#if it was another one of the LIs though...

[solxamber]

Winner Takes It All

The one in which they're too late.

Characters: Ace - Deuce, Leona - Vil, Jamil - Kalim

Angst no comfort!

divider credits to @chocolatebearstrawberry i love you <3

Ace - Deuce

"So, uh..." Deuce's face is redder than Riddle's hair as he fidgets with the hem of his uniform jacket. "We wanted to tell you something."

Ace glances up from his phone, sprawled across his bed in their shared dorm room. "Yeah? Did you finally figure out that two plus two equals four, Juice?"

You elbow him lightly, but you're smiling—that soft, fond smile that makes something warm unfurl in Ace's chest every single time. The same smile he's been hoarding like treasure for months, telling himself he has all the time in the world to make it his.

"Be nice," you chide, and God, he loves when you do that. Loves the way you defend Deuce but still laugh at his jokes. Loves how you've somehow managed to make your chaotic trio work when by all rights, it should have fallen apart ages ago.

"We're dating now," Deuce blurts out, and the words hang in the air like a death sentence.

Ace's phone slips from his fingers.

For a moment, the room is so quiet he can hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. Can hear the way his breath catches in his throat like he's been sucker-punched. Can hear the world reshuffling itself around him, rearranging into a configuration where you belong to someone else.

Where you belong to Deuce.

"Oh," he says, and his voice sounds strange and distant even to his own ears. "Oh, cool."

You're watching him carefully, your expression uncertain. "Ace? Are you okay?"

And that—that breaks something in him. Because of course you'd be worried about him. Of course you'd care about his reaction even in your moment of happiness. You've always been like that, always putting everyone else first, always making sure no one gets left behind.

He should have known you'd fall for someone who does the same thing.

The laugh that bubbles up from his chest tastes like blood and sounds like broken glass. "Okay? I'm great! This is hilarious." He sits up, forcing that familiar cocky grin onto his face even though it feels like wearing a mask made of knives. "Deuce actually managed to get a partner before me? Man, I really am losing my touch."

Deuce flushes darker. "It's not a competition, Ace."

"Isn't it though?" The words slip out sharper than he intended, and he sees you flinch. Sees the hurt flash across your face, and he wants to take it back, wants to swallow the poison before it can spread. But it's too late. It's always too late with him.

"I mean," he continues, dialing back the venom and cranking up the trademark Ace Trappola charm, "someone had to win eventually, right? And hey, at least it wasn't some random guy from another dorm. That would've been embarrassing."

You and Deuce exchange a look—one of those silent conversations that couples have, and isn't that just perfect? You're already developing your own language, your own secret world that doesn't include him.

"We were worried about telling you," you admit quietly. "We didn't want things to be weird between us."

Things are already weird, he wants to scream. Things have been weird since the day I realized I was in love with my best friend and did absolutely nothing about it.

Instead, he shrugs. "Why would it be weird? You're both my friends. I'm happy for you."

The lies taste like ash in his mouth.

"Really?" Deuce asks, and there's something fragile in his voice. Something that makes Ace remember they're supposed to be best friends too. That he's supposed to care about Deuce's happiness.

And he does. That's the worst part. Even through the jealousy and the pain and the way his chest feels like it's caving in on itself, he genuinely cares about Deuce. Loves him like a brother. Which makes this whole situation feel like a betrayal and a tragedy all rolled into one.

"Really," Ace says, and this time he almost means it. "You're good for each other. Deuce needs someone who'll keep him from running headfirst into traffic, and you need someone who actually listens when you talk."

Unlike me. The words hang unspoken in the air.

You beam at him, relief written all over your face, and lean over to hug him. For a moment, you're in his arms again—warm and familiar and perfect—and he lets himself pretend. Lets himself imagine this is you telling him you love him back, not you saying goodbye to whatever chance he never took.

"Thank you," you whisper against his shoulder. "This means everything."

You mean everything, he doesn't say. You meant everything, and I was too much of a coward to tell you.

Instead, he pats your back and grins when you pull away. "Yeah, yeah, don't get all sappy on me. Save that for lover boy over here."

Deuce groans and covers his face with his hands. "Please don't call me that."

"Oh, I'm absolutely calling you that. And Juicy. And honey bun. And—"

"Ace!" you and Deuce protest in unison, and the sound of your laughter mixing together is beautiful and terrible and everything he'll never have.

Later, after you've both left to go celebrate or whatever it is new couples do, Ace lies on his bed and stares at the ceiling. His phone buzzes with notifications—probably Cater posting something stupid on Magicam, or Grim demanding tuna.

He ignores it all.

The thing is, he'd always just assumed. Assumed you'd be there when he was ready. Assumed that someday, when he'd gotten his act together, when he'd figured out how to be the kind of guy who deserves someone like you—someday, you'd still be waiting.

He'd been building himself a fence, thinking he was being smart. Playing it cool. Not wanting to ruin the friendship if you didn't feel the same way. Too scared of rejection to risk it all.

But while he was busy protecting himself, Deuce was being brave. Deuce was showing up. Deuce was becoming everything Ace was too much of a coward to be.

And now Deuce gets to hold your hand in public. Gets to kiss you goodnight. Gets to wake up every day knowing he's the one you chose.

The winner takes it all.

Ace rolls over and buries his face in his pillow, finally letting the mask slip. Finally letting himself feel the full weight of what he's lost, what he never even tried to win.

His phone buzzes again. A text from you: Thanks for being so cool about this. Love you, Ace.

He stares at those three words until his vision blurs, knowing you'll never mean them the way he does when he types back: Love you too, loser.

The gods threw their dice, and someone way down here lost someone dear.

And all Ace can do is smile and pretend his heart isn't breaking.

Leona - Vil

The words hit him like a physical blow.

"Did you hear? They're dating now—officially."

Leona's grip tightens around his phone, knuckles going white as Ruggie's voice continues on the other end, oblivious to the way his housewarden's world just tilted off its axis.

"Vil and—"

He hangs up before he can hear your name spoken in the same breath as his. The phone clatters onto his desk, and Leona stares at it like it's personally offended him. Like it's the messenger he wants to shoot.

But the damage is done. The words are already echoing in his skull, bouncing around like shards of glass.

You're with him now.

Leona sinks back into his chair, one hand dragging down his face as something hot and vicious claws at his chest. It burns—Sevens, it burns like he's swallowed fire, like there's molten metal pooling in his lungs. He can't breathe around it.

He should have seen this coming. Should have known that someone like you wouldn't stay single forever. Should have known that when he let his pride and his fears drive you away, someone else would be there to catch what he'd been too much of a coward to hold onto.

And of course it had to be Vil.

Perfect, untouchable Vil Schoenheit. Everything Leona isn't and never will be. Where Leona is rough edges and lazy afternoons, Vil is polished perfection and ambition that burns brighter than the sun. Where Leona pushes people away with his sharp tongue and sharper truths, Vil draws them in with charm and grace.

The worst part? He can see it. Can see exactly why you'd choose Vil over the memory of what you had together. Vil won't make you feel like you're asking for too much when you want to hold his hand in public. Won't make you question if he actually cares when he gets distant and cold. Won't make you cry in empty hallways because he's too proud to say the words you needed to hear.

Leona's jaw clenches so hard it aches.

He wants you in his arms instead. And that's the thing that's killing him—you had belonged there. In his arms, in his space, in his life. You'd fit against him like you were made for it, like the universe had crafted you specifically to fill the hollow spaces he'd carried around his whole life. And for a while, a brief, shining while, he'd let himself believe it could last.

But he'd been a fool. Playing by rules he'd never understood, building walls when he should have been building bridges. Every time you'd reached for him, he'd pulled back. Every time you'd needed reassurance, he'd given you silence. Every time you'd tried to make it work, he'd found a new way to sabotage it.

Because that's what second sons are good for, right? Destroying things. Being the one who doesn't get the crown, doesn't get the happy ending.

The chair groans as he pushes back from his desk, stalking to the window. The sun is setting over the garden, painting everything gold and orange, and he wonders if you're watching it too. If you're watching it with him.

