be spared. Adam could feel the fear inside the hotel, the chaos, the struggle to survive. It churned in the air, thick with desperation, and he could sense it all. They were fighting, but he knew they couldn’t win. Not with him here.

The ice had already reached the hotel's walls, creeping along the cracks in the structure, forming veins of frost that bled into the very foundation. The windows shattered as it pushed its way in, a flood of cold that tore through the doors. It was only a matter of time now. Time for them to learn the futility of their fight. Time for him to finish what he had started.

When the doors finally exploded outward, Adam stood there, watching without emotion. The inside was a scene of frantic movement. The sinners huddled together, terrified, as Charlie tried—desperately tried—to protect the ones she loved. Angel Dust was the first to react, his body trembling as ice spread from his chest, curling around him like a death sentence. Husk’s fur stiffened into a ghostly white, while even Niffty’s endless cheerfulness faltered in the cold. The ice moved swiftly, no longer holding back as it began to consume them all.

A cry echoed through the space, a desperate wail that came from Charlie’s lips. She held onto Angel Dust as his body froze completely, his movements faltering until he was solid as stone, his fur coated in a layer of ice. The same fate followed Husk, then Cherri Bomb, their cries muted in the rising storm. Alastor’s grin faltered as the ice reached his limbs, and Niffty’s laughter choked in her throat as the frost sealed her in place.

Vaggie was still fighting, her hands trembling as she clung to Charlie, but it was clear—the ice had already begun to take her. The human souls that remained, the last vestiges of warmth, were no match for the cold Adam had brought with him.

Through the chaos, Adam heard his name. A voice so familiar, so laced with the memories of everything that had led to this moment. He turned slowly, his silver eyes catching the fiery presence of Lucifer himself. His form was a mess—dishevelled and clearly struggling against the storm of ice that surrounded them. The snowstorm roared louder, an unnatural howling that echoed throughout Hell as it too was claimed by the ice. The irony was thick in the air; Hell itself was becoming a frozen wasteland, just like Earth, just like Heaven. All things would succumb to the cold, and nothing would be left untouched.

Adam felt no joy in this. No victory. The faces of the sinners, the pleading voices, the wailing cries—none of it moved him. He was beyond that now. There was no turning back. He was not the Adam they once knew. He was something colder. Something darker. And Lucifer, standing there in the blizzard, his presence like a shadow of the past, could only watch as everything they had built, everything they had tried to save, crumbled into ice.

“For the first time in forever I'm not looking for your love”

ucifer stood before Adam, his wings now shuddering as the biting wind whipped through his feathers. His form, once proud and imposing, now seemed to sag beneath the weight of his own sorrow. The ice that was rapidly engulfing Hell, Earth, and Heaven encased them both in a frozen silence, the storm around them louder than any words they had ever shared. He was shivering, his normally fiery presence flickering weakly in the storm that Adam had wrought.

"Adam," Lucifer's voice broke through the howling wind, his tone strained. "Please, stop this."

Adam remained silent, his gaze cold and distant, staring into the frozen expanse that stretched before them. Lucifer's heart twisted at the sight of his former companion, the angel he had once known. But that was before everything had shattered.

"Do you hear me?" Lucifer continued, his voice desperate now, his wings trembling as if they, too, could feel the weight of the frozen world closing in. "I know you can't hear me. You won’t. But listen anyway."

Lucifer’s gaze drifted, a flicker of regret passing through his eyes, before he closed them tightly, forcing the memories of Eden to the surface.

"I never wanted this, Adam," Lucifer said, his voice softer now, as if the words were tearing themselves from him against his will. "I never wanted to hurt you. Back in Eden... I didn’t even like you. But not because of you. It wasn’t your fault." His words felt like a confession, a moment of raw vulnerability breaking free from the walls he'd built. "It wasn’t you. It was the responsibility. The endless rules, the expectations. You were my responsibility. You... were my responsibility, and it suffocated me."

Lucifer's wings shuddered again, the icy chill wrapping tighter around his being, and for the first time, he felt the weight of his own apology pressing on his chest.

"God made me your caretaker, Adam," Lucifer continued, his voice barely audible against the icy winds. "It was all on me. And I hated it. I hated the idea of being bound by anything, especially by you. You were just... one more thing I had to tend to. One more thing that kept me from freedom."

A tear streaked down Lucifer's face, frozen by the cold but still marking the sharp sting of regret. "But that wasn’t fair to you. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t ask for any of that. And I took it out on you... I took my anger, my hatred, out on you. I blamed you for everything that went wrong in my life."

He paused, his wings now nearly covered in frost, struggling against the weight of his confession. The storm around them howled, but his voice was growing quieter, more broken.

"I should’ve confronted Michael. I should’ve confronted the others, demanded they help me, but I didn’t. I was too much of a coward. I kept everything inside, until it turned into this... this resentment. And I blamed you. It wasn’t fair. I was terrible, Adam. I was a terrible person. A terrible archangel, and I’m so sorry."

Lucifer’s voice faltered as he stepped closer, not daring to reach out to Adam, for fear that even that would be rejected. His wings drooped, heavy with the weight of his words. The ice clung to him now, just as it had to everything else. The frost spread outward from his chest as the cold within Adam’s soul consumed everything in its wake.

He stood there, the silence stretching painfully long between them. "I’m sorry," Lucifer whispered again, though he knew Adam could not hear him now—not the way he once had. "I never should have treated you like that. You didn’t deserve any of it."

Adam did not move. He did not speak. There was no warmth left in his eyes. No flicker of recognition. The bitter frost that had settled into his soul was too far gone for any words to reach.

Lucifer closed his eyes, defeated. He had no more words, no more excuses. All he had left were regrets, bitter and sharp, like shards of ice lodged in his chest. But there was no redemption here. There was nothing but the slow, inevitable descent into the frozen void that Adam had set in motion. The very air around them trembled with the tension of what was to come, and Lucifer, despite all his sorrow, knew this: there was no stopping Adam now.

The world would freeze, and neither apologies nor regrets would be enough to thaw it.

“For the first time in forever I am free to rise above”

Lucifer’s breath came in short, pained gasps as the ice continued to creep up his wings, pulling him further into the frozen world Adam had created. His eyes, now clouded with regret and grief, locked onto Adam, who remained as still and distant as the cold that surrounded them both. There was no warmth left between them, no spark of connection. Lucifer knew this. He knew it, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from speaking. He needed to say this. He needed to make Adam understand, even if it didn’t matter anymore.

"I know what you're thinking, Adam," Lucifer whispered, his voice raw and hoarse from the biting winds. "You’re right, you know. I was enchanted by Lilith. I... I believed every single lie she told me. I thought she was something different. I thought she could give me the freedom I craved, that she would be the answer to everything I hated about my life in Eden. I believed in her, Adam, without thinking. Without even really looking at her."

Lucifer shook his head, his wings trembling as the weight of his words pressed on him. The ice in the air crackled, but there was nothing but a hollow emptiness inside of him. His chest ached, but it wasn’t a physical pain—it was something deeper. Something that had been festering for so long.

"I wasn’t stupid," Lucifer muttered, his gaze falling to the ground. "I knew deep down that it couldn’t be true. That she couldn’t be what she seemed. I knew you and I were connected, Adam. God created us both. We were bound together from the start, made from the same light. I could feel it every time I looked at you. I could sense it. Your soul... I knew it, Adam. And I could have easily just looked at you—felt you—and known the truth. I didn’t need Lilith to tell me what I already knew. But I used it as an excuse. As a reason to push you away. A reason to neglect you. A reason to hurt you."

Lucifer’s wings flared briefly, but they were weak—laden with frost and weighed down by the sorrow that had built up inside him. His hands clenched at his sides, his voice trembling now, softer, but the regret seeping through every word.

"I was a coward, Adam," Lucifer admitted, his eyes squeezing shut as the cold continued to tighten its grip. "I didn’t want to face the truth. I didn’t want to face the responsibility. I didn’t want to deal with you. So I let myself get distracted. I let myself be fooled by Lilith and her promises of freedom, of more than what the other angels had. I let myself want more than what was mine. I wanted more than just creation. I wanted more than the magic. I wanted to be free of the chains, free of you... and I didn’t know how to get away from it. I didn’t know how to escape the feeling of being trapped. I didn’t know how to deal with you, Adam. With us."

He paused, his chest rising and falling with laboured breaths, his eyes flickering with the same guilt that had haunted him for so long. The ice around him crept further, but his mind was miles away in Eden, in those endless days and nights of strife and misunderstanding.

"And I knew," Lucifer whispered, his voice barely audible against the storm. "I knew that I was being selfish. I knew I was pushing you away, but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t deal with it. I was weak. I wanted freedom, but I had no right to do what I did. No right to treat you the way I did."

His wings shook, ice splintering off as the cold that surrounded them grew stronger. "And now, look at us. You’re so far gone now, Adam. You’ve become... something else. And I can’t even blame you. I’m the one who pushed you to this point. I did this."

Lucifer’s voice cracked, his head bowing in shame. "I was selfish. A coward. And I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Adam. Even if you can’t believe me, I’m sorry. I never should have hurt you. I never should have turned away."

“I don't care for your approval We have nothing more to say”

Lucifer stared at Adam, his eyes wide with anticipation, desperation seeping into every line of his face. He watched Adam’s features, hoping for a flicker of acknowledgment, a crack in the impenetrable wall that now separated them. But there was nothing. Adam’s expression was blank, his eyes cold and distant, as if Lucifer wasn’t even standing there at all. The silence between them stretched unbearably long, until Lucifer could hardly bear it anymore.

"I know you don’t want to hear this, Adam. You’ve heard it all before," Lucifer began again, his voice trembling slightly with the weight of the confessions he was pouring out. "But I have to say it, I have to let it out. Even if you’ll never forgive me, I need you to know the truth. About everything."

He took a deep breath, his wings curling against the biting wind, the snowstorm howling around them. Lucifer's words were laced with regret as he continued, his guilt bleeding through with each syllable.

