#it’s still difficult and sad and hard but! it’s so much easier to deal with all that stuff!! it doesn’t break me like it used to.

[thursdayinspace]

I started writing porn during my work breaks to torture my friends (as you do) and sometimes it turns into feelings, so whatever, I'll drop this here. Possibly part of a WIP now because isn't everything these days? (My poor WIP folder.)

They spent so much time apart, first because he was dead, then because he distanced himself from her after coming back, and then because he was in hiding. Now that they’re back together, they can’t stop kissing, they can’t stop touching. They’re always connected, holding hands, standing with their sides pressed together, small pecks hello or goodbye turning into long, hungry kisses, hands clawing at each other to get closer, closer, always closer.

At night they fall asleep with their legs tangled, her head on his chest, or him spooned up behind her; they fit together so perfectly. Words are still difficult. So much has happened. He feels endless guilt for leaving her alone, leaving her to deal with the fallout of their decisions all on her own. She feels guilt heavy in her heart for giving up their son, for depriving him of his chance to be a father, she feels like the destroyer of their little family.

Touch comes easier to them and they tell each other what they can’t say through letting their bodies speak for them. It’s hard and rough some nights, pure desperation, don’t ever leave me again because I’d die, mark me, make me yours, ruin me for anyone else. Most nights it’s unbearably slow and tender, laced with a melancholy sadness mixed with tentative hope growing in the shadows that hold both danger and promise. It’s apology and affirmation, I’m sorry, I love you, here’s my heart for you to keep, it’s always been yours and always will be.

She opens her legs for him and he pushes into her slowly, coming home, covering her with his body as she holds him close. He doesn’t move, just kisses her, and she kisses back. This is what they need, connection, physical metaphor for everything language can’t yet express. When he starts rolling his hips it’s slow and shallow; they’re full of need, burning with desire for release, but every time they fall over that edge it means it’s over. Until next time. And they never take next times for granted anymore. Not after everything they’ve lost.

His forehead rests against hers as they breathe each other’s air, as her hands roam his back and he fucks her so gently, with such soul-deep devotion it brings tears to her eyes as she clenches around him, holding onto him so tightly with every part of her being.

They’re still unpracticed, they’d only just started when he was taken from her, they didn’t have a chance after he returned. But they’re learning, learning each other, learning this new language. The sounds that mean they need more, or less, or that it’s perfect.

She comes first, and he knows what to do, how to move to make it good for her, to keep her coming and coming until her moans turn into whimpers through that final crest before her body goes soft under him, and only then does he let himself go, spilling into her with a broken sound escaping his throat. It’s an ending and an oath, a beginning, a confirmation of continuity: them against the world, forever. In this moment, they’re a part of each other, their combined pleasure stronger and more meaningful than any marriage vow could ever be.

He stays inside her as long as he can and they part reluctantly, only to come back together later, always. There are no guarantees, but there are promises, there’s love. They’ll make it work.

[goldblumluv]

domestic hugh when you’re sad

summary: you’re feeling sad about family issues (self insert). fluff. established relationship. context is you’ve had a tricky relationship with your dad and he’s passed plus a mix of guilt for not seeing people on his side of the family, when honestly they’re not your favourite people.

I’m 3 months in a grief journey so I’m not as sad but I will have a sad day every now and again and rn I am in one (but I know it’ll be better tomorrow)

wc: 628

You’re both sat upright on the bed. You’re covering your eyes as you cry and try to speak. You find it so much easier to speak covering your face and Hugh doesn’t laugh or try to pull your hands from your face, at least until you get in the swing of things. You still find it difficult to verbalise what you feel so he’s patient. You’re sat on your feet and he is sat normally, leaning forward looking at you with one hand on your knee, giving reassuring rubs on your thigh.

“I’ve been doing pretty well so having a bad day feels… really big” “it’s not though, I still have days when all I think about is my dad- *you’re taking deep breaths, just trying to regulate yourself* please will you look at me?” “I look ugly” you say through tears. Hugh chuckles and tells you shut up. “Will I ever be okay?” You say as you look in his eyes. He’s so attentive. Speaking that thought out loud is really scary and earnest. “No… but you’ll get to a point where the bad days will be years apart and then it doesn’t feel so hard to carry. We’ll do it together”

He grabs the back of your neck to press you a forehead kiss. He puts his arm in between the fold of your thigh and calf and pulls you on top of him. He is holding you almost like a baby. It’s ironic. A man more than double your age is cradling you like a child as you talk about your dead dad. Talk about daddy issues. This makes you smile slightly as it does feel nice. Protected. Warm. That is really you two against the world. You just lean into his neck, silently crying through this. He doesn’t offer much to say, only in response to what I directly say. But dealing with grief is hard and there’s not a lot to be said. Only that someone’s going do it with you. He is 3 years in grief whereas you’re only 3 months. He just rubs your legs reassuringly. He mutters an “it’s okay” every now and then. It means a lot to you him saying it’s okay. You feel a lot of shame when crying, which possibly is a childhood trauma. So him just allowing you to be sad and cry is enough. “It’s still fresh and you need to give yourself grace but you’re coping so well”

“I obviously appreciate everything you do, and my friends, but it’s both of you are my safe space and not my family.” “I’m sorry for how you grew up. But isn’t it beautiful you found that connection in other people” “I know” He also relates to this. He found his family and gone to therapy to resolve any family issues. “I think finding your people is the best, and I know the normal is your people should be your family.. but you’re not normal y/n” He is trying to make light, so I laugh, and I do. “I am” You feel too weak to a playful slap, so you just put one hand to his stomach. “All your friends have chosen to love you when they have no obligation to do so” “what about you?” “I think love is strong” You know he’s joking, but you play into it and lift your head. Your swollen red eyes. Your skin is starting to dry from the salt in your tears. You drop your mouth in shock- a fake shock. He laughs at your face. He uses his hand to wipe under your eyes. “Of course I love you, I love you when you’re happy and when you’re dripping with snot” You immediately sniff and smile “Thanks”

[gatitties]

Heyo! How would Platonic! Straw Hats and Heart Pirates react to their New Crew member Being Deaf/Having Hearing Aids? (I don't know if a hearing aids don't exist in the one piece world, maybe regular snail hearing aids do existed just like bluetooth snail transport, which Nami used from One Piece Live Action)

Cause I am deaf and hearing aids, I am very quiet. I can read people's lips but when I wasn't good at hearing people's speech with my hearing aids, I would pretend to be hearing whatever they say but I got distracted by everything especially there's a puppy or baby around or I only asked my friends or family what they said.

─Strawhats & Heart Pirates x Deaf!reader (platonic)

─Summary: You are unable to hear, but aware of the world around you, lips are your best ally.

─Warnings: none

─ You really have to keep an eye on your hearing device if you don't want Luffy to lose it, he's just curious because he doesn't know exactly how it works, but he'll get distracted and lose it if you ever let him see it.

─ It's not usually a big deal, Franky along with Usopp can make you more at any time, but it's preferable that they don't have to, it takes a lot to set it up for the specific hearing parameters for you.

─ Robin is the one who will catch you up if you get lost when someone is talking, she always notices how your eyes wander to something else that's distracting you, if you ask her she'll answer anything you want to know that you haven't picked up.

─ Sanji always has a small notebook and pen in his suit in case your devices ever fail or get lost during a fight, even if you can read lips, it never hurts to take some precautions.

─ Chopper spends a lot of his time researching if there is a solution for your deafness, even though there doesn't seem to be any progress at the moment, that doesn't mean he's going to stop to give you better hearing.

─ Brook is so sad if you can't listen to his music at some point, and just like Sanji he'll always carry paper and pen, it's hard for you to interpret his words because he's a skeleton and you can't see the movement of his lips.

─ Nami and Jinbe speak much slower or put great emphasis on certain syllables so you can read their gestures better, they tend to be very expressive when communicating if you're close, making it easier for you to understand.

─ Unlike Zoro, he rants uncontrollably and won't modulate shit, he doesn't do it out of spite, really, but he thinks it's good that you try to read lips quickly or get used to different types of modulation, an enemy won't stop to speak slowly just because of your condition.

─ Law has already tried to heal you in many ways, but since that fails, he just settles for you using your hearing device, he trusts that you can read lips perfectly and helps you with that, trying different words, tones or ways of speaking.

─ Bepo is your translator if your thoughts seem much more entertaining than a random person's speech, he will gladly give you a summary of what has been said.

─ At the same time, he is the one who you find it more difficult to read lips because he is a bear and his snout is obviously not a human mouth, although you have quickly learned to understand him, your reading is still not as good with those of his species.

─ Ikkaku, Jean Bart and you have appropriated a few small gestures to communicate in complete silence, a minimal lip movement has a great meaning for you and no one else understands it apart from you, so it doesn't matter if an enemy sees you moving your lips in a strange way, they will never guess what it means.

─ Shachi and Penguin have a little game with you, you disconnect your device and they start making sounds of animals or objects, while you have to guess what it is by the mimicry and their actions.

─ Most of the team carries a small notebook in case of emergencies, if your device breaks or gets lost it won't be that easy to repair it or find a new one since they are usually inside the Polar Tang under the sea.

─ Law keeps some spare components in case this happens, but he is usually careful and will scold you if you ever lose it or something.

[ladypiscesmoon]

Update Armie Hammer/Timothée Chalamet

I had a lot of asks about Armie unfollowing Timmy on social media. I came back from visiting friends and felt really restless, so I took my cards as soon as I got home. The reading is done on 9 December (circa 18.00, my local time)

To get a general feeling for where they stood when I was doing the reading I pulled cards from the angel number oracle deck:

Armie: 999: Release

balance

finances

success wealth

cycles

what goes around comes around

Both: 0505: Unexpected shift

divine intervention

sudden challenges

love

pleasant surprises

gut feeling

Timmy: 2222: Feminine Forces

relationships

balance

prosperity

efficiency

patience

humility

It's clear to me that by doing something like this Armie wanted to force Timmy to take a stand. To choose Armie, to not being a coward and hiding behind work or other bullshit. In other aspects of Armie's life but love, he feels in control. He wants a new start with Timmy too, but if Timmy is leaving him hanging he wants to let him go.

Timmy has to listen to what Armie tells him with this message, because Armie means it. Together they would be really strong and it would learn Timmy to find a better balance between (personal) relationships and work. He tends to emerge himself in his work, trying to forget things he find difficult to deal with. He feels humiliated and very, very hurt at the moment.

This is the universe trying again to nudge them together, because that's what should happen, but Timmy is the one delaying it. This is like a wake-up call for Tim.

Why did Armie unfollow Tim?

The wellness oracle:

the runner

ascending

healthy choices

the sword and rose

(this card fell out) not today

This was a sign Armie is done waiting, because he thinks he has given Timmy enough time to get rid of the pr and Kylie. He thinks that Timmy doesn't prioritize him, that he chooses a lot of other things instead of focusing on the relationship they try to build. He's sad and still angry. Probably seeing Timmy everywhere is also too much for him at the moment. he wants to make healthy choices for himself and thinks this could be one

How does Timmy feel about Armie unfollowing him?

abundance

casette

heartbroken

addiction

love call

love

Timmy thought that Armie understood that he didn't have time at the moment to do much about the Karjenners, he has done as much as he could to resist (like not giving in with Thanksgiving and refusing her at the Gotham awards), he thought Armie saw that as a good thing. So he didn't pick up it wasn't enough. Besides he did what he always does: work way too hard and doing it back to back, like filming and doing promo for ACU. So I guess Armie feels like Tim is not giving the attention he wants to have.

Timmy feels really anxious, he's scared he has lost Armie for real this time. he's sad and feeling alone. I heard a few times Why now? What have I done this time? What did I do wrong? So I think Armie's action has taken him completely by surprise. He has to take action, not moping around or overindulge himself. He's also feeling really tired, so he's too much in his head, dwelling in the past, where he should jump up and go get his man...

Light and shadow Tarot:

Armie: 4 of cups/king of cups/ the emperor

Armie feels it will be easier for him to let Timmy go, but it's not easy at all for him, because at the same time his heart wants to reach out to Timmy and begin their life together

Timmy: the magician/the world/8 of swords

It's not the first time Timmy is manifesting Armie in his life, and I think he just had to have this wake-up call.

