#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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[warningsine]

Okay, I know AAA is Disney and that 1. it's not that deep, 2. the series is not gonna resolve the fight this way, but:

I love the idea of Rio bringing Agatha to the brink of death.

Agatha regains her powers and is formidable blah blah blah, but at the end of the day, she is no match for Death. At least, not in a physical fight. In a game of wits, she'd get out of it by manipulating and seducing Rio (episode 1, episode 4).

Think about it:

It's all fun and games (slitting Agatha's throat) until Agatha is threatened with a fate worse than death (staying with her mother). Then it's "No way!"

It's all fun and games (being a little shit with "Ugh, [your death] really warms the heart") until Agatha implies that Rio doesn't love her. Yes, Billy is the black heart and a part of Agatha's coven, but Rio is not lying when she says that her own black heart beats for Agatha.

When Agatha's mortal body is forced to stop giving as good as it gets, when she is uncharacteristically unresponsive to Rio's taunting, what fun is it anymore?

At that point, the realization sinks in:

immortality doesn't bring liberation but instead magnifies the existential burden of loneliness, the inability to connect with the mortal world.

Think of one of the questions "Interview With The Vampire" raises:

Is such an existence, devoid of genuine companionship, truly worth the gift of eternity?

Because who else would be unhinged enough, power hungry enough to fall in love with the personification of Death? To make her existence difficult yet meaningful?

Sure, many mortals find her human form appealing, but they also find her unnerving and intimidating. And, sure, Rio loves slipping into that persona: "the scary lady," "the psycho."

But no matter how much Agatha loves life, perhaps embracing death wouldn't be so bad after all. Perhaps, it would give her the opportunity to reunite with her son in the afterlife. (If that's how the Marvel afterlife works, I don't know.)

So who would be the true loser in the case of Agatha's death?

Lestat: Draining Louis after that fight vs. crying, "Did you hurt yourself?" and "She looked at me like a child looking at her father." Rio: Injuring Agatha's throat vs. licking her wound to heal it and "I did something I did not wanna do, even though it was my job."

[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.

[eternal-sacrifice]

Been thinking about winners.... Then I thought too hard... Here's my thoughts on.. all of them,,,,

• IF bdubs won next season: he has earned it. It would be great seeing as last season was a 3rd life throwback and sort of a redemption, if the next season was his most difficult we could go full heros journey with this bitch and the win would be incredibly satisfying.

9/10 didn't realize I wanted him to win but, I'm rooting for him now! Convinced me

• If bigB won next season: please let him win. I need him to win. He hasn't gotten a single ounce of attention from the fandom in any of his 4 amazing story arcs, and maybe just maybe they would care about him if he won. With new members joining he could have a fresh start (again), maybe with a win he could pull ahead all on his own, just like he started 2 years ago.

1000/10 I NEEED IT

• if Cleo won next season: hggfhhfjg. Hfhfhgfgg... Divorce quartet real... The animations... The fanart..... It would be so cool. I don't think Cleos character has much motivation to win atm, but if she was forced into a position where she needed to take the win it could be a very refreshing twist on the story.

7/10 we love to see a king winning

• if etho won next season: hey sorry ethogirls I don't know him well enough- all I know is that the fans would become crazy and I'd become an ethogirl. Thank you for coming to my Ted talk

• if gem won next season: okay, gem win would be awesome, yeah. Doesn't matter if everyone loves her, doesn't matter if everyone hates her, I just need her to be the main character, be confused, be crazy, die. It would hurt her character so deeply and would be genuinely amazing for her lore.

8/10 this would be sick

• if grian won next season: let's try that again baby! He might have won the first time with kindness, trust, loyalty and true friendship- but it can't be like that anymore can it. Everyone's left him, everyone's moved on, his life is falling apart, and for once he's barely stopping it. He's just trying to understand what's going on. He ends up in a similar situation to s1, and can't take it- he snaps, kills the other players, and wins once more, making everyone go crazy and the fandom die from shock immediately.

4/10 hmmmm

• if impulse won next season: HES BEEN SOOOOOO CLOSE FOR THE PAST 4 SEASONS. GIVE IT TO HIM PLEASE. only if he weasels his way in though, I love it when he's a lying little cheat and a freaky lil traitor. He needs everyone in his life to leave him or trust him completely and I will die on that hill.