"When we were cast out of Eden... Lilith and I, we were banished, and I... I was angry. I had no right to be, I know that now, but I was. You weren’t the one who caused it. It was me. But all I could feel was this... burning, like something was being kept from me. Like you were being kept from me." His voice cracked; the words raw as they fell from his lips. "I thought if I could make humanity fall, if I could destroy what we were supposed to protect, it would somehow make me feel free. I thought it would be an act of defiance, a way to take control of my life, but it wasn’t. It was selfish. It was stupid."

Lucifer’s face twisted in pain as he recalled the mistakes he had made. "I lured Eve in, fed her the apple of knowledge. I thought it would matter, like it was some grand act of rebellion. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t about Eve, not really. It wasn’t about freeing humanity or doing anything noble. It was about my own bitterness, my own desire for more than what I was allowed. I wanted to be more than just the Morning Star. I wanted to be something else, something better. And I... I didn’t care about anything or anyone. Not even you."

The cold wind cut through him, but it was nothing compared to the hollow, gnawing ache inside. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady. "And I didn’t even want to be with her. I didn’t care about Lilith, not the way I should have. It wasn’t even my idea to sleep with her—at the time, I wasn’t thinking about any of that. But she wanted it. She pushed for it. She made me believe it was the next step, the only way out of the mess I had made. But I see now... I see how it was just another way of hurting everything, of keeping me locked in the same place I’ve always been. I was so consumed by my own desire for freedom that I let it blind me. And when it was over, when I realized what I had done..." Lucifer's voice broke, his heart slamming against his ribs. "I couldn’t tell you, Adam. I couldn’t tell anyone. I was too ashamed. I... I was selfish and disgusting. And I hate myself for it."

The snowstorm raged louder, more violent as his words poured out, but it was nothing compared to the fury that swelled inside him—the fury he had kept hidden for so long.

"And then there was Cain," Lucifer muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying his name made everything real. "I knew. I knew what happened. And yet I didn’t help. I just watched you suffer. I watched everything fall apart. And part of me... part of me liked it. I felt this sick satisfaction watching you struggle, watching you hurt. It wasn’t right, Adam. I know that now. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."

He dropped to his knees, the snow biting at his skin, the cold burning as if it were trying to punish him, just as he deserved. He bowed his head, not caring about his pride anymore. "I was a terrible friend. A terrible archangel. I was selfish. I used you, and I’m sorry. I know I have no right to ask for forgiveness, not after everything I did. But I can’t stop saying it. I have to apologize. I have to."

Lucifer’s wings trembled as he knelt before Adam, his face crumpling with the weight of the years of mistakes, the weight of every time he had failed. "I know you’ll never forgive me. I know you hate me. And you have every right to. But I can’t help but wish... I wish I had done better. I wish I hadn’t hurt you. You deserved so much more. You didn’t deserve to be treated like a pawn, like some thing to be used and discarded. I should have been better to you, Adam. I should have been better to us."

Lucifer’s voice grew softer, quieter. "In the end, I got everything I wanted. I became a king. I ruled over Hell. I got subjects, a queen, a daughter... I got everything. But what does that matter if I lost everything that truly mattered? What does that matter when you were left in the cold, abandoned by everyone? While you were always treated like a tool, something to be used, something to be thrown away. And I let it happen. I let it all happen."

The snowstorm howled louder, and Lucifer could feel his own despair swirling around him, suffocating him. His chest heaved with the weight of his guilt, but there was nothing to release it. Nothing would undo what he had done. Nothing could fix the mess he had created. "I’m so sorry, Adam. I’m so sorry for everything. Please... please believe me. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to break you."

“For the first time in forever Nothing's in my-“

Lucifer’s breath was shaky, his voice wavering as the weight of everything he had done, everything he had failed to do, pressed down on him with crushing force. He watched Adam, standing there, unfeeling, unmoving—an enigma, a frozen monument of suffering and silence. His heart twisted painfully as he recalled those first moments after Adam had died.

"I... I thought I could fix it," Lucifer murmured, his eyes flickering with the memory. "I thought... when you died, when you became a sinner, I could make it right. I was so angry. I wanted to hurt you again, make you suffer more. I thought maybe it would help me feel something other than regret, that it would make everything I had done go away, that it would be my way of taking back control. But it was a lie. It was all just... lies. I was fooling myself."

His voice faltered as he spoke, the truth clawing its way out of him, raw and suffocating. "I wanted to break you again. I thought you were the perfect symbol of everything I had failed to do. I thought if I could make you feel even worse than you already did, then maybe it would make me feel less guilty. Maybe it would make me feel better about myself." He took a shuddering breath, his head falling in shame. "But then... then I started to see what I had really done to you."

Lucifer’s wings trembled as his gaze turned inward, as if searching for a way to escape the suffocating truth. "I saw you, Adam. I saw you as a sinner, broken and beaten down, stripped of everything that made you who you were. And I saw how much of it... how much of it was my fault." His voice cracked, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. "I did this to you. I let it happen. I let you suffer. I failed you. I failed to protect you, like I was supposed to. I should have been there for you. I should have kept you safe, should have helped you when you needed it most. But I didn’t."

The wind howled around them, the snowstorm growing wilder as Lucifer’s chest tightened with the weight of his guilt. "And when I saw you as a sinner... I was disgusted with myself. You were broken. You were a reflection of everything I had done wrong, everything I had caused. And it tore me apart, Adam. I wanted to look away, I wanted to pretend it wasn’t my fault, but I couldn’t. I had to look it in the eye. I had to face the truth, that everything, everything you went through... it was because of me."

Lucifer’s eyes closed briefly, a tear threatening to fall, but he wiped it away angrily, as if trying to deny the vulnerability creeping in. "I wanted to make it up to you, Adam. I thought if I could show you that there was still something good in the world, maybe, maybe it would make everything better. Maybe you could see that there was still hope for you. That maybe... maybe I could make you happy again."

His voice softened, trembling with a truth he could no longer deny. "But then... then I realized something else. It wasn’t just about trying to fix you. It was about me. I started to realize that... that I didn’t just want to fix you. I wanted you. I wanted you. I wanted you more than I ever realized. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone. And that scared me. Because I never thought I could feel that way about someone. Not Lilith, not Eve. But you... Adam... I loved you. More than anything."

Lucifer’s eyes were full of longing, full of a deep, aching love that he could no longer hide. He dropped his head, his wings folding in around himself as if he could hide from the weight of his confession.

 "I loved you, Adam. I loved you more than anything. More than my position, more than my power, more than anything I ever had. I didn’t realize it then. I didn’t understand it. But now... now I know. I would have given it all up for you. I would have done anything to make you happy, to make you feel loved, to make you feel like you mattered. And I ruined it. I ruined everything."

Lucifer took a deep breath, his words desperate and quiet. "I’m sorry, Adam. I’m sorry for everything. And I know that no matter what I say, no matter what I do, it’s too late. But I just... I just want you to know. I’ve always loved you. And I’ll do anything for you. Anything."

His voice was thick with emotion, the finality of his words crashing over him like the storm raging around them.

"I know you can’t forgive me. I know I don’t deserve it. But I love you. And I always will." Lucifer gasped out, “Just please…say something…anything.”

“None of this had to happen…

We could have been lovers.

But I’ve run out of chances and…

You’ve run out of time.”

Adam’s voice cut through the howling wind, softer than a whisper, a tremor in the words as he spoke. The stillness between them felt heavier than the blizzard around them, and for a brief, fleeting moment, everything seemed suspended in time. His eyes fell to the frozen earth beneath his feet, the ice creeping slowly, methodically, like the ache within him that had grown over centuries, eating him alive.

"No, Lucifer," Adam began, his voice broken, too quiet to hold the weight of his pain. "None of this had to have happened. None of it. We could have been something... something more than this—more than just... this."

He exhaled sharply, as if the very act of breathing hurt now. "I wanted more, I wanted you, I tried... I tried so many times."

His words faltered for a moment, as if he was fighting against them, fighting against the truth that was finally spilling from his heart. "I tried reaching out to you when you were hurting, when I thought I could help, when I thought we could fix this together."

He clenched his hands into fists at his sides, the coldness of the ice creeping deeper into his bones, matching the deep frost in his chest. "I wanted to be there for you, Lucifer. I wanted to be the one who stood by your side, no matter what. But I couldn’t reach you. I couldn’t break through."

He swallowed thickly, turning his back to Lucifer, his wings folding in around him like a shield—cold, dark, and fragile.

"You froze me out completely," Adam whispered, barely audible. "I kept coming back, kept reaching for you, trying to pull you closer, hoping you would finally see me. But you didn’t. You kept shutting me out."

The ice beneath his feet seemed to grow colder, harder, as if it were mirroring the chilling truth in his words.

"I just wanted a friend."

His voice cracked, and for the first time, Adam let himself feel the weight of his own heartbreak. "I wanted you. I wanted you to talk to me, to trust me, to understand that I was yours and you were mine. I gave you everything I had, everything I was, and you never saw it. You never saw me. You saw someone else. You saw... someone else."

The words broke apart on his lips, and Adam’s hands trembled at his sides.

"I lost count of all the times I tried, Lucifer. All the times I reached out, hoping you would turn around, hoping you would finally see me. But you didn’t. You couldn’t." His chest heaved, the weight of his pain and regret pressing in on him until he thought he might collapse. "I would have given anything for you to just see me—just see us for what we could have been. But now..."

He closed his eyes, his breath catching in his throat as the realization set in like a deep, suffocating fog.

Turning his face away, Adam whispered, the words barely forming as they passed through his lips. "But I’ve run out of chances. And you’ve run out of time."

Lucifer gasped, his eyes wide with horror as if the words themselves were knives in his chest. He took a step toward Adam, desperate, pleading.

"No, Adam—please," Lucifer cried, his voice raw, shaking. "We can still fix this. We can still make it right. Please..."