Blocks to love:

Armie:

feeling incomplete

low self esteem

control issues

I think that Armie is insecure and feeling as if Timmy thinks he's not worth it. Armie likes to have control over things, probably because it took him a long time to get there, because other people took over many aspects in his life. He's impatient, he doesn't want to wait anymore. He wants love and be loved.

Timmy:

insecurities

dwelling in the past

codependency

Timmy is trying to please everyone, he feels insecure about what to do in relationships, doesn't listen to his heart. If he would, and if he did communicate better, this issue of the unfollowing wouldn't have come up.

Hermit tarot:

Armie:

I am addicted to you

i am absolute in love with you

i am obsessed with your body

i am terrified

This sums up how complicated Armie's feelings are. He wants to build something with Timmy, he's absolute in love with him, but he draws a line in the sand. Actually it's one big message to Tim: Please, choose me.

Timmy:

you make my heart full

let me hold you

you know already

yes

I hope you'll wait for me

Again, it's not the love/ being in love part that is the issue here. He just didn't think about the effect the waiting part had on Armie.

That concludes this reading. They were heading in the right direction and Tim should really take this seriously. But, yeah these two have a hard time staying away from each other. I don't think we will see together this year, though.

*As ever: this reading is alleged/for entertainment purposes only. *

[onelocket]

cuddles, please?

sick fyodor d. x sick reader

requested by -- sweet anon! (click here for more context)

involves -- domestic relationship, a touch starved gn reader, scenario held place in summer & possible russian mistakes ;_;

headcanons

you feel as if it was your fault sometimes

Because each one brings you a shock, honestly. How was Fyodor also sick with you? One day you just woke up to the sound of him quietly blowing his nose on a tissue, jolting yourself up to sit as you see him sat on the desk, head turned to you in surprise of your wake.

“I’m sorry, milaya. Did I wake you?”

“…Fyodor? Wait- why are you sick?!”

‘Why’ as if he wanted it in the first place. Your sad little face and teary eyes would make him a little startled at first—perhaps even a bit amused as the process went ahead, but eventually would he coo to you how he’s okay, and that it wasn’t your fault regardless if you had the fever first.

endless mutual worry and care

Now that you both were sick, it was kind of hard to balance out who should take over for who. But now, it’s as if the care rocks back and forth a little too quickly… yet who were you to complain? He didn’t seem to complain either.

“Really, (Name). I’ll be okay. I’ll make us a cup of tea, you sit there.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do all the work.” You frown out, peeking from his behind as he was already holding two cups. “Mm.. how about I make you your cup while you make mine? I promise to add your jam..” You deal out, a small smile copying his that eventually came out too.

“Want me to tell you a Russian bedtime story?”

Sometimes, when the nights were difficult to sleep through and boring since you still don’t get to hold Fyodor because of his ‘reasons’, you end up staying awake in these hours. He obviously realizes this, at first just watching you in hopes you’d close your eyes at it. But when you just can’t,

“Mm, (Name). Come closer.” He whispered, catching your attention.

“Yes, why?” You ask, although doing as told whilst you scoot closer, both of you on your sides as you look up at him curiously. “Will you finally give me a hug?”

He shook his head, but before you get to complain again—“I want to tell you a bedtime story. Would you like me to?” he strikes up the question, earning your excited nod.

Those nights end up easier to go through as you hear his lovely, addicting voice. You’d, albeit faint, sometimes hear him say ‘Я тебя люблю’ a lot during the ending of each story, sometimes even hear it add up with ‘так сильно’ after the ‘Я’, which made you really curious about what he actually said. Unbeknownst to you though, your lover was saying ‘I love you’ and ‘I love you so much’.

you’re too cute for him to resist.. sometimes…

Despite how you know Fyodor prefers to be warm, he actually denies your touch still, reasoning that “We’ll sweat together” or “I might cough on you”. Personally you saw these reasons unlikely of him, but instead of arguing, you improvised.

“Fyodor… I want to take a nap.” You whine out, placing your head carefully on his lap as he sits there leaning on the bed frame, gazing at the afternoon sky.

“Then nap,” He replied, tilting his head though still not facing you. “You want to sleep there, don’t you? Just this once, milaya.”

“Hehe, okay.”

You knew he knew your tricks, but if he lets you? You’ll take it all the way. It made him happy too, seeing you want him even if he already said for you to feel otherwise.

scenario

“(Name), you shouldn’t use your phone so often.” You hear whilst you do as digressed—finger scrolling through the endless sea of posts and rants your friends flocked your feed with.

Despite summer being this new opportunity for a big blank canvas to paint with vibrant and eye catchy colors, they’re instead using their time to click through letters upon letters and share rants about how they’d be doing better things right now like ‘making life more colorful’. What irony, huh?

Speaking of, what about you? Why were you scrolling through these rants? Well, you had your reasons. One of which was because of somebody’s state right now.

“I’ll be okay, Fyodor..” You whine out, rolling on your back as the soft mattress hugs it just right, you able to let out a quiet sound of satisfaction from it whilst you kept your hands on the phone.

It’s only been a few minutes since you even had your phone screen unlocked, so you found it quite irritating that he was already telling you to get off. “Meanwhile, I personally think that you stop worrying and get-” You’d trail, momentarily pausing when you hear Fyodor’s coughing interrupt you; “…more rest.” finishing with a sigh.

“Mm, and what does that make you, milaya?” He replied, slowly putting down his hand which was just covering his mouth a few seconds ago. “Aren’t you going to rest?”

“I don’t want to.” You pout, once again rolling against your stomach as you swing your feet up and down, your toes hitting the pillows. But you weren’t that petty to hit your lover, so you also slowed down a bit, turning your head back to him. “I can’t find my eyes sleeping.”

“That’s because you’re on your phone.” He points out with a small gesture, his own head tilting to the side before he sighed—“My.. come here.” patting the spot beside him whilst he carefully sat up. You wondered if you should play around a little with your boyfriend, but because he was sick, you denied the taunt.

So you press your palms on the bed sheets as you get yourself sat up, one hand moving to click your phone shut. You crawl back to Fyodor, pout softening to a normal gaze as you considered to hold him, but his body language didn’t seem to match the thought. Instead you sit beside him, hugging your knees a little.

���You’re upset with me, (Name). Isn’t that right?” He cooed, a finger delicately brushing strands of hair away from your face as your cheeks peach up, although react no further than that. “Why should I be?” You question, fingers finding themselves holding onto your kneecaps.

“Let’s see… because I keep refusing to hold you?” He immediately had a response to, a soft smile on his face. To the normal sight, Fyodor might even be seen as charming and such a gentleman for smiling like that for his lover, but to you—oh you knew… that his smile was definitely a taunting, teasing one.

You groaned at the knowledge, a frown coming back rather than a pout. “I don’t understand why not? We’re both sick.” You tampered, tapping onto the bedsheets like an impatient customer.

“That’s exactly why.” He replied almost in a fake surprised voice, putting his hand down as he picked up the bottle of sanitizer on the bedside table, spraying alcohol on the hand that he coughed on earlier before showing the bottle to indirectly ask if you want to do the same. You take it, mainly so that he can rub both of his hands together. But you also end up spraying a bit on your hands, plopping the bottle on the beside table on your side before facing him again.

“What do you mean ‘that’s exactly why’? I want to hug you, Fyodor. It doesn’t matter if you’re sweaty! Don’t you wanna warm up from the air conditioning?” You contrast, spreading your hands a little in desperate request for his hug. “You know it’s you who’s the main reason why I hug you, not just because of how it feels.” You even add, hoping it’d move his heart.

He quietly chuckles at your claim, which honestly boosted up your hopes… for a moment, until you see his gaze back to normal without even a hint of change in his answer. What- did he seriously just laugh at you because he takes pity on your desperation?

“O-or just forget it..” You scoff out, your arms crossing each other as you turn around, your stuffy nose deciding that now would be the great time to embarrass you as you sniffle, although try to hold it back just to appear more… oh, what even was the proper word?

You were just petty. And upset that you can’t hold your lover. “I don’t need your hug anymore.” You add whilst laying down, to which you wouldn’t know how it’d affect him as your back was turned to him.

He was quiet for a little bit—Fyodor resting on his elbow with a faint smile as he indulged a bit more into your reaction. You were always either so attractive or so cute to him, now being the latter as he moved his elbow away, lying down on his side with his body facing you.

You refused to initiate the talk again, although your arms would slowly fall back from crossing each other, pressing against the smooth mattress as you hum in delight.

At least the bedsheets felt nice. It was one of the more lighter coverings, one silkier and nice to the touch so it’d ease the both of you to sleep.

And it worked exactly as it’s purpose.

Before you and even Fyodor knew, he’d hear quiet snoring coming from you, your body’s tension gone and melted as the cold of your air conditioning eased the sweat off.

His smile fades, although face keeping a soft look on it while he thought, “I couldn’t even get to move yet… but you’re already sound asleep.” left to look at your beautiful hair and your back hinting your slow breathing.

But quickly would he grow sleepy of watching you, his eyes glancing at the door for a bit before they fall back to you.

He planned to go outside the bedroom to get a hot cup of tea, even more so excited earlier as he thought of sharing the sudden idea with you, but found himself discarding it.

“Tomorrow..” Fyodor tells himself, closing his lips as he moves closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist as careful as possible without you waking up.

He’d close his eyes at your scent, his love for your smell never leaving even if the both of you were sick. At that moment, he had genuinely hated how his nose was stuffy as well—loathing it to disappear just so he can indulge more in you.

But him in your arms was enough. To see you asleep and peaceful kept him calm and satisfied.

Fyodor scoots closer so his head meets your shoulder, resting it there comfortably as he kept you warm. “Good night, (Name).” He hummed out, pressing a kiss on your shoulder before rubbing your skin softly with his thoughts lingering—“Get well soon for me. Because I’d rather see you feel better than see anything else right now.”

⚘

[rexxdjarin]

Clone x OC Week 2025

Day 3 - Conflict

Captain Rex x OC: Mari Vontas

The time has come to talk about the saddest, most difficult part of Rex and Mari’s relationship.

Some fic planning and some spoilers below the cut, so avoid if you don’t want to know👀

tw: SFW (for once lol), it is the big BIG sad though.

Despite the fact that Rex and Mari are together immediately following the fall of the Republic in my long fic Captain’s Log…

…they actually were broken up for quite a few months directly before the events of Order 66.

I know, I know. You never saw that coming or would’ve believed it either. Neither did they.

As things continued to escalate and get worse toward the end of the war, Rex and Mari both had less and less time for each other, no matter how much they wanted and needed it.

Mari, being a junior senate staffer, is dragged into more emergency senate meetings, more committee meetings to come up with some kind of plan to fight the obvious corruption taking over the Republic and eventually more secret meetings to assist Padmé and Bail with forming what eventually became the Rebel Alliance. All of that on top of working tirelessly to draft bill after bill trying to make clone rights and freedom a reality for the many clone troopers left in the Republic.

At the same time, she’s surrounded by all her friends who, in the 3 years since she’s been secretly dating Rex, have all gotten married and moved on or moved off world. Mari starts to feel immense pressure to follow their lead, to fulfill a childhood dream of a family and a comfortable life with a husband that she had always wanted. It’s a pipe dream with Rex and she knows it. She gets so carried away talking about it and trying to find ways to get them both there that Rex starts getting understandably upset by it.

Because Rex is fresh off dealing with some of the worst battles he’s lived through. The scars and losses from Umbara still haunt him, the weeks of slavery he endured while undercover on Zygherria, losing Hardcase, Echo, Tup, Fives dying in his arms, Ahsoka leaving…and the war just keeps pushing on. Never ending. Nothing ever getting much better. And the more he fights, the more he loses. Because he doesn’t get much time off anymore. He can’t run off to be with Mari, no matter how much he wants to. And the times he does spend with her…lately it seems like she’s looking toward a future path that his circumstances will never allow him to tread down. Even if it’s the path he desperately wants to be on.