His reflection stares back at him from the glass—tired eyes, bitter smile, the face of someone who's lost everything that mattered and knows it's his own damn fault.

"The winner takes it all," he murmurs to his reflection, voice rough with something that might be tears if he were anyone else. If he were the kind of person who got to cry over lost love instead of just... enduring it.

But he's not. He's Leona Kingscholar, second prince of the Sunset Savanna, and he doesn't get to fall apart just because the best thing in his life chose someone better.

Even if it's ripping him apart from the inside out.

Even if he'd give anything—his pride, his title, his very soul—for one more chance to hold you and do it right this time.

Even if the thought of Vil's hands where his used to be makes him want to scream until his throat bleeds.

The sun disappears behind the horizon, and Leona closes his eyes.

Why should I complain?

Jamil - Kalim

"Jamil! Jamil, you'll never guess what happened!"

Kalim bursts through the door of Scarabia's lounge like a miniature sun, all bright smiles and boundless energy. He's practically vibrating with excitement, and Jamil doesn't need to guess what's put that particular glow in his eyes.

He already knows. Has known since he saw you and Kalim dancing together at last night's party, saw the way you laughed at something Kalim whispered in your ear, saw the way Kalim looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

"Let me guess," Jamil says, not looking up from the paperwork spread across the coffee table. His voice is perfectly level, perfectly controlled. Years of practice have made him an expert at hiding the cracks in his composure. "You asked them out."

"Yes! And they said yes!" Kalim spins around, arms spread wide like he wants to embrace the whole world. "Can you believe it? I was so nervous, but you know how you always tell me to just be honest about my feelings? So I did, and—Jamil, I think I'm in love."

The pen in Jamil's hand stops moving.

Be honest about your feelings.

Of course. Of course that's the advice that would come back to haunt him. How many times has he told Kalim exactly that? How many times has he watched him succeed simply by wearing his heart on his sleeve, by being brave in all the ways Jamil has never allowed himself to be?

Jamil clears his throat, forces the words out.

"I'm happy for you."

And the truly devastating part is that he means it. Even as his own heart is crumbling to dust in his chest, even as every breath feels like swallowing glass, he genuinely wants Kalim to be happy. Because that's what he's been trained to do his entire life—put Kalim's happiness above his own.

Even when it destroys him.

"I have to plan the perfect date," Kalim continues, oblivious to the way Jamil's world has just collapsed. "Maybe a carpet ride at sunset? Or we could have a picnic by the oasis! Oh, or—"

"The carpet ride," Jamil interrupts quietly. "They mentioned once that they'd always wanted to try flying."

You'd mentioned it to him. During one of those late-night conversations when it was just the two of them in the kitchen, when you'd help him prep for the next day's meals and talk about everything and nothing. You'd looked so wistful when you said it, so quietly longing, and Jamil had filed it away in his heart like every other precious detail about you.

He'd planned to take you himself. Had been working up the courage for weeks, crafting the perfect moment in his mind. After the next exam, he'd told himself. After Kalim's birthday celebration. After the inter-dorm tournament. Always after, always waiting for the perfect moment that would never come.

"Really?" Kalim's face lights up even brighter, if that's possible. "You always know exactly what people want, Jamil. You're the best!"

The praise feels like a knife between his ribs.

"I should go tell them now!" Kalim heads for the door, then pauses and turns back. "Actually, wait. You don't mind, do you? I know you two are friends, and I don't want things to be weird..."

Mind? Jamil wants to laugh, wants to scream, wants to grab Kalim by the shoulders and shake him until he understands that this isn't just friendship, that Jamil has been desperately, hopelessly in love with you for months.

But he can't. Because Kalim is looking at him with such genuine concern, such innocent worry about disrupting a friendship, and it's clear that Kalim has no idea. No clue that Jamil's feelings run deeper than casual companionship.

And why would he? Jamil has spent so long hiding, so long keeping every emotion locked behind layers of duty and propriety and fear. So long being the perfect servant who wants for nothing, who exists only to facilitate his master's happiness.

"Of course not," Jamil says, and his voice doesn't even waver. "Why would I mind? You're perfect for each other."

More perfect than we could ever be.

The thought tastes bitter as poison. Because it's true, isn't it? Kalim can offer you everything Jamil can't. Freedom. Adventure. A future without the weight of servitude hanging over every moment. Kalim can love you openly, publicly, without having to hide behind carefully constructed walls.

Kalim can give you the world. Jamil can barely give you an honest conversation about his feelings.

"Thanks, Jamil!" Kalim beams and rushes out, leaving Jamil alone with the wreckage of his carefully guarded heart.

The paperwork blurs in front of him. The numbers don't make sense anymore, each figure dissolving into meaningless shapes as something hot and desperate claws at his throat.

He'd been so careful. So cautious. Waiting for the right moment, the right words, the right everything. Terrified of rejection, yes, but more terrified of what acceptance might mean. How could he ask you to tie yourself to someone who isn't even free? Someone who can't promise you anything beyond stolen moments and hidden affection?

But while he was busy protecting himself, protecting you from the complications his feelings would bring, Kalim was simply... being Kalim. Open. Honest. Brave in the way that only someone who's never had to hide can be.

The winner takes it all, and the loser has to fall.

Jamil sets down his pen and buries his face in his hands, finally allowing himself this one moment of weakness. This one moment to mourn what never was and never could have been.

Tomorrow, he'll smile and congratulate you both. He'll help plan the perfect dates and give the perfect advice and be the perfect friend, because that's what's expected of him. That's what he's good at.

But tonight, in the silence of his own failure, Jamil lets himself grieve for the love he was too afraid to fight for.

Masterlist

[colouredbyd]

Just A Scratch

poly!marauders x fem!reader

synopsis: during a full moon night, an unexpected accident leaves flicker (you) injured, shaking the bond between you, remus, sirius, and james. as they bend the truth to shield one another from pain and guilt, you learn that sometimes, lies are the kindest form of love.

warnings: injury, blood, animal attack, transformation, emotional distress, graphic descriptions of animal injury, mild panic attacks, graphic descriptions of lycanthropy transformations, hurt/comfort, happy ending.

w/c: 5.3k

part of my mini blurb series flicker's adventures

masterlist

The night wrapped around the woods like a heavy cloak, thick with the scent of damp earth. 

You walked alongside the three, feeling the weight of the evening pressing on your chest in tandem with the exhaustion that seemed to seep from every slumped shoulder and dragging foot. 

Remus had been growing quieter these past few days, a shadow of weariness clouding his usual calm, and tonight, that fatigue clung to him like a second skin, heavier and more stubborn than ever before. 

You reached out instinctively, your hand brushing against his arm, trying to share a fraction of strength, though your own heart ached in quiet sympathy.

Sirius’s voice, low but steady, broke through the silence “He’s gonna be okay,” he said, eyes burning with quiet conviction as he looked your way, as if he could read the worry you were trying so hard to bury.

The words, simple as they were, settled over you like a fragile promise, but still, you felt the tremble beneath them, the ache behind the certainty.

James and Sirius each took a side, their hands firm and sure as they cradled Remus between them. He leaned heavily into their support. You followed closely, your fingers brushing gently along his back.

The only sounds were the soft shuffle of feet on mossy ground and the slow, measured breaths laboring from Remus’s chest. 

The shack came into view, worn and weathered but steadfast, nestled in a clearing where the moonlight fell in silver pools. Here, the boundaries between man and beast blurred. Tonight, more than ever, it felt like a sanctuary not just of wood and stone, but of understanding and fragile hope.

"Almost there," James murmured.

You reached out, touching Remus’s arm again, offering warmth and silent reassurance as they guided him through the door. 

The air inside was cool and still, smelling faintly of old pine and earth—a small world carved from quiet necessities. 

You swallowed the lump of dread that threatened to rise as the first tremors rippled through Remus’s body. It was the inevitable sign that the transformation had begun, that the full moon was claiming him once more.