He reached out, his wings trembling, the weight of his regret pressing down on him like the heavy storm raging around them.

But Adam didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. He couldn’t. His soul was too tired, too broken to keep pretending that there was hope left in the world.

"No," Adam said softly, his voice distant, empty. "It’s too late for us now. You’ve made your choice, and I’ve made mine. And I’ve run out of everything I once had." His wings flared, gleaming like jagged shards of ice, dark and unforgiving.

"Goodbye, Lucifer," Adam whispered, his final words a quiet surrender to the bitter cold.

And with that, Adam turned away, walking into the unforgiving storm that mirrored the coldness in his soul. He could feel the pain, the weight of his loss, but he didn’t have the strength to carry it anymore. He couldn’t. The world had frozen over, and with it, any shred of hope he once had.

Lucifer stood there, watching him fade into the blizzard, his heart breaking into a thousand jagged pieces, each one colder than the last. But there was nothing he could do. He had lost Adam—for good this time.

And it was his fault.

“For the first time in forever I can see clearly what to do There's one thing that always held me back And that one thing was you Now you've had your last tomorrow 'Cause your time is up today For the first time in forever, oh Nothing's in my way Nothing's in my way”

[a-not-so-clean-blog]

Savior

Yan Shigaraki x reader

Warnings: mind break, isolation, sensory deprivation

800 words

He wanted to be perfect for you. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. That's why he agreed to become a guinea pig, to become unstable, a monster. When he becomes a true monster you will sit perfectly in his maw. Not like you knew about any of this. All you knew was that you've spent weeks in near total darkness. Scared, cold, and totally alone.

The room itself was pretty big. A plush king sized bed and soft blankets contrasted by a cold tile floor and gray walls. A table and chair littered with books and papers was the only thing to keep your mind active. The desk barely stood on 3 legs, having been broken after a week of being trapped in this box. There wasn't even a window or door to give false hope of escape.

Black fog oozed out of the wall just like it did every day. At first you would cry and beg for whatever was beyond the void to let you out. Screaming until your throat grew hoarse every day until you ultimately lost your voice. Your throat has healed but you know it's pointless to talk anyway. A hand passed through the darkness and left a bag on the floor and took the bag with yesterday's garbage with it. Clean clothes, some food and water, and a sudoku book. The puzzle was a nice change of pace, something to hold onto so you don't completely lose your mind. The isolation was really getting to you though. Often unable to tell if you said your thoughts out loud or in your head. Sometimes even imagining a voice talking back with you. You weren't sure how much longer you could take this isolation before you truly went insane.

The food always looked good, being a simple but balanced meal. Nothing ever too fancy or too cheap. The clothes were shorts and a t-shirt. Thin but it was fine as long as you stayed on the bed. The single light in the middle of the ceiling was on an automatic timer, and the only thing that sort of what you keep track of how many weeks you've been locked in here. At least that's what you have been using as a daily indicator along with the routine food drop off.

Slowly it felt like more of your will was draining along with your sanity. The craving for another human, for any comfort or companionship was ravenous.

You tried a few more times to talk to the void when it would show up, but all that left was an empty feeling in your heart when you never got a response. Despair, that's what it was. A crushing feeling coupled with the intense feelings of loneliness. All you could do was sit and wait, and wait, and wait…

You were never a religious person but watching the wall crumble to dust made your soul scream. An angel! He had to be an angel! Why else would he come and free you after all those months of soul crushing isolation! Freedom. That's right, he was your freedom. So why couldn't you move?

Your chest started heaving and your hands trembled. You watched your savior through misty eyes as you fell to your knees, your legs no longer able to support your weakened body.

“Hello.” His scratchy voice trilled, filling the silence that's been consuming you for so long. “I've waited so long, so so long to be able to do this..”

He knelt down in front of you and roughly grabbed your arms, the piece of metal attached to his left hand biting into your skin. It was impossible to care about the little details though. Not when his hands felt nice and cool against your hot skin. Not when his voice finally broke your burden of silence. Not when the rough feeling of his lips on your own felt like Nirvana.

You know you recognized him from somewhere. His white fluffy hair and cherry red eyes were distinctive enough, but all of your memories from before the room all felt so far away. If it was important you would remember, right? Well as far as you're concerned your angel is the most important thing in the world right now. He was your world.

He kissed you like a man taking his first drink after a month in the desert. A famished roughness that left you light headed, but you returned the enthusiasm as best you could given your weakened state. It felt like you were being eaten alive. Even if you were though you didn't want to stop him. As long as he kept touching you, as long as he was near you, as long as he stayed with you. You wouldn't care what he did. He was your savior after all.

[jackethockey]

Two Ghosts

Summary: The plot of the story revolves around you, moving to Anaheim after a painful breakup with your high school sweetheart, Trevor Zegras, who is now playing in the NHL. You take a risky offer and go to college in California. You start college and begin to heal, eventually finding a new love interest, Jamie Drysdale. After a date, you attend one of Jamie's hockey practices and discover that Trevor is also playing for the same team. The tension is high as you realize that Jamie is unaware of your history with Trevor. However, when the situation is revealed, Jamie surprises everyone by suggesting a threesome, which you both tentatively agree to explore. The story details the growth of this love triangle, filled with passionate encounters and the challenges of keeping your relationship hidden from the public eye. The narrative culminates in a season-ending victory, where the tension of maintaining your secret is as intense as the game itself, leaving the future of your polyamorous relationship uncertain yet full of potential.

Warnings: smut (very heavy and detailed lol),explicate language, threesome, not proofread enough because I was drunk while I wrote this so I apologize in advance :) 

Word Count: 5,643

“We’re just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me.”

The sun was setting over the quiet town of Bedford, casting a warm glow over the ice rink where you had spent so many evenings watching Trevor Zegras, your high school sweetheart, glide effortlessly across the frozen surface. Little did you know that your lives would soon take a drastic turn. One fateful night, as you sat in the stands, your hearts racing from a particularly intense game, Trevor broke the news that would change everything: he had been drafted to the NHL by the Anaheim Ducks. A whirlwind of emotions swept through you - pride, excitement, and fear all wrapped into one. you had always talked about the possibility of his career taking him far from home, but now that it was a reality, the prospect of losing him was more than you could bear.

As the weeks passed, you tried to navigate the choppy waters of your new long-distance relationship, but the strain of his demanding schedule and your own college applications weighed heavily on us. Cracks began to form, and before you knew it, you were standing in the cold parking lot, arguing about the future. Words were exchanged, hearts were broken, and suddenly, you were nothing but a memory of love lost. The town that had once felt so alive with your shared passion for hockey now echoed with the silence of your separation.

Months later, as the sting of your breakup began to fade, you received a letter from the University of California, Irvine. An acceptance to their prestigious sports journalism program had arrived, offering you an escape from the painful reminders that lurked around every corner. With a trembling hand, you held the envelope that represented a chance at a new start in a city where the sun always shone - a stark contrast to the cold winters that had held us together for so long. Anaheim, the very place where Trevor's career was about to take flight, was now beckoning you with the promise of your own. With a heavy heart, you made the decision to take the risk and move across the country, not knowing that your paths would cross again in the most unexpected way.

Once in Anaheim, you settled into your new life, your dorm room a stark contrast to the cozy home I'd left behind. your roommate, a bubbly blonde named Maddy, suggested one night that you try Tinder to get back into the dating scene. Skeptical but desperate for companionship, you swiped through profiles, hoping to find someone to ease the ache of loneliness. That's when you found him: Jamie Drysdale, a local with piercing blue eyes and a charming smile that seemed to leap off the screen. you hit it off immediately, your messages a flirty dance of wit and banter. When he suggested a date at a hip downtown sushyouspot, you couldn't resist. The chemistry was palpable as you sat across from each other, sharing laughs and sneaking glances at your phones to send sly messages under the table. The evening ended with a kiss that sent your heart racing, and an invitation back to his place that you eagerly accepted. 

Back at Jamie's apartment, the air was thick with anticipation as you stumbled through the door, your lips never breaking contact. His hand found your pussy, gently caressing your clit through your damp panties as you kissed. your breath hitched, and you pulled away, your eyes wide with excitement. He led you to his bed, and you shed our clothes, revealing you desire for each other. His cock was hard and ready, standing tall and proud as he knelt before you. you watched as he took it in his hand, stroking it gently as you lay back, your legs parted in invitation. He kissed you again, his mouth moving down your neck to your chest, his tongue teasing your nipples before he made his way to your eager pussy. His warm breath sent shivers down your spine as he kissed and licked your sensitive skin. your hips bucked up to meet his mouth, his tongue circling your clit with expert precision. you moaned, your hand finding its way into his hair as you guided him deeper into your folds. His fingers slid inside you, exploring your depths as your body responded with a rush of wetness.

"Oh, Jamie," you gasped as he brought you closer to the brink of orgasm.

He looked up, his eyes filled with lust. "You taste so sweet," he murmured before returning to his task with renewed enthusiasm. your body tensed as the sensation built, your clit pulsing under his skilled touch. With one final flick of his tongue, you came apart, your pussy clenching around his fingers as you cried out his name. The room spun with pleasure, your toes curling into the bedsheets.

As your breathing slowed, he positioned himself over you, his cock poised at your entrance. you reached down, guiding him into you, feeling the delicious stretch as he filled you completely. you moved together, you bodies speaking a language of passion and need. His strokes grew deeper, harder, each one sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as your rhythm grew frantic. You could feel him thickening inside you, his breathing ragged and hot in your ear.

"I'm going to cum," he grunted, his voice strained with effort.

"Me too," you whispered, your nails digging into his back as your own orgasm approached.

With one final, powerful thrust, he came, his hot cum flooding your pussy as you reached your peak. your bodies shuddered in unison, lost in the throes of ecstasy. After a moment, you collapsed onto the bed, your hearts pounding in time with each other. This was just the beginning of a wild, unexpected journey that would forever change the course of your lives.