It’s all just too much. He can never be the man she deserves to have that life of her dreams with. He can’t bear the thought of knowing she put her life and her dreams on hold to wait for him knowing he could easily die on one of these miserable missions and never come home. He might never be a person whole enough in the eyes of the galaxy to be legally, publicly married, free to choose a different life. He internalizes that guilt of never feeling like he could measure up to that life she wants and ends it with her. And he never tells her why. He figures it would be easier.

He up and does it one day. He goes to her place knowing he doesn’t intend to stay, for once. He can barely bring himself to open the door though he knows her chain code like he knows his own name. She runs to him for comfort and he allows himself a kiss and embrace. Unknowingly, the last ones she’d give him until Order 66. And when the words come out of his mouth, that he can’t do this anymore. They have to end things. It’s too hard.

It’s written all over her face. She is devastated. He could see it in her eyes. He could practically feel her heart crack in two, a debilitating pain he now knows too because they share the same wound. He’s as respectful as he can be. She’s as dangerously quiet as she’s ever been and that terrifies him the most. She does the one thing she’s never done - asks him to leave. And so he does.

The second her doors shut behind him he feels the weight of miscalculation punch him so deep in the gut he could’ve been sick on the spot. He walks the entire way back to the barracks, helmet sealed firmly on his head so no one can see his tears. He’d never really cried before. Not like this. And the raw, guttural emotion alone should’ve been the proof to him that this was wrong. But he took to treating it like a mission and tried to use his head. Cutting his losses, finding a way forward.

He went on for days, months…carrying the weight of the decision that killed him most, next to all the other bad ones he wished he could take back. Wished he could’ve done differently. And he presses on, numb and broken, with his soul left lingering in her hallway.

Meanwhile, Mari is quite literally destroyed. She doesn’t leave her place for days, choosing to work from her home in order to help Padmé any way she can. Burying herself in her work. She was so distraught that she couldn’t even find it in herself to be angry, which was her usual go-to emotion after a break up. That’s how she knew this wasn’t like any other relationship she’d ever had.

Her life becomes all about work. She sees no one else. She barely speaks to anyone outside her job. After what happened with Fives, she’s been no contact with Fox for almost a year. Even though he’s the only other person she would actually want to talk to right now, she just couldn’t bring herself to. It wasnt the same.

She has to grapple with how her own unrealistic expectations might’ve been what destroyed the best thing she’d ever had with the person she loved most in the universe. How maybe it was her own fault. That she pushed him too hard to meet an expectation that the reality they lived in refused to allow him a path to. She had to seriously consider if all of that keeping up with the jones’ was really what she wanted. And she realizes it wasn’t.

Because the second he stepped out that door, she died. No future of hers was worth living if he wasn’t a part of it. That sobering fact took her too long to realize. And he was gone. She might never see him again.

Her best friend Siviee practically begs her to come to 79s every night to see her, anything to help her move on. And understandably it’s impossible to go be around any other clones. But she finally wears her down enough that she does go and who decides to be there that night but Commander fucking Cody. Who knows everything about them and probably knows what went down.

And even Cody, though he doesn’t know her quite as well as Torrent Company did, can see she’s hurting, badly. He makes it a point to pull her aside, asking her if she’s alright to which the answer is, of course, no.

Cody is never one to give much away, but Mari could tell he was less than enthused to see her so upset. That maybe he didn’t agree with how his brother handled this. And so Mari does the only thing she can do, be honest and say the three words every clone dreams of but likely never lives long enough to hear. She tells him that she loves Rex. That she’s in love with Rex. And nothing that could ever happen would make that love go away. She can tell it hits Cody like a ton of bricks and she’s sure he tells him.

She never hears a word back. Months go by and she puts Rex’s stuff aside, hidden in the back of her closet so she doesn’t have to see it and be tormented by it. Her sheets, her clothes, her place…doesn’t smell like him anymore. She’s relatively back to normal with work and life. But she’s still not herself. Not the version of herself she liked most anyway. She has his comm channel hidden, so even if he tries to contact her she won’t see it. She just can’t be reminded of him if she’s ever going to move on.

But then the events of the Republic’s fall start happening…work is chaos. The Chancellor takes almost all remaining senatorial power. Padmé is M.I.A. The Jedi Temple is burning. Nothing makes any sense anymore. And the only person she wants to go to is him.

When she reopens their comm channel, she finds a message from him, a month or so old, and he looks…well about as good as she does. Maybe even worse given the state of things. And he confesses his love for her, too. The ol’ if you love her, let her go explanation. An honorable line of reasoning and yet still a painfully stupid one. Cody must’ve conveyed the message to him.

He must’ve been dying inside as much as she was. With everything else about both of their lives going up in flames at that very moment, she had nothing left to lose by punching in his private frequency and praying he was still alive to answer it.

And thus…we pick up at where Captain’s Log Chapter 1 begins.

—

Note: since captain’s log was started before mari became mari some of the tie-together of the story is a little bit off. namely the timeline. I am eventually going to change this captain’s log chapter to be more cohesive and seamless with where Unwritten ends. But minor details, you still get the main point of the story here and frankly I think my writing has gotten better since I wrote CL so long ago. With a little more interaction, maybe this will be the drive I need to go back and adjust things again. thanks for listening to my rambled fic plans/ideas. I’m SORRY ITS MESSY AND SAD.

tag: @clonexocweek

[chenkari]

Haven't made a personal post in a long time. I don't use tumblr like I used to, haha. I've been using it a little more lately though.

Bitchin' under the cut. Tw for depression, suicide, whatever.

I'm at a really low point in my life right now. We moved homes and it's been very hard on me. I lived in my old house for 24 years (since i was 5) and it's just very difficult for me to let go. I cry like every night about it, I miss my old house so bad. I'm thankful that I have a place to live and everything but it's just. So fucking hard. I know it'll get better with time but right now is so difficult. Thankfully we're still in the same state, initially my parents wanted to move out of state, so that's a plus. But regardless, we moved further away from my friends and work. My old commute to work was about 10 minutes, now it's 35-45. I hate my job, so having to drive further is like. So fucking annoying. Right now I'm off work on a medical leave, thankfully. I don't think I'd be able to function. I'm farther away from my best friend and while it isn't unmanageable, it's just.... idk frustrating. We've lived close together our whole lives.

I feel so isolated out here, it's further from the cities, there isn't a lot out here. I went on doordash and there were only 3 restaurants and a gift shop lmao. (major gripe: there is no target. im going to KILL MYSELF.)

I contemplated killing myself a lot. I'm so unhappy. I thought about doing it before we left the house. Like, so in a way so I wouldn't have to go. But I'm still alive. I still think about killing myself like every day though, especially at night. I think at night I become more emotional and shit. I'm alone with my thoughts in bed I guess, so I just think about it. I feel like this might be the most suicidal I've ever been in my life, and I've been trying to manage it but i'm struggling. I feel like I'm not even living. I'm just like. Surviving.

Something that has been really hard is like, my dad doesn't give a fuck. I can't be upset about moving in front of him cause he's like, oh my gooood, just get over iiiit. And like, I'm trying. But I'm allowed to be sad and miss my home too. Idk i want to be comforted by my family I guess. He's also just been more mean to me in general and idk why. Like I'll ask something totally... Normal. And he gets all pissed. Like I asked if he could pick up ramen noodles when he went to the store, and he got all pissed off. Like damn, sorry. And the thing is, I don't ask for much. I usually just ask my parents for like. A food item. I did ask recently for one of those mirror cabinets cause the new bathroom here does not have a lot of space. I asked about it again cause he never replied to my text and he yelled at me about that. Like, you can just say no. I just ended up buying it myself. Idk, i just wish he would say no instead of launching into yelling at me about it.

Idk I've just been so depressed lately, I can't bring myself to do anything productive. I just lay in bed. Even things I enjoy. I don't feel like playing games, I don't feel like talking to my friends, I don't feel like drawing. I just lay there doom scrolling on twitter. I've been a little better lately, I've been able to get out of bed and get on the computer for a bit. But still I have days where I just lay there.

I don't think i mentioned it on tumblr, but I'm a streamer now, (cringe ass vtuber. very small, not a big deal.) and while I normally like streaming, I can't bring myself to get back into my routine. My streams don't do so well too, so it's a bit disheartening. I'm not the most entertaining, it's my fault. Idk I'm just not very good at chatting about things going on cause I don't really have a lot going on. It's easier when people come watch and talk with me, but I can't expect that of people. I have to be better.

I'm scared about returning to work. I feel like I can't take it anymore. I hate my job so much, it's so fucking much. It's non stop work, no downtime, everything is always broken, and we don't have any appointments for people. (I make dr appointments for my job) All the appointments are like at least a week out and everyone is like "what the fuck" and I can't do shit about it. It's so stressful and idk. I don't want to go back. I've been looking for new jobs but I'm not having a lot of luck.

Tbh though I'm kinda in a tough financial situation right now so if anyone feels up to it, my paypal is https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/chenkari, I could use gas/grocery money. I would appreciate it.

I had to take Venus to the vet, she had an aural hematoma. They drained it, but her ear swelled up again. It is slowly going down now. I wonder how long until she'll be all better. I hope it isn't hurting her anymore. The cats have been good about the move. Sometimes Venus hides though and I can't find her anywhere :C I don't know where her hiding spot is wehh.

Anyways. Guess I just wanted to talk about what I was up to these days. Get it off my chest. Later.

[carefulfears]

how do you see mulder leaving in season 9? scully giving up william? how do they deal with these things? (their guilt, resentment, futility, etc)

i know i have a realllllllly unpopular opinion on all of this but as i've said recently, i just don't think there's anything easier on earth to convince mulder of than "things are safer if you're not here."

i usually come back to doggett's confusion in the beginning, the way he keeps asking and arguing and scully just keeps saying "he's gone" and shutting it down, until the end of the premiere when he realizes: "oh my god. it was scully. scully made him go."

god, it's sad. it's hard to talk about. i teared up trying to write this, as much as i am fonder of the storyline than most. i don't find it unrealistic or out of character or unfitting of the narrative. it doesn't mean i don't feel it's heartbreaking. i have such a hard time thinking of mulder missing that baby. not even having the chance to put up a fight, walking back into empty rooms. the show as a tragedy, finding your burden again, etc. the x-files as the gap between teary smiles at baby kicks to screams in a jail cell. as what it was in the beginning: unknowable answers to insurmountable grief.

and i just think about mulder's dramatic emails, writing that he doesn't think he can survive being away from them. spender looking at the baby and telling scully he's heard "so much" about him. mulder being tortured by soldiers, saying he's just thinking about his son. keeping 1 baby photo for 15 years. "i just missed both of you so much."

scully's fertility treatments and her prayers and her tears and her "last chance" and her miracle. and how deeply unfair it is, what happened to her. i don't think a single one of us could say what we could do if people kept breaking into our homes to suffocate a child we were still nursing. she didn't ever want to do it alone, that was never the plan.

but scully desperately wants to keep everybody safe. she thinks she’s keeping everybody safe. it’s hard to be starbuck. it's this conflict i keep talking about recently where you really start to notice how controlled she is by fear, how difficult it is for her to balance it all. my favorite visual on this is the gate at the house in i want to believe: every day the way she pulls up to it, gets out, opens it, pulls through, stops, gets out, closes it. repeat in reverse. and then she comes home and she says "the truth is, i worry about you." and that he's too isolated. turns around and shuts the door, leaves the house and locks the gate.

i wrote a bit a few weeks ago about scully's protectiveness and it made me think about what a trap it can be, how defending lends to fear and fear lends to defeat. to standing in a church 25-years deep and saying "i failed." in the tags of that post i asked "could they ever recover from her exiling him from being with their child because she was afraid it would kill him?" and said i don't know. and i don't, i don't know.

but i think there's something so brave in saying: i did the best i could, and maybe that wasn't right. it's why ghouli is one of my favorite episodes. scully sobbing to her son that she's sorry. she's sorry he doesn't know them. she wanted him, they loved him. "i was trying to keep you safe. i hope you know that." and she thought she was being strong, but maybe she was wrong.

things don't always shake out the way you want them to. it was always mulder that called their son a miracle, and mulder doesn't believe in miracles. mulder believes in the world, and the search, and the after.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hello! (And sorry in advance for the longread). First of all, thank you for all your hard work maintaining the most ultimate fanfic collection I've ever come across and guiding all the poor lost souls like myself towards their perfect fic solution! Life's pretty hard for me rn and through your lists and recommendations I've found exactly the works that help me keep pushing. And here comes the Second: I have two requests if I may? One is for helping find two works that I've read already but lost them and cannot find them for my life (probably just skipping them somehow, I can miss things right under my nose); first is I'm almost but not 100% sure about Sherlock dealing with withdrawal and John helping him, the one detail that I remember vividly is Sherlock telling John how Lestrade saved him from an od by unexpectedly showing up when Sherlock wanted to take his life 10 days after his verbally abusive father's funeral and that's also how he and Donovan met as Greg brought her with him. The second work is about sick feverish Sherlock and John calling Lestrade to help get Sherlock in the shower so he doesn't have to go to the hospital unless it doesn't help, Sherlock also unknowingly throwing punches when feverish, one landing on John's face, and he apologized afterwards.