James carefully eased Remus down onto the worn wooden floor of the shack, steadying him as he sagged heavily between James and Sirius’s arms. His breaths were shallow, uneven, eyes clouded with exhaustion and pain, and an unmistakable worry settled over all of you.

Sirius crouched close, voice soft but steady, “You’re going to be okay, Moony. We’re not going anywhere.”

Remus looked up at them, doubt flickering in his tired gaze. “You really will be here?”

“We will,” James said quietly, voice firm but gentle. “Whatever happens, we’re right here. We’ve got you.”

You stepped closer, brushing your hand along Remus’s arm, offering what little warmth you could. “All of us,” you said softly. “No matter what.”

Relief washed over Remus’s face, though the tension hadn’t left. His voice was barely above a whisper, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“We won’t leave you,” Sirius promised, squeezing Remus’s hand. “Not now, not ever.”

You pressed a kiss to Remus’s forehead, fingers lingering for a moment.. “You’re so strong,” you whispered, voice barely audible, hoping your words could be a balm for the storm brewing beneath his skin. 

“I love you, Remmy”

His gaze found yours, exhaustion melting into something softer, and in a voice frayed by emotion he whispered, “I love you too.”

The three of you formed a tight circle around Remus, your presence a fragile shield against the inevitable. For a moment, silence settled over the room, thick and reverent, as the first shivers rippled through his limbs. His breath hitched, and his eyes met each of yours—wide with fear, shining with pain, pleading for strength he could no longer summon.

You reached for his hand one last time, your fingers squeezing his with all the love and steadiness you could give. James brushed his shoulder in passing, a whisper of comfort beneath the growing tension. Sirius hesitated, just for a heartbeat, then leaned in to press a quiet kiss to Remus’s hair before pulling away.

Without a word, the three of you stepped back, hearts heavy and reluctant, retreating toward the far room at the back of the shack. 

The door creaked softly as it closed behind you, sealing Remus in solitude, as was always the rule. The transformation had to happen alone. It was a sacred, brutal thing—not meant to be witnessed or shared. Only endured.

You sat down with your back against the wall, every nerve in your body stretched taut with anticipation, ears straining for what you knew would come next.

And then, the screams began.

A guttural cry, raw and ragged, tore from deep within him. It was jagged and primal, scraping against the wooden walls, echoing into the night like a symphony of agony and surrender. 

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening as the shudder rippled through his body. Bones groaned and shifted with dreadful sounds that seemed to wrench at your very soul. A sob escaped his lips, fragile and heartbreaking. You wished you could catch it and hold it close, to shield him from every shard of pain.

Then came the howl.

Not just any howl, but a lonely, aching lament stretching into the night. It was raw and mournful, carrying the weight of every lonely full moon Remus had endured. The sound clawed at your heart—hollow, vast, aching for something just out of reach.

Your eyes closed, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotion and sound. Before you could unravel beneath it all, strong hands cupped your ears with gentle insistence. 

Sirius reached for you, his touch instinctive and gentle. His palms, warm and calloused, came up to cover your ears with delicate pressure, shielding you from the worst of it. You felt his thumbs brushing softly against your temples, grounding you, protecting you.

He leaned in close, his chest pressed to your back, his breath warm where it spilled into your hair. A kiss found the crown of your head—slow and lingering, a silent promise.

“It’s alright, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with quiet determination. “You don’t have to listen to this. You don’t have to carry it all.”

He stayed close, his warmth a shield around your trembling form as the wolf’s anguished cries filled the small room.

Minutes stretched like hours. The sounds softened as the wrenching transformation slowed. The guttural growls gave way to quiet panting, gentle and rhythmic like a steady heartbeat. The rawness faded into the steady thump of paws against earth and the soft rustle of fur brushing the floor.

When it was clear—the storm had passed, and Remus was no longer the man in the center of the room but the wolf—his eyes sharp and luminous even in the dim light—the three of you shared a silent understanding.

James shifted first, muscles rippling beneath familiar fur as he transformed into his stag. His antlers reached toward the rafters, noble and steady. 

Sirius followed, sleek and dark, a large dog padding softly beside you. 

You felt your own form begin to shift. Bones and muscles realigned, fur brushed over skin, until you stood small and vibrant—a flicker of fiery red among the shadows.

Out beneath the cold glow of the moon, your little pack slipped into its familiar rhythm. The shift from human to animal had washed through you in one long, seamless wave. 

Moony had accepted this ritual. It had taken long months, but now the wolf’s golden gaze no longer flared with confusion when met with antlers gleaming between the trunks or with the dark blur of Padfoot racing by. 

And you — small, lithe, winding through the underbrush or high among the branches — had long since become part of this strange world he understood.

The door to the shack had been nudged open, and the four of you had slipped free into the night. Moony sniffed the wind, body low and tense, muscles rippling beneath thick fur. Then, with a low huff, he set off toward the trees, his steps steady, as if he, too, knew what came next.

Padfoot bounded after him, darting in wide circles as he ran. The wolf growled, low and deep, and the chase began.

You leapt easily into the trees, claws curling into bark as you climbed, higher, higher, until you could follow from above. The branches swayed beneath you, and your keen eyes tracked their wild path below. Each thud of paw against earth echoed through the hollow places inside you, a rhythm older than words.

Behind them, Prongs moved with regal calm, tall and gleaming beneath the moon, antlers cutting dark lines against the sky. He followed at a slower pace, steady and sure, his gaze sweeping the shadows around them, watchful for danger. 

For no matter how many times you did this, there was always the risk — the forest was wide, the night full of sharp things unseen.

From your perch, you watched them run. 

It was beautiful in a way it should not have been. The four of you out here beneath the sky, untethered by names or titles, by human skin or human fears. 

And yet no matter how wild it seemed, how far the wolf ran, how high you climbed, none of you strayed far from each other.

You watched from your perch, high among the skeletal branches of an old oak. Below, the moon spilled its pale light in a trembling pool across the clearing where Moony stalked, nose low to the ground, every muscle taut with restless energy. 

He had grown quieter as the hours passed, the early wildness in his steps slowing to a more deliberate, measured prowl. 

Moony turned suddenly, nose twitching, body low to the ground. You stilled, claws sinking into bark, breath caught tight in your chest. Something had shifted in the air. 

You felt it, sharp and sudden, like a string pulled taut. The wolf’s ears pricked, his eyes narrowing, gaze fixed on something deeper in the trees.

That was when you saw it.

A flash of russet fur, low to the ground, slipping silently between the trunks. A fox — large, lean, and bold, its sharp muzzle lifted to the wind, unaware of the danger only feet away. It moved with confidence, weaving through the underbrush, its eyes glinting in the moonlight.

And Moony saw it too.

A low, guttural growl rumbled from deep within the wolf’s throat, darker than before. His hackles rose, claws digging into the earth as his body tensed, trembling on the brink of violence. 

You felt it in your bones — this was no longer the Moony you knew, the one whose instincts had learned, slowly, to accept your presence. This was the wolf, wild and hunting, ruled only by the raw, ancient hunger that surged beneath his skin.

Before you could move, Padfoot was already there — a blur of dark fur, teeth bared, barking sharp and loud, trying to draw Moony’s attention away. 

He leapt between the wolf and the fox, barking again, circling wide, ears flattened, doing everything to pull him back.

Prongs charged in next, antlers held high, stamping the ground hard, a warning. He swung his head, shifting his weight, ready to block if he had to.

But it was not enough. Moony’s gaze had locked on the fox, and the wolf within him would not be denied. With a sudden, savage snarl, he lunged forward, muscles coiling for the kill.

You moved before you could think.

Leaping from the tree, body light as flame, you raced down the trunk, claws skimming the bark. The ground rushed up beneath you and you bolted across the clearing, small and fast, paws flying over the forest floor. 

You could hear the thundering of Moony’s breath behind you, hear Padfoot barking wildly, trying to stop him, but you had no choice — the fox would never outrun the wolf, but you could reach it first. You could save it. 

You skidded to a stop between them, your small form a flash of red against the dark, and lunged at the fox, driving it away with sharp yips and snapping teeth. The startled animal fled into the undergrowth, vanishing in a streak of russet fur.