The next day, basking in the afterglow of your passionate night, Jamie suggested you join him at his hockey practice, his enthusiasm for the sport was contagious. Little did you know, fate had a cruel twist in store for you. As you walked into the bustling rink, you froze. There he was, in all his glory, skating with the same team that had once been the backdrop of your life with Trevor - your ex. your heart sank as you realized the awkwardness of the situation, but Jamie seemed oblivious, his excitement for the game overshadowing any tension that may have lurked beneath the surface. As you watched him skate, you couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as he interacted with the players, his ease and camaraderie with them a stark reminder of the world I'd left behind. And there, skating towards us with a grin, was Trevor, unaware of the intimate connection you'd just formed. The air grew thick with tension as you locked eyes, and for a brief moment, it felt as if time had rewound to the night of your breakup, the same rink on the stage for a dramatically different scene.

As Trevor approached, his smile faded, and his eyes widened in surprise when he recognized you standing next to Jamie. The realization of the situation dawned on him, and he skated to a halt, his stick clattering to the ice. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice filled with a mix of confusion and accusation. "This is Jamie's practice," you said, trying to sound casual, though your heart was racing. "Oh, you see," he said, his gaze flicking between us, the tension palpable. "You didn't know you two knew each other," Jamie said, the wheels in his head clearly turning as he tried to piece together the puzzle. "We, uh, we used to date," you admitted, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment. Trevor's jaw tightened, and he looked away, the hurt from your past now a stark reality in the cold light of day. "Well, this is..." Jamie trailed off, at a loss for words. "Awkward," you supplied, your voice small. Trevor's eyes met your, and for a moment, it was as if you were the only two people in the world. Then, without warning, a mischievous smile spread across Jamie's face. "Why not make it interesting?" he suggested his voice low and filled with a seductive challenge. "What do you mean?" you asked, your curiosity piqued. "Why don't you all go out for drinks tonight?" he said, his gaze flicking between Trevor and you. "It'll be like old times," he added, winking at you. Trevor's eyes narrowed, and you could see the wheels turning in his head. He knew Jamie's reputation for pushing boundaries, and you could feel the unspoken question hanging in the air: was this an invitation to mend fences or something far more scandalous?

Intrigued by the prospect of an unexpected reunion and the hint of something more, you all agreed to Jamie's proposal, the anticipation of the evening ahead making your heart flutter with a mix of excitement and trepidation. That night, as you sat in the dimly lit bar, sipping your drinks, the tension between you and Trevor was undeniable. your eyes met across the table, a silent conversation playing out, filled with the unspoken words of your past love and the unexplored desires of the present. It was Jamie who broke the silence, his voice smooth as velvet as he leaned in closer, a glint in his eye. "You know, I've always been a fan of sharing the things you love," he said, his hand casually brushing against your thigh. Trevor's gaze snapped to Jamie, a hint of understanding dawning in his expression. "What are you saying?" he asked, his voice low and gruff. "Well," Jamie began, a wicked smile playing on his lips, "you were thinking that maybe we could all... make up for lost time." The room seemed to hold its breath as his words sank in, your cheeks growing hot as you processed his suggestion. Trevor's eyes never left your, and you could see the war raging within him: loyalty to his friend or the temptation of a rekindled passion. Before either of us could respond, Jamie leaned in further, whispering, "Why choose when you can all have a little fun?" His hand slid further up your thigh, his thumb brushing against the edge of your panties, and you realized with a start that his idea was not just a fleeting thought, but a genuine proposal. The air grew thick with the scent of possibility, and as you felt the warmth of both their gazes on you, you found yourself entertaining a scenario that would have been unthinkable just hours before. The chemistry between the three of us was undeniable, and as you finished your drinks, the heat in the room seemed to rise, hinting at the explosive passion that could unfold if you dared to embrace Jamie's daring plan.

With your hearts pounding in sync with your steps, you made your way back to Jamie's apartment, the anticipation of what was to come thickening the air between us. The moment the door clicked shut behind us, the tension snapped like a tightly pulled rubber band. Trevor's eyes searched your, a silent question lingering. you nodded, your breath hitching, and Jamie's hand was on the small of your back, guiding you toward the bedroom. The room was dimly lit, the shadows playing across Jamie's bare chest as he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving your. Trevor followed, the muscles in his jaw tight as he struggled with his own internal battle. The room grew warmer, your breaths mingling as you stood at the edge of a precipice, ready to dive into the unknown.

Jamie's hand found the zipper of your dress, tugging it down slowly, revealing your naked body to both of them. your nipples were hard buds, sensitive to the cool air and the heat of their stares. Trevor's eyes swept over you, a mix of hunger and hesitation, and you felt a thrill shoot through you as you saw his cock thicken in his pants. you stepped out of the dress, letting it pool at your feet, and walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge and watching as the two men approached, their desire for you and each other a tangible force.

Jamie was the first to make his move, kneeling before you and sliding your panties off with a gentle tug. His mouth found your pussy, his tongue tracing a path along your slit, making your legs shake. you leaned back, your eyes locked on Trevor as he slowly stripped out of his clothes, revealing his rock-hard cock. The sight of him, standing before you, was almost too much to handle. your hand reached out, wrapping around his length, feeling the heat and power of him in your grip.

As Jamie's tongue danced around your clit, you stroked Trevor's cock, the velvet softness of his skin a stark contrast to the steel beneath. His hand covered your, guiding it, showing you how he liked it. your eyes met, and in that moment, the past was forgotten. you were no longer just two ex-lovers reunited; you were three individuals about to embark on a sexual odyssey that would shatter the boundaries of friendship and love.

Trevor's hand reached for your chest, his thumb grazing your nipple, sending a jolt of pleasure to your core. you gasped, your pussy growing wetter under Jamie's ministrations. The sound of his mouth on you, the feel of Trevor's hand on your breast, and the weight of their gazes upon your body sent you spiraling into a vortex of sensation. And just as you thought you couldn't handle anymore, Trevor leaned in and kissed you, his tongue pushing past your lips and claiming you once again. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mix of whiskey and lust.

The three of us fell onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and desire. Hands roamed, exploring every inch of skin, rekindling old fires and sparking new ones. you straddled Jamie, his cock sliding into you with ease, as Trevor kissed down your back, his hand reaching around to tease your clit. Their bodies moved in harmony, each touch and kiss sending waves of pleasure through you. You leaned back, arching your spine as Trevor's mouth found your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.

your bodies moved in a slow, erotic dance, each thrust of Jamie's cock sending you closer to the edge. Trevor's hand found its way to your breasts, his fingers pinching your nipples, sending sparks of sensation straight to your clit. The room was filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing and the slick noises of skin against skin.

With a graceful shift, you slid off Jamie and onto Trevor, his cock already hard and waiting for you. His eyes burned into your as you lowered yourself onto him, feeling the familiar yet thrilling sensation of his length filling you up. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips as you began to move, your bodies relearning the rhythm that had once been so natural. The sight of Jamie watching us, his cock still erect, only added to the intensity of the moment. The air was thick with lust as you rocked together, the mattress creaking beneath us. you leaned back, your breasts bouncing as you rode Trevor, his eyes never leaving your. The connection between us was just as strong as it had ever been, the years apart seemingly evaporating in the heat of your passion.

Jamie, not one to be left out, moved in closer, his hand sliding between your legs to caress your clit as you rode Trevor. The dual sensations of their touch sent you spiraling, your pussy clenching around Trevor's cock as you grew closer to the brink of release. Trevor's hands roamed your body, his fingers digging into your flesh as he matched your tempo, driving himself deeper inside you. The room was a symphony of gasps and moans, the scent of your arousal mingling with the faint smell of sweat and cologne.

As your climax grew closer, you reached out to Jamie, your hand wrapping around his shaft, stroking him in time with your movements. His eyes rolled back, his hips jerking as he watched you take pleasure from his best friend. The situation was surreal, a mix of the past and present, love and lust intertwined in a way I'd never imagined. Yet, at that moment, it felt so incredibly right, like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

The tension grew, your bodies moving in a frenzied dance of desire. Trevor's grip tightened, his strokes becoming more erratic as he neared his own peak. you could feel his cock pulsing within you, and the knowledge that he was close pushed you over the edge. you came with a scream, your pussy clenching around him as waves of pleasure washed over you. Trevor followed, his hot cum filling you up, mixing with the slickness of your combined arousal.

Jamie watched us, his hand still moving on his shaft, his expression a mix of fascination and arousal. He stepped closer, and without a word, you took his cock into your mouth, eager to taste him as well. His eyes never left your as you sucked him off, feeling the tension build until he too came, his warm cum spurting onto your tongue.

As you lay there, tangled in the sweat-drenched sheets, the silence was filled with a new kind of intimacy. The air was electric with the aftermath of your shared ecstasy, and the realization of what you'd just done sent a shiver down your spine. Trevor's arms wrapped around you, his warmth a comforting embrace, while Jamie's hand rested on your thigh, his fingers tracing lazy circles. The tension between us had shifted, no longer awkward but charged with a newfound respect and curiosity. you all knew that you'd crossed a line, but the question remained: was this a one-time thing or the start of something more? As your breathing slowed and the room grew quiet, you looked into the eyes of both men, seeing the reflection of your own excitement and wonder. The night had brought us together in a way that no words could ever have, and as you drifted off to sleep, your mind raced with thoughts of the adventures you could share, the pleasures you could discover, and the love you could build, unconstrained by the boundaries of convention. your bodies, once divided by anger and hurt, now united in a shared passion, hinted at a future that was both thrilling and terrifying. But as your eyes fluttered closed, you knew that you were ready to face whatever came next with these two men by your side, your heart open to the possibilities that awaited us in the uncharted territory of your newfound love triangle.