And the second request is maybe you know some works that feature John asking Sherlock to dance and them subsequently dancing together, publicly if possible? Not an AU (I mean as a different universe like balletlock or fantasylock or sth, canon deviations are okay, even better if it's 'Mary's a villain') and not a sad ending if possible too. It just broke my heart that Sherlock loves dancing so much and John was apparently very reluctant and ashamed of them training before the wedding, so Sherlock had to help hide that, my poor baby. Would be ideal if it was specifically John wanting to make that right but I'll gorge up on anything except for AUs and sad endings.

Sorry if I'm asking for too much and/or if this whole word sheet is difficult to read since I'm not a native speaker. I hope that for as long as you still feel up to this and have love for the fandom you'll grace us with your presence and effort, it is greatly appreciated! Best wishes and thank you again!

Hi Nonny!!!

First of all, Thank you so much for your kind words!! I am humbled that you think of my blog as an "ultimate collection of fics" hahah. That's SO sweet and makes my tummy all squidgy!! I love when y'all find comfort in my happy place! :)

I'm so sorry you're going through a rough patch right now, but I'm glad that my blog makes the days easier for you 💜🖤

And you can have as many requests as you like!! This blog relies on them!!!! I'll try my best to help you find them!!

Sadly, I don't know what fics either of the two you are searching for are (the OD / withdrawal nor the shower fic) but my Lovelies and Lurkers™ have an uncanny ability to find fics that I don't know, so hopefully they'll come through for us for either of those.

As for the Second Request, best I can do IMMEDIATELY are these lists:

Dancing (updated March 14/23)

Sexy Dancing

Evil / Not-Nice / Villain Mary

Not EXACTLY what you're looking for, but I hope that these will be a good start!!

If anyone wants to offer ANY fic for ANY of the requests for Nonny, please let us know!! I check the notes on all posts and add them to the lists! 💜🖤

Hope you're having a great day Nonny, and lots of HUGS!!!

[shmaptainwrites]

𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 [𝐁𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐘 𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐇]

PAIRINGS —  Bobby Nash x GN!Reader

SUMMARY —  Bobby goes to Venice beach after a hard 48 hour shift

WARNINGS — mentions of death, angst, sadness

NOTE — This is a lot shorter than what I normally write but I had an itch to write something based on My Heart is Buried in Venice and this scene came to my mind hope you guys enjoy being hurt as much as i do ._.

My Heart is Buried in Venice | Ricky Montgomery

The waves crashed quietly against the shore while the water reflected the sparkling stars. Bobby dropped his phone in the sand and sat down facing the ocean. He hadn’t slept properly in 48 hours, the end of a long shift filled him with restlessness and an inability to close his eyes. So he stared at the horizon, where the water met the sky and the stars and moon danced in their reflections.

It had been a difficult few days, the team was all feeling it, he only hoped that after taking the time to speak with each of them they felt a little better than he did.

He felt the sand shift next to him and when he turned his head he saw you squatting down into a seated position to join him.

He frowned, he hadn’t told anyone he was coming here.

“How did you know I was here?” he asked simply, turning back to look at the rippling water.

“You always come here when you’re upset,” you shrugged. “Thought it was worth a try.”

He nodded his head and continued to stay silent. You gave him a moment to adjust to your presence before carefully moving closer to him and holding his hand that was nearest to you, fingers intertwined.

You knew why he came here. Somewhere that seemed so unlike his usual scene. He said his heart was buried here. You never really knew what that meant, but it made it a little easier to find him on days like this.

Bobby leaned a little closer to you, his head finding a comfortable place to rest on your shoulder. His attitude over the years had changed so strikingly compared to the closed off, reserved, and efficient fire Captain you had first met, and for that you were grateful. You held him close and pressed a kiss to his temple,

“You don’t have to be strong for me,” you whispered. “Not like you are for everyone else. You know that.”

He nodded his head slowly, his composed façade cracking with every word and action of compassion and comfort.

“It’s his birthday today, isn’t it?” you asked and Bobby nodded again, a few tears managing to slip through.

“He would have been 17,” he whispered, the first time he had spoken up since you first arrived. “I used to promise him and his sister that I’d bring them here someday.”

He sniffed and squeezed your hand a little tighter, shutting his eyes so his tears couldn’t glisten in the moonlight.

“I wish I brought them here when they were still alive,” he choked slightly on his words, “But all I ever did was spread their ashes here.”

You shut your eyes, fighting back your own tears while he trembled against you.

“I’m just so tired,” he broke down into tears, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

You let go of Bobby’s hand and pulled him closer to you, cradling his head gently.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I-I’m-,”

“Shh,” you hushed him gently. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

Bobby was always everyone’s shoulder to lean on, but that never meant he was immune to what came with the job. Just maybe a little better at hiding it than everyone else.

“You’re allowed to be tired,” you told him. “Allowed to not be okay, you’re allowed to miss them, Bobby. But you’re not allowed to deal with this alone. There’s always someone out there who cares for you, whether it’s me, or Buck, Chim, Hen, Eddie. We all love you. I love you.”

It wasn’t an uncommon exchange of words between you and your teammates, but something this time made it feel different.

Bobby nodded his head again and wiped away his tears with the sleeve of his sweater.

He lifted his head from your shoulder and turned to look at you. It was clear you could both do with a little rest and relaxation, but this was one of those moments where life goes on, with or without you.

He gently cupped your cheek with his hand and leaned down slightly to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you too.”

You closed your eyes for a moment at the sound of those words. It was the best way he knew how to say thank you for looking out for me. You took his hand in yours again and pushed yourself up off the sand.

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

He followed your lead and grabbed his phone from next to him, before walking with you, side by side away from the shore.

All those times, spent alone by the water and all he ever really needed was someone to bring him home.

[strayheartless]

I’m thinking of liverpepper… and it’s making me sad.

So here, have a AU brain dump over cloud and his Geostigma:

I know we’ve seen Mako drawn as tablets, but I kind of imagine Clouds Mako days as being either injections like steroids or him having to go to the hospital for specific mako treatment, like chemotherapy.

Cloud was off school a lot. As a result he had to work twice as hard as everyone else just to keep up and graduate. His friends always brought him his homework, but there were some teachers (you know the ones) who made him feel guilty about how often he got laid up.

Like it got bad enough that now Cloud kind of has a complex about it as an adult, and Leon has to keep reminding him that he’s not weak for letting his body heal.

We know (from sora) that Mako used to affect his memory, make him pretty much a zombie. But I imagine that it’s worse straight after treatment. Like he’ll be in bed for two or three days but then for the next week -maybe two if it’s bad- Cloud kind of used to walk around in a haze. Squall, Zack, Tifa and Aerith used to tag team on who would guide him from lesson to lesson.

Squall used to act as a bit of a body guard with Zack. If anyone dared gossip about Cloud or try to make his day more difficult while he was vulnerable, they’d end up having the terrible twosome descend on then. Turns out there a lot of ways you can threaten someone without getting caught.

Cloud didn’t stop taking Mako until age 18. And he absolutely has been hospitalised by it.

He’s had Mako poisoning twice, and each time people truly thought he would die.

He was part of a clinical trial for materia to begin with, and it meant he had to forgo Mako treatments for 4 months (to get it out of his system) before they could start him on Materia.

Those four months were probably the most fraught and painful of his life. He spent most of it asleep and in agony, while Squall refused to leave him ‘just incase’. The entire friend group rallied to try and make it easier.

The first month on Materia was also not fun. Lot of knew side effects while his body got used to it. Some got easier, some he still has. He doesn’t suffer from tinnitus or depth perception issues anymore, but he still has periodic bouts of insomnia. He also deals with almost chronic heart burn.

Materia doesn’t effect his memory like the Mako, but it doesn’t help either. The Mako did a serious number on his brain tissue, and while doctors are sure his brain will recover, it seems to be a long arduous process.

Sometimes Cloud requires a mobility aid. Sometimes a cane, sometimes crutches, sometimes -if it’s bad- he needs a wheelchair to get round a supermarket or mall. It depends on the day, the spoons and the sores.

The first thing Cloud demanded be done when they adopted Sora and Roxas, was that they get them checked for the Geostigma Gene. He knows they are not - biologically speaking -able to get it from him, but Leon agrees just to settle Clouds anxieties about it.

Nowerdays his Geostigma is the most manageable it’s ever been, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.

Lockdown was scary In their house. It’s no exaggeration to say Squall whipped down every surface, sanitised every piece of food packaging, made sure anybody with even a sniffle quarantined as soon as it happened. And Cloud -for all his griping that it was fine appreciated it.

after lockdown rules started easing Sora and Roxas started feeling super anxious about going out incase the brought something back. Because it wasn’t a joke to them.

Cloud himself dealt with a sudden surge of powerful anxiety even going out the front door.

Squall got him one of those sunflower lanyards, that lets people know you are immunocompromised, and it helps a little, but they all felt different about going outside.

These are just a few thinly thoughts.

[chainoftalent]

would it be a bit much to ask for the whole yandere profile for shuichi? 👉👈

I am NOT late to this ask it is NOT over a month old I am ON TOP OF THINGS forever and ever, (tw: dark content, plus nsfw and noncon themes below the cut)

What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

Shuichi is mostly lucid accept around you specifically, to everyone else when you're not around he's lucid, sharp, and his usual shy self. However with you he kinda gets...rose tinted glasses. Nothing he does to you is bad, and nothing you do to him is bad. There's always some other thing that's making it bad. You're not the bad one it's your friends making you be bad, he's not being abusive, he's just trying to protect you but he got a bit overwhelmed. It's fine! We're happy. Do not try and tell him you're not he'll get mad

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

Decently high, if you're the kind of person who has few friends and never leaves the house he'll probably just move in. However if you're not a shut-in seeing you interact with people who don't do it like he thinks they should will grate on him until he nabs you for a greater good

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape? 

The first attempt is the easiest because of his delusion that you're happy, however once he learns you're gonna try it gets HARD, he's a detective after all. He knows lots of stuff about manipulation, containment, and the like. Prepare for so many secret cameras and bugs!

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Hard, unless you REALLY play into his desires for family and love. He's a sap and weak for you, but he's still smart. Playing along makes him easier to manipulate.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

Decently lenient, he doesn't WANT to punish you, and he blames everyone else for your misdeeds. He's more likely to give you a sad puppy look, but he can get serious. He's not afraid to get physical if he thinks he has to, and he's not afraid to take away rights. Speaking of rights, you'd be mostly allowed to just be yourself besides intense monitoring. However, he wants his soft fluffy fantasy, so he's going to feed into that, which means soft clothes for his love, and nothing overly engaging, nothing that's not saccharine sugary sweet. You wanna read a tragedy? Nope. You wanna play a tough game? Sorry guns aren't very kawaii of you we can't have that.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

For what it's worth the rules aren't too complex, let him dote on you, don't try and escape, don't talk to anyone unworthy, and don't disobey him. Simple basic stuff for what it's worth.