But too late.

A snarl split the night, closer than you had thought. You turned just in time to see Moony’s powerful form descending on you, teeth bared, eyes burning with wild hunger.

You tried to leap clear — but claws raked across your side, sharp and brutal, tearing through fur and flesh alike.

A searing pain burst through you, bright and hot, as your body tumbled to the ground. A raw, helpless scream escaped your throat — high and sharp in the voice of the red panda, a sound you could hardly believe was your own.

The world tilted, spun. You barely registered Padfoot’s furious barking as he rushed to your side, circling you protectively.

Prongs moved swiftly, antlers low, stepping between the wolf and where you lay crumpled. With careful, deliberate movements, he began to drive Moony back, forcing him away from you. 

A sharp stamp of hooves, a commanding toss of his head — the stag herded the snarling wolf, inch by inch, back toward the shack.

You lay there, trembling, pain lancing through your side, the scent of blood sharp in the cold air. 

Padfoot pressed close, his body warm and solid against yours, muzzle nuzzling your fur with desperate care, a low, frantic whimper rumbling in his throat.

He nudged at your trembling form with his nose, whining softly as he took in the torn patch of fur along your side. You whimpered faintly, curling slightly from the sharp flare of pain, your small body shivering in the cold. But your gaze, dazed and wide, remained locked on the wolf.

Moony was still tense, teeth bared, hackles high, though Prongs had stepped between you now. The great stag gave a forceful stamp of his hooves, then turned his antlered head and let out a deep, gruff snort — a pointed sound meant for Padfoot alone. An unmistakable command.

The shack. Now.

Padfoot hesitated only for a second, torn between instinct and reason, but the message was clear. 

He stepped closer, nudging at you again, then dipped his head low and with immense care, grasped the scruff of your neck in his jaws — firm but gentle. Jjust enough to hold you, to lift you as a mother might carry her young.

You whimpered again as the movement pulled at your injury, but you allowed it. Trusting him. 

The forest blurred past in streaks of dark and silver as Padfoot bounded toward the shack, his massive paws barely touching the earth, your small body swaying with each stride. 

The door was already ajar from earlier, and he shouldered it open with a grunt, bolting through the familiar rooms until he reached the one where they had all waited before.

He set you down with the gentlest touch, then with a shimmer of movement, transformed. Sirius fell to his knees beside you, bare-chested, hair tousled, eyes wild with panic.

"Fuck, fuck, sweetheart, look at me, Flick, please," he gasped, already tearing off his shirt. The fabric ripped beneath his hands, his fingers shaking as he pressed it to your side. You whimpered beneath the touch, the burning throb of your wound sharp beneath your fur.

"You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay, love, please just… just stay with me. Don’t transform, not yet." His voice cracked. 

His hands moved frantically, trying to gauge the depth of the injury. He peeled the torn fur back carefully, wincing at the sight of blood, but even through the haze of panic, he could tell it was not life-threatening. 

Painful, yes, but not deep enough to tear muscle. His chest heaved in relief, though his hands never stilled.

"I’m so sorry, I should have— I should’ve been faster, fuck, you’re so bloody brave, Flicker, but gods—" he pressed another kiss to your head, voice breaking.

But beneath the sound of his words, you could hear it. Faint at first, through the thin wall separating this room from the main chamber of the shack.

A low growl, then a sharp, wet crack.

Your ears twitched toward it instinctively, heart pounding beneath your ribs.

Sirius froze too, gaze flickering toward the sound. "Shit… he’s changing back."

The noise swelled. Bones grinding, breaking, shifting. The wolf’s deep snarls unraveling into ragged groans of something less, something fragile. The air seemed to thicken with it, each tortured snap and sob a knife to your chest.

You whimpered again, curling instinctively, ears flattening against your head as the awful sounds of Remus’s transformation clawed at you. 

Even now — after so many full moons — it never got easier to hear. And this time, with the sharp pulse of your own pain thrumming through your body, it seemed even more unbearable.

Sirius noticed. His breath hitched. In a heartbeat, he gathered you gently in his arms, cradling your small form against his bare chest, one hand still holding the torn fabric to your wound.

"Shhh, baby, don’t listen," he whispered, voice trembling with emotion. He cupped one large hand over your ears, shielding you as best he could. Pressed a shaky kiss to your head. His heart thudded beneath you, fast and frantic. "It’s almost over, I promise."

And then, at last, the noises shifted — the snapping and tearing gave way to gasping breaths, then softer, broken sobs. No longer the wolf but human againn.

Sirius let out a long, shaking breath, shoulders slumping in exhausted relief, though his arms remained wrapped tight around you.

"He’s back," he whispered, voice thick with feeling. "Our Moony’s back."

"You can shift back now, darling," Sirius murmured softly, voice close to your ear, fingers brushing with tender insistence over your furred form. "Come on, love. It’s alright. You’re safe."

It took effort, more than you cared to admit. Your body felt heavy, dragged down by the sharp throb of pain lancing through your side. But you breathed, slow and shallow, and let the magic coil and unspool through you. Fur gave way to skin, small trembling limbs reshaping until you lay against the floor in your human form once more, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths.

Your arms curled instinctively over your side. The torn fabric of your shirt clung damply to the wound, a jagged slash running across your ribs. It burned, deep and hot, though not mortal. 

Before you could gather the words to speak, a low sound curled through the thin walls — a broken, fragile whimper.

Remus.

Your heart hammered painfully in your chest, a desperate pull beneath your ribs. “I need to be with him,” you whispered, voice breaking. “He’s hurting, and I have to—”

Sirius grabbed your face gently but firmly, his eyes wide with panic and urgency. “Listen to me, Y/N,” he urged, voice shaking. “Remus can’t see you hurt right now. I need you to stay here, stay safe. Please

“But Remmy he is—”

"Stay," he said quietly, voice rough with restrained emotion. "Please, sweetheart. You cannot… he cannot see you like this."

The meaning struck deep. Remus, raw and wrecked after the shift, haunted always by the weight of what he became under the moon. The guilt was carved into him already. If he saw you wounded, wounded because of him, it would undo him completely.

You exhaled a trembling breath and nodded, though every part of you longed to be with him.

Sirius gave you one last lingering glance, then rose swiftly and disappeared through the door.

Down below, the main chamber of the shack lay steeped in cool shadows. James knelt at Remus’s side, one arm steadying him as he lay curled upon the worn floorboards, trembling in the aftermath. His skin was pale, clammy with sweat, hair clinging in damp strands, his body racked with exhaustion.

"Jamie," Remus rasped, voice barely more than a ghost of sound. "Where… where is Sirius? Where is Dovey?"

James hesitated, throat tight. He could not bring himself to answer, to lie, nor could he bear to speak the truth — but before he could form a single word, the door opened with a rush of footsteps.

"Hey, hey, hey," Sirius said quickly, dropping to his knees, both hands cupping Remus’s face. "Easy, love. You’re alright. It’s over. You made it through."

At the touch, Remus sagged, a broken sound catching in his throat as he leaned toward the familiar comfort. But it was fleeting — the peace shattered by sudden panic blooming sharp and fast.

"Where is she?" he gasped, voice cracking. "Where—where is she?"

He pushed upward, limbs trembling violently beneath him. He barely managed to lift himself before collapsing back into Sirius’s arms, wild eyes darting between them. The terror in his gaze was palpable, raw and jagged.

"Moony, listen—" Sirius tried, voice low, soothing.

But it was too late. Remus caught it. The faintest shift in James’s face — the look of worry, the grief he could not quite mask.

"No," Remus choked, breath hitching sharply. "No. What did I do? Please—tell me—where is she—"

He fought to rise again, muscles screaming, breath breaking in harsh, uneven gasps. His body betrayed him, but still he struggled, frantic.

"Remus," James said urgently, catching him, holding him fast. "You cannot stand. You are barely—"

"She’s hurt," Remus gasped. The words tore from him like broken glass. "She’s hurt—I—I—please—"

The sound of it wrenched at Sirius’s heart. He could scarcely bear the sight of Remus like this, raw with fear, every inch of him consumed by guilt.