7/10 hehehehe impman

• if Jimmy won next season: ughhhhhhh. Okay. So. Canary boy. He has never experienced pain before in his entire life. For those reasons 1. I'd love for him to win so he can finally understand the series he's in 2. I'd hate for him to win because nooo he broke the curse :((

Canary/10

• if Joel won next season: SBDBDJSKXBJDBXKSDBJDHSHAHDH THAT WOULD BE SO GOOOOOOOD WAIT WAIT WAIT I HADN'T EVEN CONSIDERED- so he's been alone the past 4 seasons, yeah. Even during double life with his loving husband, he knew he would end up alone again in the end, so it was all for nothing in his eyes. He gave his full trust and loyalty to his boys, something he's not used to, and if next season he's alone again- he can't take it. He goes about it smarter then last life, though- he keeps to himself, makes himself stronger the whole season, builds companionship with people (they're not used to him being so friendly), and wins with a last minute betrayal or simply being the last man standing. He would barely expect it, but it would heal his character so much, and also break him.

9/10 WOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!you better do this right asshole. Just kidding however he wins will be perfect

• if Lizzie won next season: similar to gem, but with more spite, and more guarenteed loneliness. It would be- really hard for her to take another season. All of her allyships would be strained, and I can totally see her joining or even commanding another big group, but she'd be alone in reality. A win for her would be cruel.

5/10 queen please

• if martyn won next season: illegal

• If mumbo won next season: I'd go crazy. Mumbos got so many satisfying ways to take his character, and the FANART and god lhbevfuebejrkje. Hes only been there once. He never learned how to play the game. If he won this time- hendndjdjbthekdndkelkebek 500/10 I need it

• if pearl won next season: as much as I would love for her to win again, 1. Too soon, she hasn't recovered from the first one please 2. The fandom would hate her for it 3. She already got what she needed from her first win. It'd be unnecessary for her character arc. It's very unlikely anyways, I'm sure if she got in that situation again, which might happen, she'd give it to whoever else is there.

3/10 I'm sorry goddess

• if Ren won next season: PLEASEEEEEE BE KIND TO HIMMMMMM honestly I think they would just give him the win. He's gonna get in a nice group, they're gonna have loyalty to him and he's gonna have loyalty to them, and wherever it goes he's gonna end up in the endgame again. Everyone there will understand that he deserves that win. If they don't martyn will kill em all into understanding lol. Maybe we could get a desert duo "you can kill me" moment but martyn refuses and kills himself. That would be so cool of him actually

7/10 my doggo deserves love but not like this

• if scar won next season: :3c

He need to okay. He needs to. I don't care how it happens I don't care when it happens I just need him to murder grian and get the win. I need him to understand that HE DESERVES TO WIN. he's gone through so much and he still doesn't understand his self worth, but if he kills that stupid bitch and calls upon old allies to help him get to the end- it could be so lovely oh my god

10/10 my brother in Christ

• if Scott won next season: this would kill him he would leave

0/0 I'm scared

• if skizz won next season: okay his story thus far wasn't amazing, oh wait it was. ACTUALLY HIS LIMITED LIFE WAS THE ONLY GOOD LIMITED STORY(completely untrue but listen IT WAS FULL, THERE WAS A WHOLE CHARACTER ARC even if it was good person to better person, HE IS SO TALENTED AND CHARISMATIC IF HE TEAMED UP WITH THE RIGHT PEOPLE NEXT SEASON I COULD TOTALLY SEE IT BEING AMAZING. HE DESERVES IT. AND HIS WIN WOULD BE AWESOME.

9/10 he's pretty give me a break

• if tango wins next season: okay while all of his seasons other then last life have been boring it could be fun. I mean okay, double life wasn't boring. And I can't say anything about 3rd life. Sure, jeez, he can win. Just need him to get mad and kill some guys first ^_^

5/10 go for it guy

Sorry I advance to everyone I angered deeply with this post, I don't know all the characters perfectly. I can't wait to see this age like fine wine with the next season, honestly whoever wins I'll be crazy about no matter what. I'd love to hear anyone else's thoughts on this!

[rainyfestivalsweets]

9/18/24

Yesterday's meals & this morning's breakfasts.

Got a 1.5 mile walk in, & about 45-50 min on a recumbent bike.

Feeling better today. Nebulized already.

Up early, caffeinated. On my lunch break now.

Laundry is going. Time to walk the dogs 🐕

I addressed my loneliness with some extra Journaling this morning.

I know my marriage went bad, but I miss the companionship & cuddling. My ex turned out to be a cheater who manipulated me and financially abused me tho, so I don't miss that shit. I haven't spoke to them in years. Sometimes it is just better to cut contact completely.

Caregiving is lonely. Working from home is lonely. Not living in town is a little lonely too because it's not like I can just pop by someone's house. Everywhere I can go involves more driving and is less accessible, especially in today's corporate world.

My gf got sick at about the time i was starting to get restless, so I am giving her space to heal.

I am trying to refocus that intensity back to myself. Focus on my goals. My shit. My stuff.

I am recovering, I am trying to allow myself more rest.