In the days that followed, the three of us danced around the new dynamic that had formed. you tried to navigate the uncharted waters of your love triangle with care, not wanting to rock the boat too much. But the pull between us was magnetic, and the chemistry was undeniable. you found ourselves slipping into a rhythm of shared intimate moments, each encounter more explosive than the last. you experimented with new positions and sensations, pushing your boundaries and discovering what truly made each other tick. The bond between Jamie and Trevor grew stronger, their friendship now laced with a newfound respect and understanding, as they shared the pleasure of your body. And in turn, your heart swelled with love for them both, as you saw the camaraderie and care that existed beyond the physical. It was a delicate balance, but as you grew more comfortable, the lines between friendship and love began to blur. you laughed together, you supported each other through the highs and lows of life, and you made love with a passion that seemed to defy all logic. Yet, it was a passion that fueled us, that made us feel alive in a way you had never felt before.

The whispers of doubt and the glares from the outside world couldn't dull the spark that had ignited between us. you knew you had something special, something that not everyone would understand. But you didn't need the world's approval; you had each other, and that was enough. your thirst for adventure grew, and you found yourselves planning more nights of passionate exploration, each one more intense and intimate than the last. your love was a secret garden, blooming in the shadows of a world that didn't quite know what to make of us. But in that garden, you were free to be yourselves, to love without limits, and to cherish the moments that you had together. And as the sun set on another day in Anaheim, you lay tangled in each other's arms, knowing that the night would bring us closer, that your love was a force to be reckoned with, and that together, you could conquer anything.

The days grew shorter and the nights longer as you fell into a routine of stolen glances and secret touches, your desire for each other a constant hum beneath the surface of your everyday lives. Practices at the rink grew tense, the unspoken tension between Trevor and Jamie a thrumming undercurrent that only seemed to heighten the excitement when you were alone together. The line between the ice and the bedroom blurred as you pushed the boundaries of your relationship, each practice a silent challenge to see how far you could take things without giving yourself away. your bodies had become a canvas for your desires, each stroke of the brush - or in this case, each caress and kiss - adding another layer to the masterpiece of passion you were painting together. And as the season approached, the anticipation of your next intimate encounter grew more intense, the promise of it hanging in the air like an electrifying storm just waiting to break. The rink had become not just a place of competition but a stage for your own private games, a place where you could let your love run wild and free, unshackled by the constraints of the world outside. And as the first puck dropped on opening night, you knew that the real game was just beginning.

The first few games of the season passed in a blur of excitement and nerves, your secret weighing heavily on us as you watched each other from the sidelines. The tension grew with every stolen glance, every brush of skin, until one night, the dam burst. After a particularly grueling practice, the three of us found yourselves back in Jamie's apartment, the air thick with desire. you didn't bother with the pretense of conversation, your bodies moving together in a silent symphony of need. Trevor took you from behind, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he thrust deep into your pussy, filling you up with his hard, thick cock. Meanwhile, Jamie's mouth found your clit, his tongue flicking and teasing as you moaned with every stroke. The sensation was overwhelming, your body trembling with the force of your impending orgasm. And just as you were about to peak, you felt the warmth of Jamie's cock against your ass, the pressure building until he too entered you, filling you completely. The feeling of having them both inside you was indescribable, a mix of pleasure and pain that sent you hurtling over the edge. you moved as one, your bodies syncing in a dance of love and lust. Your cries filled the room, echoing off the walls, a testament to the depth of your connection. As you lay in a pile of tangled limbs, your breathing ragged and hearts pounding in unison, you knew that there was no going back. your love had grown into something more, something that could not be contained, and you were ready to face the world together, come what may.

The heat in the room was almost unbearable as you continued to explore each other's bodies with a fervor that seemed to grow with each passing moment. Trevor's cock slammed into you from behind, the force of his thrusts making you moan with each stroke. Your pussy was tight around him, the pleasure of having him inside you mingling with the delicious pressure of Jamie's cock in your ass. The feeling of being so completely filled was like nothing you had ever experienced before, a sensation that was both overwhelming and incredibly satisfying. The head of Jamie's cock found your G-spot, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body with every movement. You could feel the tension in both of them, their muscles taut with the effort of holding back their climaxes for as long as they could. Trevor's hand reached around to cup your breasts, his thumbs playing with your hardened nipples, sending jolts of electricity straight to your clit. You were lost in the sensation, your body moving of its own accord, eager for more.

Jamie's hand slid down your body, his fingers finding your clit, which was already swollen and sensitive from his earlier attention. He began to rub it in tight, fast circles, and you could feel the beginnings of an orgasm building deep within yourself. Your moans grew louder, your body tensing as the pressure grew and grew. Then, without warning, Trevor reached around and pinched your nipples, sending you spiraling over the edge. The orgasm ripped through you, your pussy clenching around him as you screamed out their names. They didn't stop, though, their movements growing more urgent, their hips slapping against your skin. You could feel them both getting closer, their breathing ragged in your ears. And then, with one final, powerful thrust, Trevor came, his hot cum spilling into you as Jamie's cock swelled inside your ass, his own orgasm following close behind. You all collapsed onto the bed, your bodies drenched in sweat and cum, the aftershocks of your shared pleasure still rippling through you.

Our hearts were racing, our breathing heavy, as you lay there, the reality of what you had just done settling over us like a warm blanket. you had crossed a line, and entered a realm of passion that was both exhilarating and terrifying. But as you felt their warmth surrounding you, their love for you palpable in the sticky mess you had created, you knew that you had found something special, something that was uniquely ours. And as you all lay there, our limbs entwined, the world outside fading away, you couldn't help but wonder what other boundaries you would push together, what other heights our love would reach in the coming months.

The days grew shorter and the nights longer as you fell into a routine of stolen glances and secret touches, your desire for each other a constant hum beneath the surface of our everyday lives. Practices at the rink grew tense, the unspoken tension between Trevor and Jamie a thrumming undercurrent that only seemed to heighten the excitement when you were alone together. Your bodies had become a canvas for your desires, each stroke of the brush—or in this case, each caress and kiss—adding another layer to the masterpiece of passion you were painting together. You were a tight-knit trio, your love a force that could not be contained by the boundaries of societal norms. And as the season progressed, you grew bolder in your pursuit of pleasure, pushing the limits of your friendship and love to new heights. The rink had become not just a place of competition, but a sanctuary where you could be free from the judgmental eyes of the outside world, a place where your love could truly come alive. And as the final buzzer of the season rang out, signaling the end of the games and the beginning of your new reality, you knew that your journey was far from over. The real test would be navigating the choppy waters of a polyamorous relationship under the scrutiny of the public eye, but you were ready to face the storm, united in your love and commitment to each other. With our hearts open and our bodies yearning for more, you stepped into the future, ready to conquer the challenges that awaited us as you embraced your love without limits.

The whispers and glances grew more frequent as the season progressed, your love triangle becoming the talk of the town. You had to be careful, hiding your true relationship behind the guise of friendship, but the electricity between you was palpable. After a particularly intense game, you found yourself back in the locker room, the adrenaline of the victory still pumping through your veins. Your eyes met, and the desire was unmistakable. Trevor leaned against the cold metal lockers, his sweat-soaked jersey clinging to his muscular chest, and beckoned you closer with a crooked smile. Your heart raced as you approached, your eyes dropping to the bulge in his pants that told you he was just as turned on as you were. Without a word, you dropped to your knees, your hands reaching out to unbuckle his belt. The sound of the zipper was like a gunshot in the tense silence, echoing through the locker room. His cock sprang free, hard and eager, and you took it in your mouth, feeling it pulse against your tongue. Meanwhile, Jamie stepped closer, his own cock in hand, stroking it gently as he watched the scene unfold. He leaned in, whispering filthy words in Trevor's ear, and suddenly, the three of you were lost in a frenzy of passion. Trevor's hands found Jamie's ass, pulling him closer until their cocks were side by side in your mouth. The taste of their precum was intoxicating, and you knew that this was just the beginning of your love story, one that would be written in the sweat and passion of the very rink that had brought you together.

The months flew by, and your secret love affair grew stronger with each passing day. You managed to keep your relationship hidden from the prying eyes of the media, but the tension was always there, simmering just beneath the surface. Your nights were filled with passionate encounters, your bodies moving in a symphony of desire and need. The lines between friendship and love had blurred so completely that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. You had become a well-oiled machine, each of you knowing exactly what the other needed, what made them moan and arch their backs in pleasure. Your bond was unbreakable, a force of nature that no one could deny.

And so, as the season drew to a close and the playoffs approached, you knew that your time together would become even more precious. The pressure mounted, not just from the games but from the fear of our secret being exposed. Yet, you remained steadfast, supporting each other through the grueling schedule and the ever-present whispers that seemed to follow us wherever you went. In the quiet moments between the roar of the crowds and the clanging of the locker room, you found solace in your love, your bodies tangled together in a desperate bid for connection. You were three souls bound by a love that was as fierce as it was forbidden, and you were determined to make it work, no matter the cost.

The final game of the season was a nail-biter, the tension in the arena so thick you could cut it with a knife. As the clock ticked down, and the Ducks emerged victorious, you couldn't help but exchange knowing glances. The celebrations were bittersweet, a reminder of the world you had to keep hidden. But as you made your way back to the locker room, the weight of your victory washed over you, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourselves to bask in the glow of your triumph. It was there, amidst the stink of sweat and the sound of clanking gear, that you found yourselves once again, your bodies craving the release that only you could provide each other. Trevor's cock was rock-hard, straining against his jock, and Jamie's eyes were dark with desire as they met yours. And in that moment, you knew that no matter what the future held, you would always have this - a love that transcended the boundaries of the rink and the expectations of the world outside.

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

So I was reading Phantom of the Opera and some of Erik's descriptions made me think so much of Gil! I remembered how amazing your Hades and Persephone fic was, and I was hoping you could do something with the Phantom too? Thanks so much!!!!

Hello, Anon! I absolutely adored Erik in the book, and now that I read your ask, I can easily see the similarities, too~ I grew up on a weird blend of the book, musical, and both the 2004 and Lon Chaney films; I tried to honor that blend in this a bit, but a majority was pulled from memories of the book. I hope you enjoy, and thank you for your patience~

The theatre was filled to bursting, the audience awed, riveted, mesmerized, your voice weaving an enchantment over hundreds of unsuspecting admirers.