"She is safe," Sirius said at last, voice low, steady. "She is alright. I swear it."

But the words did little to quiet the storm in Remus’s eyes, wide and shining with helpless terror. He shook his head, breaths coming faster, shallow and ragged. "I need to see her," he whispered hoarsely. "Please—I need her—"

The door creaked open softly.

You barely paused in the threshold before you were moving, crossing the space in quick, determined steps, heart straining in your chest.

Remus and James looked up in unison — and both froze.

Their eyes fell instantly to your side, where your torn shirt clung crimson to your skin. James’s face paled visibly, mouth parting in alarm, while Remus’s entire body seemed to seize, panic flaring bright and wild across his features.

But before either could speak, you lifted a hand, voice quick and light, trying your best to sound calm. "It’s alright," you said softly, even managing a small smile, "truly — it looks worse than it is. Just a scratch, I promise."

"That is not a scratch," James said at once, voice strained.

Remus, however, looked utterly stricken. His breath hitched, eyes wide, horrified. "I —" he choked, trying to sit upright. "I did that — oh God — what have I done?"

You were at his side before he could fall apart, sinking down gently in front of him, cupping his face in your hands. His skin was clammy beneath your palms, trembling faintly, his eyes bright with tears.

"You didn’t," you whispered, voice soft but firm. You leaned in closer, brushing your thumb along his cheek. 

"It was not you. I—I fell," you said, weaving the lie with care. "A branch caught me on the way down, that is all."

You fixed him with a steady, insistent look before shifting your gaze to James. For a moment, he paused, jaw clenched, but then the unspoken message in your eyes reached him, and he gave a small, knowing nod.

"Remus, love," you whispered softly, leaning in. "It was not you."

Tears glittered in his eyes. He shook his head faintly, breath hitching. "I—I saw—"

"You saw nothing," you said gently, voice warm, steady. You pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I fell and a  branch caught me. That is all."

You glanced meaningfully at James, who caught on immediately, clearing his throat.

"She is telling the truth," James said with conviction, moving to kneel beside you both. "We saw it. Clumsy thing tried to fly out of a tree."

That earned a soft breath of laughter from you, and even Remus’s lips twitched, though his gaze was still worried.

"I—are you alright?" he whispered. His fingers hovered near your side, hesitant, trembling.

You smiled, catching his hand in yours, threading your fingers together. "I am alright," you promised, voice light and sure. 

A little glimmer of mischief sparked through you then, and you leaned back slightly. "See for yourself."

Before either of them could protest, you let the shift wash over you — fur rippling into place, form shrinking down until Flicker, small and bright, sat before them.

James groaned dramatically. "Dove—"

But you were already on the move, padding in a slow circle around them, tail flicking playfully, showing them with every bounce of your step that the injury barely hindered you at all.

James laughed softly, rubbing a hand over his face. "You are such a menace."

Remus let out a shaky, relieved laugh of his own, shoulders slumping as the tension bled from his frame. He opened his arms invitingly.

With an eager chirp, you leapt into his lap, curling against his chest, pressing your little face beneath his chin.

His laughter broke free then — warm and breathless. "Merlin, I love you," he whispered, arms folding protectively around you.

When he shifted slightly and winced, you pulled back in alarm, big eyes blinking up at him.

Remus grinned, eyes twinkling. "What is this? Afraid of hurting me, dove?"

You gave a series of indignant little chirps, tail flicking in protest.

At that moment, Sirius swept in from the doorway, brows lifting at the sight before him. "Well, well," he chuckled, crouching down. "Look who is causing trouble already."

He scooped you up carefully, cradling you close, pressing a kiss to the top of your furry head.

"Alright, enough showing off," he murmured fondly. "Come back to us, pretty girl."

At the warmth in his voice, you let the magic ripple once more, shifting back in a blink, now nestled in Sirius’s arms, your bare skin against the warmth of his chest.

Remus and James were beaming at you, eyes bright with love and relief.

"There you are," James teased softly, reaching to brush his knuckles down your cheek. 

You giggled, leaning into his touch as Sirius kissed your temple and Remus gave a soft, shaky laugh, still holding your gaze as though he could hardly believe you were truly alright.

The first pale light of morning was creeping through the thinning trees, brushing the world in soft, misted gold. The forest lay hushed in the aftermath of the night, the sharp edge of the full moon dulled now, fading beneath the slow, blooming light of dawn.

Sirius had an arm wrapped tightly around Remus, supporting most of his weight as they walked. Remus was swaying between steps, utterly spent, head drooping against Sirius’s shoulder, his breath still coming in slow, unsteady pulls. Sirius spoke to him in low, soothing murmurs, each word a tether keeping him grounded, close.

James stayed at your side, and the determined set of his jaw told you there was no use arguing. You tried anyway.

"I can walk, Jamie," you said stubbornly. Your side still throbbed faintly beneath your bandages, but nothing you could not handle.

James gave you a pointed look, one brow arched, hazel eyes dark beneath the stray curls falling into his face. "Not taking any chances with you."

He stooped then, swift and sure, arms sliding beneath your knees and back before you could so much as blink. You squeaked softly as he lifted you against his chest.

"James—"

He cut you off with a quiet look. "You do not get to argue. Not tonight."

You huffed, half exasperated, half endeared, curling instinctively into him as he carried you with maddening ease. His warmth, the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek, was a comfort you could not deny.

They walked in pairs, Sirius and Remus behind you, James carrying you just ahead, each step steady and sure. The path wound gently through the soft hush of dawn, the castle spires beginning to rise through the misted distance.

James broke the quiet first, his voice low, for your ears alone.

"When we get back," he murmured, "Sirius and I are going to have a long talk with you."

You stiffened a little in his arms, glancing up at him. His mouth was set, serious now.

"You cannot do that again," he continued, gaze fixed ahead. 

"You cannot throw yourself between Moony and a fox just because you want to help." His tone was quiet but sharp, firm beneath the softness. "That is not how this works."

You opened your mouth to speak, but he hushed you immediately, glancing back to where Remus leaned against Sirius, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

"Not now," James whispered. "Do not wake him with this. Just listen."

You closed your mouth, gaze dropping.

James’s voice gentled a little, though the weight of his words remained. "We go as a pack for a reason, dove. We are there to protect him. But we are also there to protect each other. And I swear to Merlin, Sirius and I—and bloody Remus himself—would rather see a fox dead ten times over than see you hurt. Do you understand?"

You swallowed, heart twisting with guilt beneath your ribs. After a beat, you nodded softly against his chest.

"Good." James whispered, pressing a kiss into your hair.

You shook your head with a smirk. "You won’t be dead by twenty-one."

James laughed, a warm sound that held a hint of something more. "I sure hope so," he said, eyes gleaming. "But if you keep getting into trouble like this, I won’t make it."

You smiled softly, brushing your nose against his jaw. "I’m sorry," you whispered. "I promise I won’t give you another heart attack."

"You had better not," he said, though the corners of his mouth lifted into a smile, eyes warm now, brushing away the sharpness of before.

Behind you, Sirius’s quiet murmurs carried through the still air, words of comfort for Remus, who remained nestled against him, too worn to do more than breathe slowly, softly, safe in the circle of their love.

The familiar stone halls of the castle greeted you like a sanctuary. The heavy oak doors gave way with a low creak beneath Sirius’s shoulder, James just behind him, still holding you carefully in his arms. 

The corridors were quiet now, blessedly empty, save for the soft shuffle of your little group making its way up through the winding staircases.

Remus was barely conscious, eyes fluttering open for the briefest of moments before slipping shut again. 

Sirius carried him with fierce protectiveness, whispering softly into his hair, words meant only for him, as though he could anchor him through the remnants of pain and exhaustion.

At last, your dorm appeared around the corner. Inside, everything was as you had left it, warm and waiting.