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

He'll either try and make them go away through social manipulations, or just straight up frame them. He doesn't like to get bloody about it, but if they push him hard enough he will.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

His anger is a held back anger, a dark look in his eyes and a wrinkle in his brow from his pinched face. It's a deep calming breath and tightening hands, it's a voice that's trying to sound steady but you know it's not asking why you couldn't just let him do this for you. Do not push back against him and his affections if you don't want him angry.

Do they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

His love is absolutely above him, so perfect and kind, he must have more.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

He's SO DETERMINED he's DESPERATE to fix his abandonment issues via the person he falls in love with, he won't stop.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

He's more shy, while he gets a bit more firm once he has control over the situation, he's still shy and awkward and likely to hide behind his hat.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

He's touchy, but a shy touchy. He loves to touch his love, but he's the type to brush a face with his thumb, go bright red, and then pull away because he's too shy. Once he starts to get used to it though, his hands are going EVERYWHERE to make his love feel good, to hold his love closer.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

He wants you to want it, but if he thinks it'll make you feel better or happy, your willingness is second to your pleasure.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

He's got such a body worship thing and a praise thing, he needs to be slow and soft and tie up his love in silk and ribbons and worship them and praise them and make them feel so sososo good.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

YES YES YES he wants like 2-3 kids and a white picket fence and to hold hid kids close and love them very much and make sure they weren't left alone like he was.

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

They don't do those kinds of punishments, the furthest I can see him going is a gag and maybe some spanking from bad behavior.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

They love it all really, but their thighs, their arms, it's all so good to him.

[loftylockjaw]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Xóchitl's home PARTIES: Wyatt (@loftylockjaw), Mateo (@fearhims3lf), & Xóchitl (@vanishingreyes) SUMMARY: Wyatt and Mateo decide it's time to tell Xóchitl the truth about what they are. CONTENT WARNINGS: Child death (past mentions), vomiting (no detail)

—

He’d been unreachable for a few days again. His friends might as well start getting used to that, he thought—Wyatt just dropping off the radar for days at a time. It seemed like no matter what he did, it was always the wrong thing. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep himself together. He was unraveling, bit by bit, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.

There were only a few things that could make him feel better, and even those paled in comparison to the one thing he knew he wanted, but should not want. It didn’t stop him, though. Kieran had been a saving fucking grace through most of this, offering a peace of mind that didn’t require any legwork on Wyatt’s part. No difficult conversations, no ‘coming to terms’ with one’s predicament, no dealing with the aching sadness that was shackled around his ankles. With Kieran, or more specifically, Kieran’s special blend of magical influence, it was easy. As easy as breathing. When he needed to, he could just… forget for a while. Feel good for a while. Enjoy himself and ignore the cloud that followed him around and the shadow that kept trying to strangle him. 

But now he had Xóchitl and Mateo, didn’t he? What had started to develop with them was new and exciting, and even though it wasn’t quite so effortless as the situation he had with Kieran, he found himself wanting to try. Wanting to do better, to be better, maybe just to prove that he could. God, he just wanted someone to be proud of him, and if anyone was going to, he thought it might be them. But there was something standing in the way. Something big—something he and Mateo both needed to discuss with Xóchitl. At first, he’d been thinking about just telling her himself, but now that he knew Mateo’s truth, it didn’t feel right to open that can of worms without the mare at his side. Maybe together, they could make this easier for her. He hoped so.

As it seemed to have become their custom, Wyatt helped Mateo prepare some food for the three of them that evening with a stiffness in his spine that wasn’t normally there, but managed to persist all throughout dinner and the first round of drinks. They’d discussed how best to bring this up, how to explain it and how to make sure it didn’t freak her out, but Wyatt was nervous. He’d been rejected so many times in recent memory, he wasn’t sure if he could handle Xóchitl turning away from him, too. From either of them, or both of them. Fuck. He ran a hand through his hair, throwing a glance toward the couch where Xó was currently sitting alone, waiting for them to rejoin her with fresh beverages. 

The worry was clear in his expression, eyes betraying the lurking fear. “I dunno,” he said in a low whisper, careful to not be heard over the sound of the television. “Maybe tonight ain’t the night for it.”

—

There was a lot that could be said about the last few months of her life, and a lot of that which could be not so great, but some of it was really good. Xóchitl didn’t like to be overly excitable – after all, that usually ended in disappointment. But she had people who wanted her, and though that itself wasn’t necessarily new (she’d used people wanting her too much throughout her life to distract herself from any number of other trains of thought), it still felt different, somehow. Miraculously. She very much enjoyed the attention, and the addition of Wyatt into whatever was going on felt near-seamless. Like it was meant to be. What had started as casual remarks had turned out to be far more real, and she needed this. Needed the stability that both Mateo and Wyatt provided her. The safety and security. 

She wasn’t stupid enough to believe that this was all sunshine and rainbows. That version of her had died on that same April day that she lost her best friend, her other half, the sunlight to her shadow (that much had been thought of in a particularly angsty middle school mood). What was more accurate was probably that Mackenzie herself was a shadow. Xóchitl’s shadow, more specifically. Something she’d never be rid of, something that was a part of her, that she couldn’t carve off even if she wanted to.

Not that she wanted to, but sometimes she’d wondered what it would be like without the ghost (figurative, obviously) of her best friend over her shoulder her entire life. She had a good feeling that was a good portion of the reason why she was so certain she’d be an awful mother. She already had a child she was watching over (two, if you counted her inner child or whatever bullshit one of her therapists had come up with), and she was doing a pretty crummy job of that.

Mateo and Wyatt were both over tonight, and yeah, maybe Xóchitl had bought a new dress that she knew every part of her looked extra good in, and the two of them were off in the kitchen making something that she knew would be every bit of delightful, and she sat on the couch. Dinner had already been wonderful, and she couldn’t help but glance in the direction of the kitchen, wondering if she should go and offer to help, but ultimately deciding to fidget instead with her glass. She pulled out her phone and looked at the photo-of-a-photo of her and Mackenzie. Tongues sticking out, both bright blue, eyes squeezed as shut as they could make them, arms effortlessly wrapped around each other. “I’m gonna make things right for you, you know?” She whispered at the screen, and then, in Spanish, “I promise. On my life and on every single ice cream sundae you never got to have.”

—

Sticking around in one place wasn’t supposed to happen, let alone growing attached to people. Two, specifically. Doing that was dangerous, the amount of reasons a little overwhelming and mounting. The ones from Mateo’s job alone should’ve deterred him from doing such a thing. 

And yet…

He scrubbed at the dishes while Wyatt topped off the drinks, bobbing his head absentmindedly to the song quietly playing from the speakers on the counter, while something played just a little louder on the television. 

The drums, the bass, and the rhythm kept his brain occupied for the merest of moments, sending them back to the days he felt were so simple. Afternoons after a carne asada at his tías house, all his cousins and his brother congregated at the special club house they made. It was just a detached set of stairs from a thrown out mobile home, but it was theirs. They could sit on it and jump on it and play pretend while their parents talked into the night, playing lotería to top it all off. The memories were so vivid that the dishes in Mateo’s hands turned into playing cards, and the music was just Junior shouting for him to freeze during freeze tag, and the knife—it wasn’t supposed to be there. It wasn’t supposed to—His brother—

“Fuck.” He whispered to himself, skin on his thumb sliced. Glitter collected in the wound and the mare grumbled just before hearing Wyatt’s hesitancy. Quickly, Mateo pressed a clean rag against his wound in a fist while his other hand urged Wyatt’s chin to turn to him. His expression was as soft and calm as he could make it, reflecting gently on his voice. “If not tonight, then when? We’ll only keep putting it off.” Mateo leaned in slowly, meeting Wyatt’s lips in a soft kiss. Pulling away, he adjusted his red shades and tilted his head down to reveal his glowing eyes with a smirk. “Can’t keep looking like a douche with sunglasses inside, okay?” Checking his thumb, Mateo was happy to see that the bleeding was done, and he patted his hands against his pants before getting himself ready to head to the living room.

“Now get the orange peel garnish onto those drinks. They’ll take off the edge.”

—

The fingertips on his jaw as his head was turned to face Mateo drew a soft groan from him, one that was born both of anxiety and the ever-present need to be touched. His steely blue gaze dropped to the other’s hand, having registered the quiet exclamation and spotting the rag in the hand. “I know, but…” The thought went unfinished as he was offered a kiss instead, which did manage to help calm his nerves a little. But only a little. The following joke chipped away another nugget of fear, making Wyatt chuckle breathily. Mateo was right, of course. This wasn’t sustainable at all, for a lot of reasons. One of which included the injuries that Xóchitl would undoubtedly start noticing, now that he had fewer excuses to keep himself away from her while he healed after a fight. He was… he was going to tell her all of it. He had to. He couldn’t handle the pressure of keeping secrets from her anymore, and he didn’t want to have to. He just hoped that she’d be able to find it in herself to understand.

“Okay, okay,” he agreed, picking up an orange from the fruit bowl sitting on the counter, rummaging around in the drawers for a moment before finding the peeler and getting to work making the garnishes. Twisting them into spirals, making sure the vapors landed in the drinks, Wyatt plopped them where they belonged and picked up two glasses, leaving the third for Mateo to grab. “Your finger okay?” he asked as they began to walk into the living room again, hesitating on the threshold for only a moment before entering the space and handing Xóchitl her new drink once he was close enough. He sat on one side of her, Mateo taking up his post on the opposite side, and he could feel his heart racing. How did you even… start this conversation? He glanced apprehensively at Mateo again, clearing his throat and taking a sip of the cocktail before setting it aside and reaching for the remote to mute what they’d been watching. The music still played softly from the kitchen, and he was glad that it wasn’t dead silent. 

“Hey, so… there’s somethin’... we wanna, uh, talk to you about.” He stumbled through the sentence, smiling awkwardly for the briefest of moments to at least indicate to her that it wasn’t bad… at least not in any way that Xóchitl might have been anticipating. Wyatt paused, leaning forward to prop an elbow on his knee, pushing his fingers over his mouth in a thoughtful gesture. He sucked in a sharp breath, but nothing was coming to him. I’m not human. It was that simple, but it wasn’t fucking simple at all, actually. His gaze jumped from the random spot on the floor he’d been staring at to instead find Mateo’s gaze, begging silently for help.

—

She had to admit, all the attention was even better than she’d imagined. Xóchitl was also fairly pleased with herself and with the fact that she didn’t feel jealous about whatever Mateo and Wyatt got up to on their own. She’d wondered if she might, but that was the beauty of this, wasn’t it? They could pair off and do whatever they wanted to with each other, or they could do things all three of them. It left many options open, and she appreciated each one.

Xóchitl could practically feel herself brighten as the two of them entered the room. Taking the drink from him and an immediate sip, she looked between the two men, posture going tight when Wyatt muted the television and didn’t just turn it off. It probably meant nothing, but ever since coming back from Ireland, she had been more easily spooked, and unfortunately and apparently that even included by some of the people she trusted most. She loathed psychoanalyzing herself (she’d hated it enough when people had been paid to do it), and much preferred to just let herself be. Or not be, a lot of the time. Drinking helped with that. She didn’t know if this drink was strong enough, but she wasn’t going to complain. 

She often only complained if it brought her some sort of pleasure, and putting down Wyatt or Mateo wouldn’t do that. Besides, the drink was probably plenty strong. She just had a weirdly high tolerance for these things. If weirdly high was what they were calling it these days. Which, of course, they weren’t, but she wasn’t exactly about to go around naming exactly what it was. It was obvious enough, Xóchitl figured, and she was at least usually careful enough for it not to be any real worry.

Something they wanted to talk to her about. Xóchitl took a deep breath and another giant gulp of her drink, before she set it on the table. “If you two want to just be a duo, that’s… fine.” Xóchitl looked between the two of them, though her poker face wasn’t as well-kept as usual. She knew it said but what about me? And Xóchitl didn’t mean for it to, because she was usually a jealous person, but she liked to think that she was at least seventy percent of the reason why any of this had happened in the first place, and she wasn’t exactly keen to lose either of them. She looked between the two of them. Looked down at her hands. Rubbed her fingers against her eyes in some half-formed attempt to see better, or distract herself, or something. “What’s the matter?”