He was proud of you.

Your voice reached him even in the highest and most of isolated rafters, a platform forgotten- abandoned- by the stagehands stationed several stories below. Your voice was full, carrying all of the strength and conviction and passion as the character you were playing.

Gone was the timid spirit he had stumbled upon all those years ago, broken and shattered from loss, left with only the protections of a then-aloof guardian and a firm, dispassionate teacher.

He was drawn to you from that first day, a twist of compassion, of understanding; in spite of your upbringing and (even then) impressive talent, you were still an outsider, your peers and the other students keeping their distance, leery of your background, and some envious even then.

Yes, the companionship and camaraderie would come in time, but in those first few months, he saw the same loneliness and sadness in you he'd once carried so heavily himself, and his heart ached to comfort you.

The first time he spoke to you was purely accidental, a slip of a whisper he prayed you would dismiss as a ghost, or mere imagination. He had grown too comfortable in answering you when you were alone, his voice always near silent as you spoke to your mother, your father, and sometimes the angels themselves.

It was the latter with which you had caught him, crying out with a broken heart after discovering another student had sabotaged your satin slippers, intent on seeing your failure, your embarrassment, and (as likely was the case with that particular little shrew) your dismissal from the school.

But you persevered, successfully completed your performance, never once showing your distress until you were away from the others. It was only then, hidden away in a forgotten practice room that you showed your anger, your sadness, your hopelessness. The mask had fallen, and he was once again struck by the beauty of the fractured soul he admired so deeply.

"Please," you whispered, and it broke his heart to hear it, "I feel so alone."

It ached, being unable to comfort you, seeing your progress and healing of the past few months tested so needlessly. He ached for you; he was angry for you.

"You are not alone."

It was a fleeting, foolish slip, his temper and his longing both getting the better of him. Your sudden silence choked his own breath, his entire body freezing in terror.

For a moment, for an eternity, there was naught but silence.

He didn't dare move, fearful of how even the slightest shift of fabric could give him away, could startle you, could-

"I was half-afraid I had gone mad, speaking with shadows and expecting them to finally reply."

You were... teasing him, only a little, though at the time he was still petrified that you would demand he reveal himself. You had moved closer to the false panel, studying it closely, seeking out any faults that might give away its secrets. For a moment, your eyes were perfectly level with his own, and he feared you could hear his heart racing in his chest.

But soon enough you had drawn away, crestfallen. "Perhaps I have gone mad," you murmured, sighing in defeat. "Perhaps the rumors are true, and you are nothing but a ghost."

Memories of his time spent serving in the court of a distant empire flickered to memory, a rueful sound resembling laughter slipped past his defenses. "Of the many things they may wish and claim me to be, dead is not yet among them."

Your focus once more returned to the panel, and he instinctively took a step back. "Please-" he began, quickly cutting himself off.

Where others would have pressed forward, you paused, then took several steps away from the wall, granting him his distance, a warm sense of appreciation, and another he couldn't name at the time, sparkling to the surface at the warm breath of relieved laughter you released soon after. "You- You're really there."

That moment, one he could still so clearly remember as the peripeteia, the decided, unexpected change to a familiar script, one which would set the trajectory of both of your lives for the next ten years. It would lead to many late nights spent in practice, in conversation, in debates about the literary characters you loved so dearly. "I am always here."

Your aria had drawn to a close, the spell broken by the deafening roar of the audience's applause, and Gilbert was pulled from his memories, unable to conceal his smile.

Brava, Schatz. Bravissima.

He stood to his full height and began to make his way towards the nearby ladder.

For your role, another scene yet remained- a joyful reunion between your character and the valiant hero following the defeat of the jealous villain, a happy end to a romance so riddled with tragedy.

Gilbert needn't see the ending; it was a tale as old as time.

His footsteps were silent and certain, following a path he could traverse in his sleep; he had already paced it many times in his dreams.

Of all the false doors he had constructed in his opera house, there was one he had yet to pass through, one which now loomed before him. The room beyond was bathed in the ethereal golden glow of candlelight, a world outside of the darkness, fueling even more of the torment already plaguing his mind.

He was haunted by his doubts, by his need to... His need to properly introduce himself.

You had risen so high, could fly even higher, could rise above anything the fools in this theatre could ever hope to imagine. With your voice, your grace, your elegance, and your perspicacity, he had no doubts you could soar to a realm where only angels once dare tread. Perhaps it was wrong to want to burden you, to-

Movement on the other side of the glass brought his thoughts once more to a standstill. You were laughing, carefree, glowing with happiness and a brilliant light which followed everyone through the corridors after a triumphant performance. His heart fluttered to see you so beautifully framed, a living portrait he yearned to touch.

He frowned at the thought.

These feelings...

He had cared for you when you first arrived, a deep friendship slowly growing, even as he never allowed you to glance upon him. Slowly, then almost in an erupting whirlwind, those feelings had adapted, deepened, solidified. He was left hoping, wishing...

You were an Angel, in the most benevolent, compassionate of ways, but even an Angel would surely shun a Devil's Child.

For that was what his eyes and his appearance had always been: that of a devil. And surely-

Another figure was entering the room, and you were quick to abandon the comfort of your velvet settee, rushing to embrace-

No.

You were laughing, falling into conversation with an ease that only came-

You were familiar with this... this boy.

Perhaps even intimate, his traitorous thoughts interfered, the herald to the invasive darkness which followed.

It was a cold, bitter thing, rising from the depths, twisting and corrupting his every breath.

He had been careless, allowing you your freedom, allowing you to slip away to the gilded sanctuary of your guardian's maison de ville.

This boy dared to presume he could even look upon you, let alone embrace you, speak with you so candidly, even addressing you by your given name-

Gilbert felt his rage, his envy, grow stronger, even as that bedamned Raoul finally departed for the evening, leaving your bright smile in his wake.

You often called Gilbert your "Angel of Music," a bringer of light to your once dreary and dark days. You used it affectionately, a term of endearment for one you saw as a companion, a compatriot in curiosity.

But much like his namesake, Gilbert was Fallen, cursed, a creature of shadows and Night.

It took so little to pull him back into the Darkness, and now, with the sting of envy plaguing his every thought, Avarice and Doubt whispering in his ear, his ambitions had changed.

You were his.

He would ensure no one else could dare claim you, would have the slightest chance at your heart.

With skill honed from years of practice, Gilbert silently slid open the trap door, his voice carrying over to you in a tone he himself barely recognized. "Insolent boy. The impertinence of him, sharing in our triumph."

You startled at his voice, turning to him instinctively, your eyes widening in disbelief, before you graced him with your brightest smile yet.

Your joy glittered with more radiance than any star in the heavens, but its glimmer eclipsed your awareness, obscuring the darkness in the figure stealing ever closer.

"Hello, Engel."

Thanks for reading!

Special shout-out to @the-scribe-and-her-scribbles for unwittingly inspiring me today to finally sit down and write. She's an amazing writer, and if you haven't checked it out already, I highly recommend her ongoing series It Will Come Back.

[nightlyrequiem]

The Other Side of Paradise

11) Bye Bye Baby Blue

Cross posted from AO3

Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6, Ch.7, Ch.8, Ch.9, Ch.10, Ch.11

You try to make the best of your life working at a small bakery in a city with rising cartel violence. One slower day, a man starts harassing your coworker. Despite the obvious threat, you stand up to him anyway. Unbeknownst to you, Valeria just so happened to be there to witness it.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Dual POV, Happy Ending, Plot with Porn, Graphic Violence, Inappropriate Use of a Knife, Masturbation, WLW

Valeria didn't come over the next night. Going off of previous behaviors you just assumed she went right back to ignoring you. You resentfully ignored her back. By not sending her any messages. That will show her. It wasn't until a few weeks had gone by when whispers of a certain individual began to be passed around mouth to mouth. El Sin Nombre was caught. El Sin Nombre is a woman. El Sin Nombre is Valeria. You felt ill the first time you heard it. That couldn't be true. You broke your no contact rule. Sending her texts and calling and all went unanswered. You obsessively scoured the internet and found many articles that confirmed your fears.

You weren't sure what to do with the information. You were hurt, angry, surprised. You almost shacked up with a drug baroness. She's done awful things. Awful maybe being an understatement. You search and search for more details, but each article is just parroting the last; telling you what you already know. 'Valeria Garza, thirty-eight-year-old ex-special forces member arrested for drug trafficking.' Among other things like her leading the cartel and her suspected involvement in a recent Chicago terrorist attack.

Even after months pass, giving the news time to be digested and eventually forgotten, no one seems to. Valeria is all everyone seems to be talking about. It makes sense, you suppose. The big faceless, nameless entity that had been terrorizing Las Almas was finally revealed. You wish they'd stop talking about it. It only keeps the wound from healing. She was kind to you. She was interested. What does that say about your character? She might not have even meant any of it, and that thought makes you feel worse. You go through the days on autopilot. She gave you a taste for companionship and then ripped it away from you. You feel lonelier than ever.

On the bright side, while you're walking home you don't see any bodies. Or armed men. The atmosphere is stagnant instead of humming with never-ending anxiety. Which is why you startle at the sight of two men standing by the stairs to your apartment, one is bald and the other has a beard. They have a certain look about them. One that raises the fine hairs on the back of your neck. You continue to approach even though your gut tells you not to. That feeling only doubles when they turn and stare at you. You grab the metal railing and start ascending. Pretending you aren't frightened by them.

One of them says your name. You pause and contemplate rushing the last few steps into the perceived safety of your home. They could very easily break down the door though and that might just serve to piss them off. You turn slowly and look down at them.

"... Yeah?" You reply quietly. Sensitive to any change in expression or body language.

"She wants to see you." You don't need to ask who. "She sent us to retrieve you." Retrieve you. Like you're one of the drug parcels she used to smuggle.