Sirius lowered Remus gently onto the wide bed, tugging the covers up and around him. Remus stirred only faintly, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he curled instinctively into the pillow. His chest rose and fell in slow, even rhythm now, sleep already pulling him under.

You had barely touched your feet to the floor before Sirius was there, reaching for you, strong arms sliding around your waist, pulling you in without a word. You melted against him at once, your cheek pressed to his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

“I am so glad you are alright,” Sirius whispered into your hair, voice low and tight with something unspoken. His fingers curled in the fabric of your shirt, holding you close as though to prove to himself that you were here, whole, safe. 

“You scared me tonight. You scared all of us.”

“I know,” you whispered, guilt knotting in your chest. You tilted your face up to meet his eyes. “I am sorry, Siri. I... I did not mean to put anyone at risk. It just— it happened so quickly. I only wanted to help.”

His expression softened at that, though a faint crease lingered in his brow. He kissed your forehead tenderly, breathing you in.

“I know, love. I know you did. But this is not going to happen again. We cannot lose you. Do you understand me?”

You nodded, throat tightening. “I do. I promise.”

Sirius held you for another long moment before finally letting you go with a sigh, brushing his knuckles down your cheek.

James had already set about stripping off his boots, tossing them haphazardly beneath the bed. He looked over at the two of you, his smile soft and tired.

“You will be the death of us yet,” James murmured with affection, voice low so as not to disturb Remus, already deep in sleep. “But you handled yourself well tonight.”

You gave him a small smile, warmth blooming in your chest despite the ache of the night. “I was lucky.”

Sirius snorted softly, shaking his head. “Lucky or not, next time you so much as think about leaping between Moony and danger, we will hex you to the bed until the moon has passed.”

You laughed quietly, easing onto the bed beside them, muscles finally giving in to the pull of exhaustion. 

James climbed in beside you, tossing an arm lazily over your waist, pulling you close. Sirius settled in next, curling against your other side, one hand resting lightly atop your hip, fingers tracing idle patterns.

Remus lay at the center, soft breaths whispering through parted lips, brow smooth in sleep now, all tension melted away.

You glanced toward him, heart tugging with quiet fondness, with a love that ached in the softest corners of your soul. 

Even if he never learned the truth of that night—how it was his own claws that caused the wound—and even though you had all agreed, silently, to spare him that burden, sometimes a lie was not cruelty. It was mercy, a fragile shield to protect a heart too fragile to bear the weight of guilt it did not need to carry.

And in the end, the four of you had been lucky.

It was, after all, only just a scratch.

[rainrot4me]

your girl dad jeff post has got me in a chokehold!!! /pos

i was wondering if you would be willing to maybe do girl dad brian or tim too? :]

Hehehehehheeh I love what I’ve started.

── .✦

Masky’s girl. The daughter of a man who speaks in grunts and violence but melts at the sound of “Daddy.”

“You okay, baby?” It’s the phrase he says the most. Doesn’t matter if she fell off the swings or got overwhelmed in the grocery store—Masky’s immediately crouched beside her, gently gripping her little face in his scarred hands, eyes searching hers with that quiet intensity only she can handle.

“Use your words. What do you need from me?” He listens. Every time. Always.

He reads to her in a low, gravelly voice, one arm wrapped around her like a steel cable while she curls up under his jacket.

Doesn’t matter what the book is—fairy tale, adventure, bedtime story—he treats it like sacred ritual. If she interrupts to ask a question, he stops and explains it like it’s the most important thing he’s ever been asked.

“The bear’s not mean, sweetheart. He’s just scared, like people get sometimes.”

She gets night terrors, and you don’t even have to call him. Masky’s already in her room before she fully wakes up, sitting at her side and running a thumb over her brow until she calms.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Breathe for me, baby.”

You catch him on the couch watching her sleep sometimes, completely still. Mask half-on, eyes hollow—but there’s that crack in his armor when he brushes her hair back and whispers, “You make all of this worth it.”

First time she cries because of someone at school? He doesn’t say a word. Just kisses her temple and walks out of the house for a few hours. (You know he didn’t hurt anyone… but he definitely scared their shit straight.)

His biggest fear is losing her. So he teaches her self-defense like it’s another form of love. “You aim for the throat. You run. You don’t freeze, you hear me?”

The day she asks him why he wears a mask around strangers, he just sighs and lifts her into his lap. “Because I’m scared people will look at me wrong. But you never do.”

She hugs him tighter. Tells him he doesn’t need it. He doesn’t take it off yet—but he lets her see him. You two are the only people he doesn’t mind not putting up a shield for.

Every drawing she makes of “Daddy” gets pinned to the kitchen fridge. Even the ones where he has three teeth and giant bug eyes. “She nailed the hair though,” he mutters.

He would rip this world apart piece by piece if it ever got too close to her, no matter what.

── .✦

Hoodie’s sweetheart. The only thing in this godforsaken world that keeps him human.

Hoodie is the kind of dad who doesn’t talk a lot, but who watches everything. He knows exactly when she’s about to cry—before she even realizes it. He notices when she’s off, when she lies about being okay, when she drops a crayon because she’s tired.

“…C’mere, bug.” He’ll just pull her into his lap without a word and hold her there. Calm heartbeat. Gloved hand stroking her back.

She always calls him “Daddy,” even when she’s older. He pretends to be annoyed about it, but it makes his throat tight every time.

“Still my little girl, huh?” He says it like a joke. She knows it’s not.

He teaches her how to use a camera before she can even spell the word. She wanders the backyard with an old Polaroid in hand, taking shaky, blurry photos—and Brian keeps every single one.

There’s a box in his room labeled “Her Eyes.” It’s sacred. No one touches it.

Hoodie is terrifying when someone hurts her. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just suddenly gone for a few hours. The school bully never bothers her again. His teacher gets real quiet when Hoodie shows up for parent meetings.

One time, a neighbor made her cry—Brian just stood on their porch the next morning, silent, unmoving, hoodie up, until the man closed his blinds and never spoke again.

She always puts stickers on his gear. His gloves, his boots, even his spare mask. You catch him brushing one off his sleeve once—and then peeling it off carefully and sticking it to the corner of his laptop instead. “She said that one looked like me. I’ll keep it.”

When she falls asleep on him? Hoodie freezes. Like he’s afraid any movement will wake her. He leans his head against hers, tucks her close, and finally… lets himself breathe. You swear he sleeps better those nights.

She grows up soft, but sharp. Independent. And Hoodie is ferociously proud of that.

“That’s my girl,” he says when she stands up for someone.

“That’s my girl,” when she bandages his hand after a job.

“That’s my girl,” when she hugs him for no reason.

His girl forever and always.

꩜ .ᐟ

[lovebyeler]

a rant on mlvn & their shippers. inspired by this post i saw on twt

one thing i noticed about mlvn fans is that whenever bylers point out a fact that is objectively true, either confirmed by the cast/producers or is said explicitly in the show, the first thing they do is call us names and deny it.

as much as i dislike mlvn, i see how someone could ship it by seeing it closer to the way they're portrayed in the show; a sort of puppy crush turned into push-pull relationship whose sides need to be truthful to themselves & understand each other better to make it work. i could see the appeal in this type of dynamic and if this was how they actually saw mlvn.

however, my main problem with mlvns is that instead of seeing them for what they are, they portay them as an example of somehow perfect couple - they'd rather twist words said in the show than admit that they're a troubled pair. they romantize the version of mlvn in their head instead of looking deeper into the show & will make fun of you if you do that.

the "and i knew right then and there [...] that i loved you" fragment of mike's monologue has been proved to be a lie multiple times from multiple sources. they would have to retcon things established in season one for this to be true. mike never was shown to like her from the start, he just happened to be the most empathetic one from the party and only started liking/crushing on her later (depending on your interpretation). besides, the show quite literally makes fun of love at first sight & the writers said they don't believe in it as well. and in the said tiktok screenshot, it's not bylers theorizing even - it's literally what finn has said.

you could still believe that mike loves eleven while lying & exeggarating things in the monologue so he could save her. that's sort of romantic as well if you want to see it in that light - he's willing to be fake to save her, however eleven is mad at him for that reason, and then lesson of mlvn in next season would be that you don't need to lie in order to save your relationship. but wait, wouldn't that be a repeat of season 3 & 4 where it was shown not to work regardless? 🤔 besides, i could still see how someone could possibly defend this.

but no, they cling to that damn monologue like it's their bible. they themselves exeggerate their love instead of just looking at them like it's a regular relationship. they downplay their lies, their problems for the sake of shipping it. at this point i'm starting to wonder if they ship it cause they actually like their dynamic or do they ship it cause they like them together visually?

that's the biggest difference between bylers and mlvns for me. bylers look deeper into their negative side of their ship, pick apart their flaws yet this doesn't dismantle their relationship but support it. why won't mlvn do the same when they have a bunch of that going on their ship as well? if we see proof by analyzing byler fights, can't they do that instead of downplaying them? unless deep analysis won't help mlvn... which is possibly the case. that's why they choose to ignore it. but that's another topic. i think i'd still appreciate them more if they actually tried, though.

anyways, that'll be the end of my long rant. it's ironic to me how much byler shippers are called delusional because they dare to analyze the show when mlvn's whole ship is build upon false romantized image of it, don't you think?