—

Ah, shit. 

The mare scrubbed at his stubble while the conversation quickly went the absolute wrong direction. “Okay.” Mateo said pointedly, clapping his hands together and seating himself next to Wyatt with a pat to his knee. He reached for one of the drinks and took a giant gulp before lightly slamming it back to the table. “That’s not where this is going, ma. Not at all. So, let’s jot that down real quick before spiraling.” He reassured as best he could with his usual humor and lax flair, but he wasn’t sure if that was the right call. Xóchitl usually appreciated it. 

Usually. 

“There’s a few things we’re trying to air out—like…like things that are important for you to know. Nothing about breaking up. No, uh, nothing like that. It’s just…” Mateo sighed deeply, frustrated with himself at being unable to just say the truth. He felt ridiculous, really. Confidence was something he never had to struggle with, but the truth? Well, Mateo ran from it, constantly. Sometimes he wasn’t sure if he was even honest with himself. He knew the answer, somewhere deep down, but that didn’t really matter right then. He needed to focus, and after a squeeze to Wyatt’s thigh, Mateo decided to rip off the bandaid. Or rather, his shades, revealing his glowing red eyes. 

“It’s this.” He gestured to his eyes, swiping his drink and downing the rest of it. “We’re different.”

—

Wyatt looked taken aback at her reaction, not having expected that. At worst, he’d thought maybe she figured he was going to tell her that this situationship wasn’t something he could do, or… any number of other things, but them walking away from her together? He didn’t know what to say, gaze darting over to Mateo when he (thank fuck) grabbed onto the reins to try and stop this runaway horse. (He was a mare. There was a joke in there somewhere, but the punchline got lost in Wyatt’s anxiety.) 

Okay, so maybe Mateo wasn’t having the easiest time with this, either. How did you just tell someone ‘hey, by the way, I’m not human!’ when they were, and they so clearly didn’t believe in that kind of thing? She was going to think they were crazy, or… or something, he didn’t know what, he just knew it wouldn’t be good. He knew it was going to upset this amazing thing they had, he just hoped it wouldn’t be forever. 

“Yeah, it’s not—definitely not that,” Wyatt agreed quickly, hoping that if he picked up where Mateo had left off, the words would come.

They did not. 

Mateo squeezed his leg and he gave him a worried glance, brows raising when he saw him just… take off his glasses. The lamia stared for a few seconds in a stunned silence, then figured… yeah. Showing was way easier than telling. “... yeah. Different,” he parroted the other, dragging his gaze back to face Xóchitl, blinking away his blue eyes to instead reveal his natural yellow ones, complete with vertical slits for pupils. “We just… thought that you should know. And we want to…” his gaze darted briefly over to Mateo, then back again, “...explain it. We’re still… us.” Fuck’s sake, he sounded like a dork. He needed to shut up and let her just have a moment to react.

—

She didn’t know what, exactly, she was expecting them to say.

“Okay.” It wasn’t about breaking up. Which she’d sort of figured out already. She didn’t like to think of herself as self centered, but Xóchitl also knew that except for once, she’d never been let go out of any sort of situation she’d found herself in. She’d made sure of that. Xóchtil wasn’t going to be the one left again. Not ever. It had happened once, and she was going to do everything in her power to be a leaver, rather than someone left. Ideally neither, but she was stupid or naive enough to think that nobody ever left anybody else.

She wasn’t a child. She didn’t know when she’d last really been one.

It wasn’t the time to think about that right now, not when it made her feel sick and she very much wanted to be as level-headed as possible.

Which was becoming hard when both of their eyes changed and Xóchitl couldn’t help but let out at least the start of a scream before biting down so hard on her tongue she was nearly positive it would bleed. “I – what?” She shot up from the couch, side-stepping both of them until she was around the coffee table. “I – what?” She repeated, then in Spanish, “what is happening? What the hell is going on? This doesn’t make any sense.” Back to English, “what – I’ve never seen eyes that do that. Has it been checked by a doctor? Are you – what?”

—

Okay, so she didn’t scream, not exactly. Which had to be good. She didn’t run when she stood, but the fact that she placed distance between them and herself, albeit small, still managed to sting. After months of being what he thought was at least a decent boyfriend, Mateo was still likely now a monster in her eyes. It shouldn’t have hurt because he had lied to her the entire time, but it did. 

Regardless of that though, Mateo stood up and made a ‘calm down’ motion with his hands. “It’s okay. It’s okay, cariña. Doctors can’t check them.” When Xóchitl switched her tongue, so did Mateo. “No one we don’t know or trust can check them or know that we’re different.” He kept his voice as calm as possible, extending a hand to Xóchitl, palm faced up. 

“That’s why you get to know though. We trust you and want to still be…” Gesturing to himself and the other two with his free hand, Mateo worried his lip, only continuing after a breath. “Us. If you wanna hear us explain, it would mean a lot. And-and we’ll answer any questions you have.” He swallowed thickly, exhaling shakily as his eyes met Xóchitl’s and spoke in their native tongue. A small gesture only she was allowed to hear, like a language between lovers. Because it was. “I love you. I know it’s scary, but I needed to show you the truth. Couldn’t hide it from someone I love anymore.”

—

Wyatt wasn’t sure why he’d hoped that she’d be surprised but okay. His anxiety over having this conversation came from a place of truer understanding that it wouldn’t be okay, but still he had foolishly hoped… but she was drawing away from them, fear in her eyes and a tremble in her voice. It was expected. It was, but… 

The lamia stayed put on the couch even after Mateo stood, running a hand through his hair. He kept his gaze focused down on the floor, trying to follow the parts of conversation that switched to Spanish, but his comprehension was pretty lacking. That damn Duo owl hadn’t exactly gone over the ins and outs of having a conversation about coming out as supernatural. He felt suddenly out of place in the room and had to fight the urge to get up and leave, bouncing his leg nervously where he sat and wringing his hands. Would she kick them out? Would she never speak to them again? It was her choice, of course, and it wasn’t one Wyatt could really fault her for, even if it would hurt like hell. 

Honestly? He worried more for Mateo than he did himself. Wyatt had grown used to the rejection over the last decade and a half, he had already resigned himself to being the worst option for anyone who showed an interest in him. And while that’d always been in the back of his mind even with these two, it had been a particularly blissful blanket of ignorance that he’d wrapped himself in every time they were all together. He knew that their future almost certainly had no room for him, but now he worried that it didn’t have room for Mateo, either. This had been a joint decision between the two men, but he still felt responsible, somehow. Like his mere presence had necessitated this conversation that was forming a rift. He didn’t want to do that to them. 

But… he also wasn’t going to abandon Mateo in this, so he stayed put, trying not to draw attention to himself. 

—

Her whole body was still tense. She didn’t like it. It was an uncomfortable feeling and not one that she was used to having around the two men who were sitting across the room from her. With either or both of them she usually felt safe, incredibly so. It was something she took for granted – that much she was well aware of – but she hadn’t figured the alternative was something like this. Xóchitl tugged on the ends of her hair in some falsified way of trying to ground herself. It was, at least, a better alternative than collapsing onto the couch.

Mateo was speaking to her in Spanish and that, at least, helped her focus, just a bit. She reached out, put her hand in his, her chest rising and falling with desperate, quick breaths. Mateo and Wyatt could usually calm her down easily. Wyatt had dealt with panic attacks that she’d had ten-odd years ago, in clubs or even when they went out for burgers and she saw a family with a little blonde girl. “But it’s — we’re – us?” She bit the edge of her tongue as hard as she could, forced herself to think at least a bit before she spoke.

She looked up, looked at the two people who she was completely in love with and she felt herself burst into tears, tearing her hand away from Mateo’s. “I – but what are you? What is…?” Xóchitl thought to her conversation with Emilio, to how much she still didn’t understand and still didn’t really believe. Except now was it anything other than willful ignorance? Emilio didn’t lie, Emilio knew about this stuff, and yet… her thoughts kept bouncing around, entirely out of control. “Not – I – you’re…” she shook her head. “Not – you’re not whats. Did you – do – Mackenzie – she –” This time, Xóchitl did collapse onto the floor. “She – I – she – ” she dug her nails into her thighs. “I – she was – something killed her. Not r-rocks. Not– something – something evil.”

—

It felt wrong. Everything about what was happening felt like the axis of Mateo's world had been skewed entirely too far. For the first time in a long time, the mare felt like he needed to breathe, dust rolling off his lungs as something disturbed the space and constricted uncomfortably tight in his chest. Mateo choked on air at how strange it was to not have the relief release him from his panic, and the world twisted as hard as his lungs did. 

“I…” Mateo fell back into the couch behind him, accidentally pulling Xóchitl along with him as he braced himself on Wyatt's thigh. He looked back at the man, and then back at Xóchitl, until he decided he preferred to look at the floor instead when he heard the name of a girl that never got to grow up. Killed by something evil, and Mateo didn't know how to feel about that fact now that he was airing out his truth. 

He killed all the time, and that was bad, but there was a difference to what he did. Right? There was a code to follow, morals to adhere to. Mateo would never hurt a child. Hell, he killed people that did. So there was a difference. That's what he told himself when he looked back at Xóchitl and squeezed Wyatt's thigh for reassurance. 

“I'm something called a mare-not like a horse. Like…nightmare.” His posture stiffened, “I make people have nightmares and take that energy. It's-it's why you're able to sleep through the night. I can make people sleep.” A trembled sigh stuttered past his lips, and Mateo squeezed his eyes shut until he saw stars and focused. “Can be evil, but I'd never hurt a kid. I…I actually go after people who do, but, uh, yeah. I'll let Wyatt say his piece.”

—

Wyatt wasn't sure what to say. He couldn’t sit here and pretend like he adhered to a strict moral code. If Xóchitl was worried about them being evil like whatever had killed her friend… he wasn't the perfect antithesis to that. Mateo might be, under a certain lens, but Wyatt? 

He sucked in a long breath, frustrated to find that yet again, he could not be his true, authentic self. But that was okay. He was used to being a pretender. At least he'd spilled every last bean to Caleb. At least he had that. Whatever they were… they were honest. And he wanted to be honest with Xóchitl too, but… how could he? How could he, when she was so fucking scared? She had every right to be. Every reason. Things like Wyatt didn't deserve innocent girls like her. It wasn't fair to her. It wasn't right. He should walk away. 

But instead, true to his own selfish nature, he stayed. He put a hand over the top of the one on his thigh, fingers curling beneath Mateo’s palm to give it a quick return squeeze. 

“There's a lot of evil things out there, cher. The best way you can make sure you're safe from ‘em is to.. to know ‘em. Learn about ‘em. Accept what you never thought was possible as bein’ true.” He paused before continuing, his attention drifting somewhere into the middle distance. “I was born different. Hell, I weren't even born like either of you.” Saying out loud that he'd hatched from an egg felt like too much right now, so he just left it at that. “I'm a… shapeshifter.” The obvious example to make to help her understand was, of course, a werewolf, but he was nothing like a werewolf. “A lamia. I don't really got any cool abilities like Doctor Sleep over here, but… I'm scrappy. Hard to kill. And it's a bit on the nose what with the bayou redneck of it all, but… I look somethin’ like a big alligator.” He dropped his chin, thinking about how he'd been lying to her all these years. “That’s… who I really am. This is…” he looked down at his human form and shrugged, “Well, this helps me fit in. I'm sorry I never said nothin’ before. Didn't know how. Still don't.”

—

In all her panic, Xóchitl realized that she hadn’t entirely taken into account their reactions. Which was unlike her – she wanted people to be happy, especially those she loved, and she did love them both. Deeply. In ways that, on a clichéd level, she didn’t think possible. But she was always meant to lose those close to her, wasn’t she? It wasn’t death, but there was no way that she could handle this, could she? Even she wasn’t sure that she could, because this was all too much.

Xóchitl wasn’t even sure that she could process what the both of them were saying. Mare-not-horse and giant alligator. Which weren’t real, but Emilio had told her things about shape-shifters and stuff like that and Emilio wouldn’t lie and she didn’t really see a reason why either Mateo or Wyatt would, either.