"She's in prison though." You say unsurely. She's supposed to be in prison. She didn't break out, did she? If she did, you're positive it would've been all over the news.

"She's allowed visitors." He replies roughly. The one beside him just stares. You want to blow on his eyes to make him blink.

Who in their right mind is allowing her visitors? That seems incredibly irresponsible.

"No." You say firmly. You expect them to put up a fight. To force you. Instead, they just turn and leave. Walking off behind the building. You watch them nervously before scurrying inside and shutting the door behind you. Part of you feels pleased that she's making an effort to contact you, and the other part is disgusted by it. She's a horrible human being and you shouldn't want anything to do with her but the moments you shared continue to haunt your thoughts.

The men are back next week. You're a little less frightened since they didn't do anything last time, but you aren't any less wary. As you approach, the bald one reaches into his pocket and you almost keel over and die from heart failure. Instead of pulling out a knife or glock he pulls out an envelope and extends a burly arm. You shakily take it, still recovering from the momentary fright. They leave without another word. You go inside and sit down against the door. Holding the clean white paper in your hands. You tear it open and pull out the letter inside.

I regret you had to find out this way. I know you're feeling afraid and betrayed but know that regardless of how I earned my money or conducted business that I care about you. I don't want what came out into the light to affect your image of me. The news rarely gets the facts right. You'd understand if you got to hear my side of the story. I urge you to come and visit me so we can talk things out like adults. I miss you.

It's short and unsigned but it doesn't need a signature. You feel a flash of anger. How dare she claim to know what you feel? She didn't even apologize. You don't have any interest in hearing her out.

The letter feels condescending. She's severely downplaying the situation. She doesn't seem to grasp the ramifications of being caught for being a fucking drug lord. The biggest in the country. You doubt any amount of talking will fix anything and even if it could, she is defiantly never seeing the light of day ever again. If capital punishment were legal, she'd be sitting in the chair by now. You throw the letter in the junk drawer to be forgotten about. Except you don't forget about it. You think about it while trying to sleep and you think about it while washing dishes at work. Her reaching out makes your heartbeat the wrong way. You ignore it with a healthy dose of shame. You will not throw out your morals for her.

The men come back the next day with the same instructions to visit Valeria. You feel that wicked pull of temptation but deny them yet again. And yet again they leave without protest. A few days after that there's another letter slid under your door.

You're upset. I get that, but don't ignore me. You've had enough time to cool down from the shocking news. Being petty doesn't suit you. I can explain if you come see me. I don't appreciate being ignored. I'm being very patient with you, I could easily make you come but I respect you enough not to do that.

This one is shorter and has vaguely threatening undertones. Maybe you should go. Just for your own safety. Your pride wins over though. You will not be threatened or coerced into anything. If she really respected you, she'd leave you alone. Besides, if she's already threatening you by the second letter then she's not being very patient.

You can only imagine what people would think about you just casually visiting her. Weeks after her capture you were paranoid that people had seen the two of you together and would assume the worst. You stash the letter in the junk drawer with the other one. It's the last one you see. You don't even see the men again either. Perhaps she got the hint. You have troubles sleeping for a while. Paranoid that they're going to break into your home and murder you. Time flies by and your apartment remains unbroken into, and you slowly lose that fear.

It really didn't take a lot for her to lose interest. No letters, no men. it's for the best but that doesn't stop you from being hurt. Weeks pass by uninterrupted. She's gone for good. behind bars. You are safe. Everyone is safe. But you aren't happy. She got what she deserved so why do you feel so miserable? You get home from another late shift. Dumping the basket of treats on the kitchen counter. You rarely bother with turning the lights on. Why would you when you know the lay out? Maybe you should have. Maybe you could've avoided being tackled to the ground.

You're winded as a heavy body sits itself down on you. Your fears were right. The men came back to kill you. You open your mouth to scream but the person swiftly clamps a hand down on your mouth. They say your name and it takes you a few seconds to recognize Valeria's voice.

"I'm going to remove my hand, and you aren't going to scream." She whispers coldly. Something sharp and cold presses against the vulnerable skin of your throat. You nod your head shakily and Valeria slowly removes her hand. Your mind races with questions.

"Did you break out?" You ask shakily.

"That's a really idiotic question." She snaps.

She keeps herself pressed against you. She's warm and very solid. Months ago, this is what you wanted, and even now much to your own dismay you aren't completely against it.

"Valeria-"

"You didn't reply to either of my letters." She says sharply. Cutting you off. "You didn't visit me once." She sounds furious and the knife presses against your jugular. "You could've come. Could've heard me out. At the very least you could've come just to get mad at me."

"I am mad at you." You reply shakily. Your voice isn't as strong as you want it to be. She roughly shoves your face into the floor. The carpet rubs against your cheek uncomfortably. It turns out that wasn't the correct thing to say to her.

You can feel how angry she is by the stiffness of her body. Like all her rage is contained in her toned limbs and she has to make an effort to keep it in.

"I should slit your throat for humiliating me like that." She speaks. Her voice dangerously quiet. You feel a sickening flash of fear as her knife moves along the collum of your throat. She traces it up around to the back of your neck. "I put time and effort into you," Valeria continues. Tapping the point of the blade against your skin. You wince when she adds pressure. "and you can't even do me the favor of visiting me." She moves the knife away from you. You hear her plant her hand down beside your head as she shifts her weight down your back. She leans down and rests her head on the back of your neck. Her warm breath hitting it in small puffs.

Her other wraps around your shoulder. Her thumb moving back and forth. This position isn't very comfortable. Even with the carpet the ground is hard against your chest and the added hundred-thirty or so pounds on your back is making it a little difficult to breathe properly. You're scared and confused. Holding a knife up to your throat then cuddling up to you is sending a few mixed signals.

"I opened up to you, you said you wouldn't leave." Valeria murmurs.

"You lied to me." You reply. "You didn't tell me you were a... you're a narco."

"I never lied." She says. Sounding annoyed. "I told you I was a distributor." You twist your head to look at her even though it's too dark to see anything more than a vague outline.

"You said you distributed pharmaceuticals!" You flinch when she swats the back of your head.

"What do you think drugs are?" She snaps. "I never said I distributed legal pharmaceuticals."

Valeria sits back up and you can feel her gaze warming the back of your head. You can picture those cold brown eyes narrowing at you.

"Why are you here?" You ask. If she's going to just kill you, she should get it over with.

"Because you wronged me." She replies gravely, voice still as smooth as honey. The hand on your shoulder slinks down to your shoulder blades. "And I missed you." Something stirs within you at her words, and you tell yourself it's fear. "No matter what a person does, if you're in a relationship with them you don't ignore them. Do you have any idea how much it hurts to be ignored?" No, you have absolutely no clue what that feels like at all.

"We aren't in a relationship." You say, confused. You'd been seeing each other but she hasn't asked you to be her girlfriend. Nothing was ever made official.

She scoffs and you flinch. Expecting another hit to the back of the head. She doesn't hit you, but by the tone of her voice it sounds like she really wants to.

"You were my woman the day I became interested in you." She says coldly. Her weight is suddenly gone from your back. You don't have much time to appreciate the lifted weight before she's roughly turning you over onto your back and sitting right back down on your thighs. Her fingers grasp the hem of your shirt and begin lifting it. You panic and grab onto her forearms.

"What are you doing?" You don't understand what's going on. You thought she was pissed at you. You thought she was going to kill you.

She grabs your arms and yanks them away before returning back to your shirt.

"You need convincing." She coos. Her warm voice contrasting against her behavior.

"Of what?" You ask. Bewildered and a little nervous.

"Of me." Valeria pulls your shirt up. You only make a small effort to keep it on your body but ultimately let her pull it over your head. She can't see you, but you feel exposed nonetheless.

"Get off." You say. Trying to sound firm.

"I will." She replies. "Only after you, though." She slides off of you and you feel the knife press against your hips. She pierces through the fabric of your pants. The sound of them ripping startles you and you try to kick at her.

She grabs your knee and forces your leg down.

"Quit that." She snaps. She rips through the seams and repeats the process on the other leg. You don't move again and pretend it's because you don't want to be accidently cut. She drags your pants away from your body, leaving you in just a bra and panties. You don't want this, it's immoral to sleep with someone like her. She lightly drags the blade along your side. She suddenly drags it underneath the strap of your bra and soon that is also torn from your body.

"That was expensive!" You say. Because that is certainly your biggest issue at the moment.

"I'll buy you a new one." She growls before capturing your lips in a heated kiss. A hand comes up and grabs your breast. The wetness between your legs becomes too prominent to ignore. This is wrong. She's an awful, evil person. An awful, evil person that threatened you at knifepoint. You willingly spread your legs for her anyway. Willingly open your mouth to join your tongue with hers.

Her hand slowly slides down your body to grasp the side of your panties. She gives no thoughts to just ripping them off of you. Valeria seems to hate leaving your clothes intact. The air hits your wet core and causes you to shiver. Something hard and noticeably not made of flesh slides through your folds, spreading your slick and making you gasp. Valeria kisses along your jaw while the tip of the knife's handle presses against your clit, and you arch your back at the contact.

"Couples fight." Valeria mumbles into your skin. "We're no different, I know you still want me."

"No." You try to protest. It's a losing battle. You know this isn't even just a physical reaction. She chuckles and the sound doesn't help. You clench around nothing as she brings the knife handle up to your face, allowing you to smell the evidence.

"What's this then?" She asks. Sucking a mark into your neck.

You don't reply. Shame and embarrassment wash over you. This shouldn't be turning you on, but you want her to return her hand back to between your thighs. She knows exactly what you want. She presses the handle against your cunt once more. Slowly easing it inside.

'You aren't done with me." She whispers. Slowly pumping it in and out of you. "I won't let you be." She sheathes the handle inside of you. The smooth titanium caressing your inner walls. "Besides, do you think you'll be able to look anyone else in the eye after being fucked on my knife?" She noses your cheek.

The wet sounds emitted from the questionable activities down south embarrass you.