[happyk44]

[ID: Text reading: And Cain talked with Abel his brother: and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him.

And the Lord said unto Cain, Where is Abel they brother? And he said, I know not: Am I my brother’s keeper?

2. Text reading: What is evil anyway, a sad soul infected with devils who take his will, or a man thinking of all his mother’s children he loves himself the best?

3. Illustration. Two figures watch a flaming car from a safe distance. One of the figures is completely yellow, like a bright light. The other figure is dark and shadowed beside them.

4. Text reading: The first thing God made is love then comes blood and the thirst for blood

5. Text reading: Two brothers are fighting by the side of the road. Two motorbikes have fallen over on the shoulder, leaking oil into the dirt, while the interlocking brothers grapple and swing. You see them through the backseat window as you and your parents drive past. You are twelve years old. You do not have a brother. You have never experienced anything ferocious or intentional with another person.

6. Text reading: Brother, my brother Oh, now the darkness comes alive It comes for me and I come for you

7. Text reading: This is my brother and I need a shovel to love him.

8. Text reading: [Roman:] You fucking bastard.

Kendall: I love you, man.

Roman: I fucking hate you.

9. Text reading: They are the same and they are not the same. They are the same and they hate each other for it.

10. Painting. Abel lies on the ground, trying to shield himself with one hand while Cain stands over him, one foot on his brother to keep him down, arms raised and ready to swing his club. The colours of the piece are mostly dark and muted, but Abel is coloured much more lightly, as though a beam were shining down against his chest and face. Cain is heavily shadowed, save for part of his face displaying focused intent, the length of his arm as he prepares to kill his brother, and the leg he’s used to keep Abel pinned.

11. Painting. Abel lies splayed out on the ground. Gripping a stick in one hand, Cain leans against a nearby rock and stares at his brother.

12. Text reading: and I killed my brother I had to and only wish I hadn’t washed my hands in the river the water remembers so long

13. Text reading: I really love you, but I can’t fucking stomach you.

14. Text reading: “If you have a sister and she dies, do you stop saying you have one? Or are you always a sister, even when the other half of the equation is gone?”

15. Text reading: there is something wrong with you

There is something wrong with you that is also wrong with me

16. Tumblr post from @/vampowers dated July 22nd 2023: sibling relationships are so strange… like I love you. You will never understand me in a way that matters. We are the same person in drastically different ways. We are sewn together. We don’t talk. We are attached at the hip. You wish I was never born. Can I call you. Let’s eat together. I forgive you. Etc

17. Text reading: You ask would I have done it for a husband or a child my answer is no I would not. A husband or a child can be replaced but who can grow me a new brother.

18. Text reading: Your sister haunts you. Your sister was wounded, long before she was killed. Your sister has always been wounded.

19. Text reading: Roman: Why do you love trying to hurt me do you think?

Shiv: It’s something to pass the time I guess?

20. Painting. The version of the painting has been cropped. In the full version, three women, anthromorphised depicts of Courage, Despair and Anxiety, hide behind a large rock observing a battle. What is visible in this cropped version is Anxiety gripping her shawl while Courage holds her wrist. Courage leans away from the other two. Despair sits further behind them in the shadows.

21. Text reading: You who I called brother How could you have come to hate me so? Is this what you wanted?

22. Text reading: And Cain says, “When you split me and my brother in the womb, you did not divide us evenly. He got kindness, and I got longing. He got complacence, and I got ambition. I want to kill him sometimes. I think sometimes he wants to die.”

23. Text reading: Who kills their own brother? Well, someone who loves him very much.

24. Tiktok comment from corinne reading, “I was so selfish. I was just a kid. I was so mad. I’m so sorry”

25. Text reading: And what can I tell you my brother, my killer What can I possibly say? I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you I’m glad you stood in my way

26. Text reading: hello, brother, hello? hello in there, brother, can you hear me? it’s a long tunnel to the grave

27. Still from the TV show, Succession. The three Roy siblings - Roman, Kendall, and Siobhan - stand in a room. While they're standing beside on another, there's decent space between the three of them.

28. Text reading: Oh, I could call you names now. List a hundred reasons for why you were awful. But what would that do? Where would it leave me? [highlight] I still loved you. I still have to live with that. [end highlight]

29. Text reading: In the Field, the ground warms as blood seeps into the dirt.

/end ID]

MY BROTHER / MY KILLER

"The King James Bible, Genesis 4 / "Black Leopard, Red Wolf" by Marlon James / "Car Crash" by Jenna Andersen / "Stratis Thalassinos Among the Agapanthi" by George Seferis (tr. by Edmund Keeley) / "You are Jeff" by Richard Siken (1) / "Brother" by The Rural Alberta Advantage / "A Brother named Gethsemane" by Natalie Diaz / "Succession" Script (1) / "You are Jeff" by Richard Siken (2) / "Cain Killing Abel" by Pietro Novelli / "The Death of Abel" by Gustave Doré (1866), recolored / "Lupa" by Matthew Nienow / Succession, S04 EP 10, "With Open Eyes" / "My Sister's Keeper" by Jodi Picoult / “Mirror Traps” by Hera Lindsay Bird / post by tumblr user vampowers / "Antigone", tr. by Anne Carson / "6 ways to draw a circle" by tumblr user filmnoirsbian / "Succession" Script (2) / "Courage, Anxiety and Despair Watching The Battle" by James Sant (detail) / "The Plagues", Prince of Egypt, dir. by Brenda Chapman / untitled poem by tumblr user nathanielorion (1) / "After Abel" by Dante Émile / comment from tiktok / "Famous Blue Raincoat" by Leonard Cohen / "For my unnamed brother" by Toi Derricotte / Succession screenshot / untitled, Sue Zhao / untitled poem by tumblr user nathanielorion (2)

[andy-15-07]

okay so a joel miller x reader where joel saves reader before jackson. and after they are in jackson joel forgets reader or smt. like she doesnt come down to eat anymore etc, but the reason why she doesnt come down anymore is because she just completely lost it because she is not used to community. then at one point she asks tommy for another house for her one and somehow joel and reader talk and she first gets mad but then she calms down :)) thank youu

Too Many Walls

PAIRING:Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 1197| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

You remembered the snow the most.

It had dusted Joel’s hair as he tore through the blizzard to get to you, blood blooming through his sleeve, dragging you from a house half-burned and surrounded by infected. You remembered the fire in his voice when he found you. His hands,rough, bleeding,cupping your face like you were something worth saving.

Now, in Jackson, there was no snow. Just silence.

You hadn’t been downstairs in three days. The warm halls of the house you and Joel had been given felt too wide. The windows too clear. People walked by every morning and waved through them. You always ducked. The idea of breakfast with strangers made your skin itch.

The first week, Joel had stayed close. Then, slowly, he’d stopped asking if you were coming to the dining hall. He'd leave in the morning, come back in the evening, sometimes with Tommy, sometimes alone. He always asked if you were okay. You always lied.