She was going to be sick. That much she knew. So she shook her head, darted toward the bathroom and let herself be sick into the toilet, three times over. Then she washed her mouth out with mouthwash and made her way back into the living room. “I– sorry.” She didn’t know exactly why she was apologizing, but it was all she could manage to get out.

“You – you’ve always been that, then?” She looked directly at Wyatt. “Back in Boston, too? What’s – who – Doctor Sleep?” Her brow furrowed in deep confusion. “You made me sleep? But you’re – how is that possible? How are you,” she turned back to Wyatt, “an alligator? You look like – well, you know – you look like you. This you. Is it some sort of mirage?”

—

Wyatt was talking, but the mare didn't really hear anything while anxiety crept over him. Having to explain the nitty gritty details felt uncomfortable, which was strange to Mateo because he rarely felt that way. He liked who he was, he enjoyed his abilities and the possibilities that came with them. Not aging was pretty baller, but explaining it all came with a dread Mateo had been avoiding since he died. Regardless of how much he wanted to be a mare, he had to accept the horrors that came with that decision. What it meant to die terrified. 

His own brother killed him. 

His brother killed him, saw the deepest and darkest fears that he tucked away for no one to find, and killed him. And Mateo let him do it–begged him to because he wanted the life he was currently living. He could do without some parts, but those feelings were tucked away now too. Only this time, no one would be able to find them. Mateo hoped he wouldn't either. He didn't like looking within often, and it felt like hours before Xóchitl came back after getting sick. Sitting there with a grip he didn't realize was tightening while too in thought. Mateo let out a shaky breath and cleared his throat, removing his hand reluctantly to give Wyatt's thigh a break. 

Mateo blinked and stared through Xóchitl, pausing way too long after not realizing there was a question pointed to him. His mouth opened and closed several times before something finally cracked its way through. He swallowed, “Uh, yeah. I don't sleep so I just keep an eye on you and when you, uh…” Mateo nodded his head side to side, trying to broach the next part of what he was. “When you get restless and start to wake up, I just touch your arm and you usually calm down. I mean, I don't just watch you all night either. I get up and dick around for a while and slide back in before your alarm goes off.” His voice lowered, saying the final part with fear weighing his voice. “‘Cause undead don't sleep.”

—

“Yeah.” It was said quickly, Wyatt’s voice laden heavy with guilt. “Back in Boston, too.” He was quiet while Mateo explained his own part of this a little further, leaning back on the couch and running both hands up through his hair. This sucked. This sucked a lot. 

“I mean… this is me, I guess. It ain't a trick, just… not how I was born. Not how I grew up. I learned how to change my appearance, how to look human. But I ain't ever really been human.” Dropping his hands back to his sides, he finally forced himself to meet Xóchitl’s gaze. “I know… I know this changes a lot for you. I get that. It’s weird n’ scary, n’ I get that. We both do. But…” He glanced at Mateo, his expression pained. “But it don’t change anythin’ for us, you know? We still feel the same. And we… we wanted to tell you ‘cuz we felt you deserved to know.” Clasping his hands in front of him and leaning forward to rest his forearms onto his knees, the shifter dropped his gaze to the floor again. “But if it’s too much, we understand. We were ready for that. Just didn’t feel right keepin’ it all a secret no more. If it’s too much, we can leave you be.”

—

“Undead. Right. Shapeshifter…” The more she repeated the words didn’t help to make them make any more sense. “Right.” If anything, it was like when she said or wrote a word so many times that it seemed to become totally fake. Except both of those were things that Emilio had brought up, and didn’t he kill the undead? Did that mean that Mateo was in danger? Was she supposed to panic about the two men in front of her being in danger, when they were bad – because all of that sort of thing was. Except they were people and the things – the leprechauns – that had killed Mackenzie weren’t. That didn’t mean that Xóchitl was any less uneasy.

“Okay.” Xóchitl moved to go sit on the edge of the couch. Not ready to go and sit in her usual spot, in between the two of them, somewhere where she had found such an intense sense of comfort she would’ve called magic (even though it wasn’t real) but now she felt shaky, and she felt like she was going to break, nearly. She’d made it her goal to not become close to people – because she could lose them – they could die, so easily, but somehow this almost felt worse than if they’d died – which wasn’t fair to say, considering her grief hadn’t truly gotten better in twenty-two years – and she wasn’t sure how she’d deal with directly watching other people she loved die.

Her head was spinning again.

“Why now?” She picked at her nails, not caring what sort of damage came to her cuticles. Or anything. Hardly even paying attention that she was causing any sort of damage. “This is – it’s so much.” Was it too much? Probably. 

—

The mare nodded absentmindedly while Wyatt spoke, and he took the opportunity to sit back on the couch. Every now and then, Mateo's gaze would drift to Xóchitl, and they would hover over every one of her features. He was memorizing the curve of her jaw, the rise and fall of her breath, how her nose led to her brow, and the way he missed her eyes the moment she blinked. 

It felt ridiculous to feel that way, but love wasn't exactly logical, was it? That's why he was taking the risk of telling Xóchitl everything. Logic had flown out the window, and Mateo put love first. That meant being honest, even if it was at a cost. “Because if we're going to be serious, and really do this, it wouldn't have been right to not say something.” He sighed blearily, scrubbing his face. “It was the right thing to do, and like Wyatt said, we knew the risk. We just felt like you were worth that, regardless of it.”

—

Where his counterpart was taking her in, memorizing her features in case he wouldn’t be allowed to see them anymore, Wyatt was pushing himself away from the crack in their foundation, being careful not to let himself be swallowed by it. It was a familiar struggle, one he’d been through several times already, even here, in this fucking town. He remembered that night at Caleb’s, and how he’d pushed back the moment he was met with resistance. With lack of understanding. It hadn’t been Caleb, but he didn’t know that at the time, and it was just a familiar role for him to fall into. He’d stepped back, he’d let the walls rise up again and cut them off from each other. He’d grown cold and angry. 

He didn’t want that now, but it was hard to stop himself from returning to old habits. He wasn’t mad, but frustrated and anxious, and he couldn’t sit still any longer. The shifter rose swiftly to his feet, moving away from the couch to instead pace at the other side of the room. His eyes scanned their surroundings, finding the front door and lingering there. Something screamed at him to bolt, but he bit down on his tongue and focused on putting one foot in front of the other, back and forth, back and forth.

This conversation was so much easier when the person he was coming clean to was also non-human. Like with Mateo — it’d been, what, five minutes of discussion? Some surprise, and that was it? This was miserable. He hated making Xó feel so conflicted. Wouldn’t it be kinder to just leave?

“You don’t gotta figure this out now,” he blurted, coming to a halt to face them again and crossing his arms over his chest. “You can — if you need time to figure out how you feel, that’s okay.”

—

She’d been so angry for so long.

She wasn’t sure why she wasn’t reacting with the anger she would’ve expected, the anger that was so tightly wound up inside of her that sometimes she wasn’t distinguishable from her sorrow.

Wyatt got up and her mouth opened to tell him to sit back down, but no words came out.

It wouldn’t have been right to not say something, Mateo said, and Xóchitl’s head spun. Maybe so, but it was also terrible to have said something. They’d decided not to lie to her any more, but she wasn’t sure if this was any better.

Her breath was unsteady and all she really wanted was for someone to hug her and squeeze her so tight that she didn’t have to think about anything else. Except she wasn’t sure she wanted either Wyatt or Mateo to touch her right now. She needed some sort of human contact – which, she supposed, they weren’t. She wanted them to be. She wanted everyone to be, and for that to make Mackenzie alive again.

“I – ” Xóchitl began. Slid off of the couch and onto the floor. “It’s so much.”

—

Wyatt rose unexpectedly, and Mateo flinched, for whatever reason. He could see the lamia eyeing the door, and for the first time in a long time, Mateo wanted to cry. There was a very real chance he'd end up alone again. It was probably for the best, if he were honest with himself. He always dragged down the people he loved, and who knows what would happen next if Mateo were to tell either of them about his even bigger secret? 

He decided to not dwell on it too much, keeping his mouth shut to not beg Wyatt to stay. To take him into consideration, despite rarely giving others a chance. Mateo knew he deserved to be alone, but god, he was also selfish. He always had been, his father made that clear. “Yeah,” He said deflatedly, moving his gaze back to the floor, “It's a lot. We don't have to stay here if you don't wanna. I wouldn't hate you for that.”

—

This wasn’t getting anywhere. They seemed to have all hit a wall, and it was making Wyatt’s anxiety spike higher and higher. 

There was a reason he was never able to maintain a romantic relationship. This was it. At the first sign of conflict, his gut reaction was to flee. Fight or flight, that was all he knew. There was little room for compromise, for bargaining, for patience and understanding. He needed people to understand him first, because he was incapable of rising above his base instincts and making time and room for someone else to decide whether or not they still liked him. Any time they showed doubt, he left. He wasn’t going to beg for love, for affection. As desperately as he wanted it, he wasn’t going to beg. 

And that’s where he always went wrong. Still, Wyatt managed to keep his feet rooted in place, but his heart was pounding in his chest and he felt lightheaded. He looked to Mateo, unable to observe Xó as her world fell apart around her any longer, unable to put his own selfish needs aside for one more second. So he focused on Mateo, and what he saw on the mare’s face didn’t make him feel any fucking better. He looked close to tears. 

He couldn’t take this anymore.

“What do you want?” he asked Xóchitl pointedly. There wasn’t malice in his voice, not exactly, but it was clear that he was stressed to hell and just wanted to get out of there if nothing of value was going to be said. “What do you want us to do?”

—

“Then leave.” She said, a whisper at first. 

“Leave!” The shouting came abruptly and too quickly in succession. “Get out.” Back to a nearly monotone voice.

Xóchitl had never had many friends, but that had always been by choice. She’d even been somewhat popular back in high school – and middle school too. She supposed being able to shop at Limited Too as much as she wanted and get one of those Coach wristlets everybody had wanted. Basic-as-fuck white girl shit, and it had somewhat been because Mackenzie had never had the chance to do that, but all the same. She’d been popular, but she’d never tried to hold on to friends.

But now she’d had people and she was going to be all alone again.

She’d had love, twice over, even, and now she was going to be alone.

“I –” Xóchitl did her best to steady her voice. “Don’t want to see either of you. I need you to get out. I – you can’t be this. I don’t…” there went her goal to keep her voice steady. “I don’t know how to puzzle this all together. I don’t know if I can, right now. So just go. Leave your keys.”

—

Mateo's world shattered with two simple words, and in his nature, he had to act out. Quietly or loudly, it didn't matter. He stood up quickly, forcing himself to not shed a tear as he finagled with his key ring to place the key to her place on the table. It slammed softly, and scraped against the wood as it slid across. Without another word, he left in a blink, disappearing without a trace. Back to where he belonged. Alone. 

—

Wyatt sighed. He wasn’t surprised, this was the end result he’d expected, but it hurt more watching Mateo flee like that. And flee he sure had. The anxiety that’d had him ready to bolt for the door leveled out pretty quickly once he had his answer, once there wasn’t any more fear of the unknown. She was done with them. He didn’t know if that meant Mateo was done with him too, but he’d figure that out later. 

With an unbothered nod, he tried not to let his anger seep through. She didn’t deserve anger, he just had too much of it inside of him, always springing at any opportunity to be let loose. His hands worked to free the key from its carabiner clip, fished from his pocket. He tossed it onto the table beside Mateo’s, then turned and left without another word, gathering his jacket near the front door and shrugging it on before stepping out into the cool night. 

Without much thought, as he started to walk out toward the road, he pulled out his phone and went to find Caleb’s name in his list of contacts. 

“... hey, you busy tonight?”

—

They both left, and it had been just what she’d asked them to do, and so then why did it feel so wrong and hollow once they were gone? It was another loss, and she’d directly brought this one on herself, but that didn’t mean that Xóchitl had to like it at all.

Their keys reflected her living room lights and she pushed them off, suddenly – off of the coffee table and onto the floor. She made her way over to the kitchen, to a fresh bottle of something – when she finally cared to look, the bottle said whiskey. She drank it all, holding onto it once again like a life preserver. Didn’t bother making it to her bed, spent a good amount of the night scrolling on her phone, wondering if maybe they would text her back. But they wouldn’t, she’d told them to leave her alone, and they were doing that.