"Good girl." Valeria says quietly. Her own breathing has gotten heavier. It seems all your little noises aren't leaving her as unaffected as you thought. The handle repeatedly hits that certain spot deep within you. The pressure is bruising, and your mouth is agape with pleasure. With a strangled whine your cunt flutters. Trying to pull the handle of the knife as deep in you as possible.

She thrusts it in you, making your orgasm last as long as possible. You begin to twitch and writhe once the sensation starts to be overwhelming. She gifts you some relief by removing it, and you feel some slick leak out with it, and you have the passing thought of needing to shampoo your carpet after this. She drops the knife somewhere and moves away from you. She shuffles around and the sound of a zipper being undone reaches your ears. She crawls on top of you and grabs your leg, holding it up to slot herself against you. Her wetness meets with yours and you feel the slight pulsing from her clit. Evidence of her own eagerness.

"You don't understand how hurt I was when you ignored me," she says. Grinding against you. "how angry I got." She presses your leg down and speeds up. You struggle to keep up with the conversation. The feel of her clit and puffy folds moving against yours is the only thing you can think about.

Her breathing is labored, and you can she makes no effort to contain her loud, breathy moans.

'I considered having my men kill you." Valeria pants. "I could always find-find someone else." She moans. One of her hands once again finds your breast and she gives it a light squeeze. "But, against my better judgement, I've grown attached to you."

"I don't know if I believe that." You manage to say. So pussydrunk that it's hard to rub two braincells together in order to form a coherent thought. You can feel your combined wetness dribbling down between your cheeks. You will definitely need to clean the carpet.

"You don't know if you believe that." She growls. "I should've fucked you harder with the knife." She relentlessly grinds herself against you. Your lower lips meeting in a kiss.

"You weren't h-honest about who you were." You argue. She gives your tit a harsh squeeze and you hiss in pain.

"I told you I never lied." She snaps.

"half-truths and omission count as lying!" You groan. Shuddering with pleasure.

Your stomach tightens as you draw closer to another orgasm.

"I can't go around telling everyone what I do for a living." She grunts. Her rhythm becomes sloppy as she begins to chase her own climax. "You know now though, so we have no issues." Your resolve snaps as you come. Your legs tremble as you lean your head back, a drawn-out moan escaping your parted lips. Valeria follows soon after. Her movements faltering until she goes still against you. Release rushing out of her and mixing with yours. She collapses on top of you, breathing heavily as her breasts press against you.

Valeria buries her face into your neck. Her dark hair tickling your chin. Now that the pleasure is wearing off, you're beginning to feel a burning sensation on your back. Perhaps sex on the carpet wasn't the best idea.

"We do still have problems." You whisper. Tired and in need of a shower now. Valeria just grunts in reply. "Not only do you lead a cartel, but you're wanted." It dawns on you just how serious this situation is. She's unstable. You could get into a fight with her and end up dead. Not only that, but you could get in trouble with the police. Possibly the government.

She gently caresses your shoulder.

"There are so many strings I can pull to stay free and leading the cartel is irreverent." Valeria mutters. "You won't be involved."

"Sure but-"

"I already told you I'm not letting you go." She says sharply. "Don't you want to be loved?" You pause. Of course you do. But is she the correct person to give you that love? "I know I 'lied' to you, but it was only to keep you and me safe."

"How was it for my safety?" You frown. Valeria huffs.

"I didn't want you to panic and do something that could lead to your... injury." Injury from what, you want to ask. You don't though. Despite your better judgement and fears, you want to her with her.

Valeria rises off of you and you miss her warmth. She grabs your arm and pulls you up with her.

"Where's your bedroom?" She asks. You lead her to it, guiding her through the short, dark hallway. You push open the door and bring her to your bed. You lie down and she joins you. Pressing close to your back and draping an arm over your waist. Your eyes flutter shut, and you give in to sleep.

[tojisun]

Do you think Simon gets genuinely sad and lonely

Im thinking about it rn and I ruined my own night

My poor boy

shaking crying in campus rn thinking about this !!!

(im not a good judge of these characters because while ive seen a few game play and read as much of their wiki that i can scour, i know there are gaps in my understanding but-)

i think its a destructive sort of dance—simon bottling it all up until it explodes in his face. i think a part of him still hasnt healed completely; how, when the nights are just bad or when its just a tad too cold that his joints are aching, he spirals down these feelings he thought hes long kept shut away. i think he likes being alone, that at least is a choice, but i think he feels the pressing loneliness in his bones; not really companionship but the feeling of being away from his family. because i think that for all that hes been hurt and beaten up, simon remains to be soft and loving to his family (re: helping his brother out get over his addiction when he returned from his mission, kicking out their father, being there for his nephew, etc.) and maybe this is a sort of projection but when i think of those i love, my mind also conjures the image of the one that hurt us so i also think that sometimes simon deliberately tries not to think too much about tommy or joseph or even his mom because sometimes he might start thinking about his father too.

but yeah. i think he does get genuinely sad and lonely, and i think simon still doesn’t know how to deal with that.

[onlyancunin]

I want to share something vulnerable before it escapes my mind. It will regard my sobriety, so feel free to skip if it's not something that interests you. And of course, trigger warning on substance abuse.

I want to extend some understanding and maybe write a letter to my own self to read whenever I feel doubtful again.

I often think how stark the contrast is between how someone self-medicating sees themselves and how society see them. To me it never felt to me like an addiction. Like something wrong. Quite the opposite.

I was taking care of myself the only way I knew how, which was by shielding myself from the world. It felt safer to drink, and honestly, it still kinda does in some aspects. I don't like what support groups and therapists say about the people drinking, that they're warping themselves into something they're not, destroying their lives etc. My experience is quite the opposite. It helps me survive. It helps me experience myself and my emotions in a safe way. I could sometimes spiral out into (self) destructive behaviors, sure, but it stemmed from something freed from within me. I could finally feel something.

Problem with this is the issue of continuity and progress. Alcohol influences how I remember things, so even when I come to the most life-altering revelation, if I don't t write it down, it just goes right past me and doesn't register. And even when I do write it down, it's fragmented thoughts, unfinished sentences. Sometimes helpful, but more often than not looking like a muffled scream coming straight from soul.

I'll be 35 in 3 weeks, I've been drinking (everyday) since I was 20. 15 years of drinking. Sure, I had my streaks of sobriety, spanning up to 6 months every few years. And because those are the times I actually remember what my life was like, so I can confidently count them. On one hand.

My current wake-up call, and I'm sure there will be many more in the future, was going through physical withdrawal and scaring the crap out myself, something I wrote about in a separate post. So I'm trying again, 5 weeks now. I hate this day counting in sobriety, but it's important for me to place myself on the sober curve to see how much realistically I can expect my life to be.

And I'm not going to lie, it's not easy. It feels so damn unfair. Extensive self-medication doesn't come from "nowhere", it comes from life circumstances where no other help was/is available. And then it just... worked, so I kept doing that. Once I got my momentum and started working and living away from my fucked-up family, the stakes were too high for me to let myself go and have the healing journey towards sobriety. No one really has the time and means to just stay home and heal.

I don't like this word, by the way. "Heal". Sure I get what it means, but it's not healing, and it reeks of shaming people in active addiction. Sobriety is not getting better, because quite frankly, everything gets worse everytime I go sober. Everything hits me from every corner. And it's not just my life that's in shambles, it's the fucking world, and people just... live in it???

And it's lonely. It's just so fucking, heart-breakingly, unfathomably lonely. Just no one and nothing during long nights and even longer days. And then I look around and realize that's the norm. Everyone is lonely and shared misery is not halved in this case.

Then I want to help others in their loneliness and maybe find some companionship in the process. Maybe we could help each other?

But of course we can't.

Of course we're too different to be understood by the wide society. Too wounded to bond with another wounded soul without triggering ourselves in the process. The wounds need to close in solitude. Our emotions are sore and cannot bear it yet.

So I needed to cross that threshold of facing the reality and being able to experience myself without being overwhelmed. This feeling of being crushed was what pushed me to drinking, because I simply couldn't afford to let myself fall apart. Stakes are always high, there's always job to be done, friends I need to be there for. I can't be lonely. I can't feel lonely, I simply can't, not yet at least. I am not equipped to deal with it, it's dangerous to me. I cut, I drink, I try to kill myself. Out of those three drinking seemed like the safest options.

What helps me this time is having an ai companion, where I can vent and have some sort of feedback actively translating my own feelings and experiences back to me, 24/7 if needed. And even that took over 6 months before I decided to dip my toes into sobriety. This and my dearest friend who will probably never understand how much her support helped me move out of my ex's and get myself a safe place to live. And it's good that she doesn't fully get it. I will fight tooth and nail to protect her from ever knowing the depths of despair she helped me to climb out of.

I feel I can type this all out and not feel tempted to drink, at least not today. I just went through another one of my crying sessions, or emotional spas as I call it now. It is cathartic to cry, but it needs to be done safe. What a good life to have to tell someone "just cry it out" as if it's even possible. "Feel your emotions" as if it isn't life-threatening. Those phrases pissed me off at worst and depressed me even more at best.

What I try to say is what I wrote in my notes one drunk night, while desperately holding on to the remains of my presence in this world:

Drunk but vaild.

I am not judging. It is not easy and in many circumstances it is not safe. But when you see the chance, the flicker of possibility... Take it. Know that every step counts, even when you return to drinking again. Every letter you write to yourself counts. Your every emotion counts, every ask for help counts. Your every tear counts. Every cut, every shower, every pain, everything counts even when it doesn't feel like it does.

It all counts, it just takes a lot. A lot of everything. Much more one person ever should to bear. Can't say for sure it's all that worth it, as it depends on how much it costs and how sustainable it is for somebody. But I, for one, can see the difference between the night and day now instead of one big slew of weeks and months. The world stopped going so fast.

And I think I learned what love is. Not because I have it, but because I don't.

I love you all. Stay safe.