It was better this way, wasn’t it? It had to be.

She sent an email to her work, saying she’d be out the next week, personal reasons. She had enough days banked.

[rocketyship]

That poll is so hard to vote for cause on one hand, it feels like Tiff would fit the best because of her incredibly unreliable narration matching Ted's while it would still be a subversion of the original because of the reason why she's unreliable(rose tinted glasses and extreme devotion to BE as opposed to the stuff Ted's got going on) and her pov on and relationship with BE would just be so fun to see explored and the horror of the situation being a subtle thing thats swept under the rug could be so cool.

But on the other, Evan would also kinda match with the original due to his open emotional distance and disconnect from the girls, AND it would bring a lot of fun, fresh stuff! Seems like Evan is the one who pays most attention to AM, and seeing what's happening there from his pov would be so interesting! He, just like Ellen if she would've narrated could bring up how things like being the only one of the opposite sex and gender in the group and (from what we know from the short story at least) only dark skinned person would like.. idk change perspectives on things?? I'd also love to find out more about him!

Oh, not to mention Naomi!! Having narration that is pretty damn reliable would make worldbuilding and exploration much easier and she's also got that disconnect due to her age and crystal clear memory, being able to see things as they are and were could be really refreshing in a ihnmaims universe and i really want to know what her whole deal is! Being born toward the end of the war must've made quite a difference to how a person would process everything, Ted's whole "I'm youngest so my experience is different because i barely had time to live as an adult before the nukes" wouldn't have shit on someone who wasn't even like... done w puberty.

Ooooh they'd all make for such fun narrators 😭 It's really too bad that writing takes so much time and effort or it would've been amazing to see all three's povs! I still don't know what to vote for or how the results are looking so far but im really looking forward to seeing what the results will lead to!

Maybe you have a character you have the most ideas for or would like to write most? Cause if so, that'd def help me choose what to vote.

Sorry for the wall of text(would you believe me if i said i wanted to write more? This is me trying to show restraint, didn't even write about the potential AM could have as a narrator), and i hope you have a good day!

Okay so first off, I love-love-love this response. You have such fun perspectives on these silly little au characters of mine and it makes me a little sad that you didn’t write anymore cause I definitely would have read it, especially what you were thinking about what an interesting narrator AM could be.

As to which character I have the most ideas for, is such a difficult thing to answer cause well I have so-so many. But I do want to put them out there for you so here they are:

Tiffany: narration wise, I imagine the stuff she says can and does come across as nonsensical and border line trigger happy, however sometimes she occasionally lets something slip that clues into her true feelings and that a part of her may indeed be aware of the gravity of the groups situation, however she shuts it down as she has severe attachment issues and cannot fathom how she could possibly survive without BE. Another thing I pictured is that she very often quotes the bible and other religious texts, as BE doesn’t present herself as machine and genuinely as a divine entity. I also have been toying with a scene similar to the one in the radio drama, where AM is talking to Ted about bumblebees and getting high r something. Where it is set up as the reverse. BE showing Tiff the horrors of what the radiation and world has come to (in a way that is seriously deceptive) and claiming that all she has to do is snap her fingers for it to return. It would definitely read as a story where there is total tonal whiplash from one scene to the next, so that is something to consider.

Evan: I have come up with so many pasts for all these survivors before they were “rescued” by BE, however one thing to note is that I don’t really think of these characters as just “genderbent versions of the originals”. Evan is one of the key examples of this, as in this au he is technically the original Ellen’s older brother, however he left home when she was around 12-13ish, as he didn’t like the life, college and job his family set out and tried to push him into. Unlike Ellen who was a successful engineer, who may have been a hopeless romantic based on the original text. Evan was and very much still is kind of a massive party animal. I picture him very punk but like the old kind of punk. Like he was the kind of guy to go motorcycling around the country (even into war-devastated bits, cause it was a thrill), he went to underground clubs and concerts, and sure as heck slept around and had no shame in it (both women and men if you are curious). He doesn’t want to get sentimental, he wants to live his life on the edge and BE doesn’t allow that. He constantly tries to upset her, get some kind of intense reaction from her. He tries to escape, he kicks and tries to tear open parts of her internal network. This man has tried to kill Gloria (Gloria kind of deserves it thou) and the only reactions he gets from BE is her finding him cute, amusing, or as if he just needs to be put in a corner to calm down for a bit. Truthfully he is someone who just wants to go back and experience life again, recognising that BE’s utopia isn’t living and refusing to buy into it.

Naomi: I won’t lie, Nimdok is so boring in the og story, and they definitely tried to do “something” with him in the game. I don’t like it, again different ramble. So like Evan, she is a different person. Like you said she has barely started puberty and because of BE neither her body or even her mind has really aged in anyway and she is horribly aware of this. Due to the war she has had her childhood taken from her, but now because of BE she shall never experience adulthood or growing up. Her memory hardly anything particularly helpful. She remembers exactly what BE did to the others when they first got brought to the compound, she has seen what goes down in the labs, she knows what pills are and aren’t sleeping pills, developing a habit where she will pretend to take one and spit it out if she is able to. As stated in the survivors master post, she knows BE’s blind spots and will often go there on her own. Not really to do anything, just kind of sit around. Further more, she and Evan have a way of communicating, number of blinks, which fingers moved when you spoke to them, that kind of stuff. Still she doesn’t want to escape, she knows she’ll die if she does, generally she acts more like a mediator in the group. As a narrator, I did have this idea for a few odd habits she has learned over the years. Example is that she constantly counting, time and routine is import to her, as she notices when something is wrong and that freaks her out. She also has this habit of just staring at the others for very long periods of time, especially Gloria. She clearly remembers seeing her on tv during her old life, and also remembers how she attacked her when Naomi attempted to mention it to Gloria.

Writing does take so much effort, especially for me, cause truthfully I’m always jumping back and forth on what I’m working on. On top of this au and the fic, I’m also in the process of finishing the final script and sketches for a different web comic I’ve been planning for a while, as well as a completely unrelated world building project that I’ve been at for two years now. Anyhow!! Tell me more please

[goodluckclove]

How do you deal with a bad writing day after hyping yourself up for a productive one? I've been trying to comfort myself, but it's difficult.

It's entirely normal to criminalize yourself for not meeting your own expectations. If you're young or just starting out it's pretty par for the course to feel like a developing craft is something that'll flicker out if you're not constantly fanning the flame and feeding it tinder. It definitely took me a few completed drafts before I had enough confidence to go a month without working on a project and not tell myself that I've lost it forever.

There's still flashes of anxiety. I imagine it's true across the board for artists. But at least for me it's a lot easier to manage after time.

You feel like you failed? Okay, great! You're going to fail a lot as a writer. It's inevitable, and lucky for us the stakes are pretty low. You have to really TRY to like crucially fail in writing by like lying about being a minority to get a book deal or being an actual criminal. Other than that it's more likely you'll just write things that don't work, or get rejected from publishers, or put something up and get either unasked for criticism or blanket silence. It's pretty hard at first, but it's VERY useful to shrug it off when things like that don't go your way and just move on.

Of course you're disappointed. You wanted to write and it didn't go the way you wanted. But there's a lot of nuance here. Maybe your version of productive isn't the productive your writing needed right now. You could've written a few lines that feel like nothing but later on solidify something important or change the course of your plan. All writing is useful. ANY writing is useful. Writers like Stephen King have a daily schedule of like 2k words almost every day of the year, and that might seem like the goal since he's very successful. But also I've read a lot of King's work and like a third of it is insane nonsense. ALSO also Stephen King's writing schedule is likely less to do with the discipline of being an Inherently Better Writer and more to do with the amount of coke he did (I.E. a ton of it, nearly constantly).

And if you didn't write a single goddamned word? Yeah man, that actually means you're bad and failed and should probably quit writing and get a job as Old Navy as the in-house Sad Guy. That's also fine. It's normal. It's probably good, actually. Artists need to do things other than art - both cool adventures like going a museum or a park and being Artsy in Public, and also boring errands. You need to be in the world as much as you can. It's crucial, especially for younger creatives. There's a chance you ended up not writing and instead like just fell down some sort of online scroll spiral - and yes, that's a bummer. Net negative. But it's not a moral failure, especially when so much of social media is literally engineered to get you to do that.

Listen to your body. Writing probably makes you feel good - hopefully, at least. Whatever you did instead maybe didn't make you feel good. Is it because it's unhealthy and disregulating, or was it fun but you felt you were supposed to do something else instead?

If it's the former take note and try and substitute the behavior next time it happens. If I don't feel like I'm able to write the way I want to I like to watch a cool movie. Maybe go out somewhere, either to do house errands or maybe see a Nature. Lately I've been playing Terraria and listening to a podcast or video essays. You wanted this to happen and something got in the way. That sucks, but you keep doing this and it'll happen a lot.

If it's the latter, be kind to yourself. There's a Little Creature in your chest and he's afraid that if he stops pushing towards the thing that's important to you he won't be able to work up the effort again. His name is Ryan and he's very tired and disappointed in himself. He is maybe a fat racoon and he has little grubby hands. You should maybe go ahead and tell Ryan its okay. Give him a grape and a pat on the head and promise the world won't end.

In short: you're okay. Regardless of the circumstances. Feel your feelings, but at a point it's no longer productive. If you need the validation - I am a working writer, produced and published (both self-pub and in journals), and I promise you it is not a sin to have an off day. I also have off days. You can come out of the time out corner. Have a snack - fruit, maybe, or something with protein. Maybe make yourself a fun drink. Get back to work when you're ready.

[alarrytale]

“They refuse to break up though, they'd both be miserable and all they've fought for over these years would be for nothing.“

A couple days ago there was a discussion at Gina’s asking her opinion about their relationship and she said something like even she doesn’t know if they are still together, she believes they are and would be sad if they manage to break up after everything they’ve been through. And it make me think and came up with some theories. First of all, I’m optimistic in the believe that after all they’ve been going through and how 1dhq/sony/syco whatever tried to tear them apart but they made it (literally like Louis is singing haha) what would be a point of those fights, surviving multiple stunts/beards and inventing such a way of communication like were rainbow bears if at the end of the day they call it quit after some sort of disagreement? I believe being on this long relationship you just rather find compromises and solutions and work for your relationship than just throw the towel into the ring and give up. And another reason, from learning a bit from local gay community (my close friend is gay), I believe when you find your perfect match, you just work for your relationship because it’s also possible you won’t find your soulmate in years and maybe never again because a) it’s still a minor community, b) let’s be honest, they are very promiscuous and I just see how hard is to find a serious relationship for my friend. And if I’m not wrong, most of famous openly gay men are in long term relationships because (i believe that since they) once found their soulmate, they just lock it up than date for a year f.e., break up and move to another relationship. That’s my theory I made after thinking about them and how they are just perfect for each other literally getting it all serious while still being teenagers. What are yours, Marte?

Hi, anon!

I've said this a million times before, but it bears repeating. If they'd broken up we'd know. Not just a hunch, not just a feeling or a notion, but we'd know for sure. I've talked about the signs before of a break up between them so i'm not going to repeat myself.

I agree with some of your points (without perpetuating stereotypes about the queer community). I agree that gays have a more difficult time finding life long partners and that they face more scrutiny, and it's more challenging for them to maintain a relationship. So if you've found the one, the love of your life, the one that just gets you, the one that makes life easier and your days brighter, the one you call first when you're happy or sad, and you have made it though challenges, made it though good times and bad, funerals and births, and think you can deal with everything that comes your way as long as you stick together, then you fucking fight for that relationship. In H and L's case they've faced so much pressure to break up. Their careers would be a hundred times less stressful and difficult if they just broke up. But they refuse to. Not only because they love each other, but because they shouldn't have to break up in order to have a career in music. They have faith in themselves and the world. They would be accepted and so loved if they were allowed to be out. So they stick together and continues their career, despite the attempts to break them up and break them down.

We're the greatest

It's you and me until the end

Life for us is never over