Today, you knocked on Tommy’s door.

He blinked at you in surprise. “Y/N?”

“I need a new place.”

“What?”

“A house,” you said. “A smaller one. By the fence. Or even something unfinished. I just… I can’t stay there anymore.”

Tommy scratched the back of his neck. “Did something happen with Joel?”

You looked away. “He doesn’t even notice I’m not there.”

Tommy sighed. “He does. He’s just... Joel. He thinks giving space is helping.”

“Space is one thing,” you muttered. “But I feel like a ghost.”

He nodded slowly. “Alright. I’ll check the west side,there’s a little place near the barn no one’s taken yet.”

“Thanks, Tommy.”

“Don’t disappear, though,” he said softly. “You’re not invisible. You know that, right?”

You didn’t answer.

Joel noticed when the mugs stopped appearing in the sink.

She hadn’t come downstairs for coffee.

She always made coffee.

Even during the chaos of the first few weeks in Jackson, she’d cling to that ritual,her hands shaking, sometimes crying quietly as the kettle boiled. But it gave her something. And it gave him something too.

He waited until dusk to knock on her bedroom door.

“Y/N?”

No response.

He leaned closer. “You hungry? I can bring somethin’ from the hall.”

Still nothing. Just silence, and maybe the faint creak of the floor as she turned away.

The next morning, she was gone.

Tommy found him in the stables.

Joel was brushing down a mare when Tommy leaned against the post and said, “Y/N moved out.”

Joel froze. “What?”

“She came to me yesterday. Said she needed her own place. Said she couldn’t stay with you anymore.”

He blinked at the horse’s side. “Why the hell didn’t she say anything to me?”

“She tried, man. Not directly, but… Joel, she’s drowning. This place, it’s... a lot.”

“She’s the one who said she wanted to be safe.”

“Yeah. Safe, not suffocated. You ever think maybe she doesn’t know how to be okay in a place like this?”

Joel’s jaw clenched.

Tommy crossed his arms. “You’ve been quiet lately too. You ain’t talkin’ to her. She thought you stopped caring.”

“I was givin’ her time,”

“Well, it didn’t help. Go talk to her, Joel.”

The house Tommy gave her was half-finished,bare walls and creaky floorboards, but no big windows. No people walking by. No hallway that echoed with every step.

Y/N was unpacking her small bag when a knock hit the frame. The door wasn’t even fully hung yet, just tilted on its hinges.

She turned, and there he was.

Joel. Hands in his coat pockets. Frown in place.

“Nice place,” he muttered.

She straightened slowly, her face unreadable. “Did Tommy send you?”

“No,” Joel said. “I came because I saw the kitchen and realized you weren’t there. Again.”

Her lips thinned. “Took you long enough.”

“Don’t do that.”

“What? Tell the truth?” she snapped.

Joel’s shoulders tightened. “You could’ve just said you wanted space.”

“You didn’t ask,” she said, her voice rising. “Joel, I waited for you to notice. I waited for you to say something, anything, about how I was spiraling. But you just stopped talking to me.”

He looked wounded. “I was tryin’ to give you peace.”

“Well, it felt like abandonment.”

A long silence fell.

Y/N’s eyes burned. “Do you know what it’s like to go from running for your life every damn day to waking up in a warm bed in a quiet town, and feel nothing but guilt for it? Like maybe you don’t deserve it?”

Joel swallowed. “Yeah. I know that.”

“I don’t know how to do this, Joel,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to be a person here. I freak out when someone waves at me. I panic if I hear kids laughing. I spent months expecting to die. And now…”

He stepped forward, slowly.

“You don’t gotta figure it all out at once,” he said. “And I didn’t stop carin’, alright? I thought I was helpin’. I was wrong.”

Her shoulders trembled.

“You saved me,” she murmured. “You dragged me outta hell. And then you just... faded.”

“I didn’t know how to be around you when you started pullin’ away,” Joel said, his voice cracking. “I ain’t good at this. I thought maybe you’d feel better if I wasn’t hoverin’.”

“Well, you weren’t hovering,” she said, her voice breaking now. “You just vanished.”

Joel looked down. “I’m sorry.”

She turned away, wiping at her eyes.

“You know,” she said bitterly, “when I asked Tommy for this house, I told myself it was because I needed space. But I think I just wanted to see if you’d care.”

Joel took another step forward. “And I do.”

Silence again, thick and heavy.

“You didn’t even ask where I was going,” she whispered.

“I was scared,” he said.

She blinked at him, surprised. “Of what?”

“Of sayin’ the wrong thing. Of holdin’ on too tight and pushin’ you away more.” He sighed. “I’ve lost too many people, darlin’. I thought if I gave you quiet, maybe you’d stay.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

Joel’s face twisted with something like pain.

She looked down at her bag. “I’m not ready for Jackson. Not really. But I thought maybe... maybe I could be ready with you.”

He stepped closer again, now inches from her.

“I want that,” he said softly. “I want you. Even if you’re scared. Even if you hide away sometimes. Hell, I do the same thing.”

She let out a shaky breath. “So what now?”

He hesitated. Then: “Can I stay here? With you? Not forever. Just... tonight. Maybe we can talk. Or not. Just sit. If that’s all you can do right now, that’s enough.”

Y/N stared at him.

And then her shoulders finally dropped.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “But you’re makin’ the coffee.”

Joel huffed a soft laugh. “Deal.”

That night, they sat in her unfinished living room, a mug of coffee each, two pillows on the floor, no electricity yet.

No more silence, either.

Just the sound of breathing. Of Joel quietly humming a tune under his breath. Of Y/N finally leaning her head on his shoulder.

Neither of them said the words. Not yet.

But they stayed.

And in Jackson, that was the first step.

[wxsteriawishes]

the lads men finding you again in this life. . . but you're already with someone else (angst version) what who said that

post-writing clarity: written while listening to the Dear Hongrang OST, very much set the mood. i recommend! most songs are instrumental.

go back to masterlist

content: mentions of death, mentions of toxic behavior/abuse, use of indecent language/swearing, use of pet names (pips)

caleb

bonus points: imagine zayne is "the other guy" in caleb's story

he'd immediately try sabotaging the two of you. over and over again, using his status and evol to his benefit and that asshole's detriment. he'd play the perfect older brother, you'd come crying to him each time something went wrong. each time an issue popped up. caleb wouldn't let him enter the house, wouldn't let him explain or apologize. he'd let the miscommunications fester. when you find out how much caleb had been meddling, you're furious, you're outraged -- you feel betrayed. he had already lied about his death, now this?initially, he's firm and stubborn. he won't let go of you. "can't you see how much better i could treat you?" maybe if you were single, he'd let you be. but you acted as if you were in love with that other guy, like you might marry him. spend your whole life with him? he can't have that, now, can he? no, that wouldn't do. he locks you up, hides you away from the rest of the world. you didn't even get to say goodbye, you had screamed at him once. he didn't care. you missed your lover, you never quite had the courage to confess. he could tell anyway. he didn't relent. "i know you, pips! he'll never know you like i do." you don't know for sure what happened to your partner ex. you get hints. caleb tells you he took care of him. you didn't have to guess at what that meant. the important part was that you'd never be able to see him again. it broke you apart. you stopped speaking, ate less, never laughed. your smiles were only half-hearted. you had trouble sleeping. it takes a while, but he eventually takes a step back. he sees you fading away, missing the man you used to be with, the one you really loved. you're just a shell of the bright, loving, confident woman you used to be. you don't even look at him anymore. he'd broken your trust. he was too intense, too possessive, too much. he lets you go. you don't look back. instead of your partner's loving arms, you come home to a tombstone and a death certificate. even though you eventually forgive caleb, you can't find it within yourself to love him back the way he's always loved you. he's killed (backstabbed) by one of his colleagues a few years later, eternally distracted by thoughts of you. people think he died without a lover. but he loved you to his grave, even when you didn't love him back. even when you had another in your own heart.

rafayel

bonus points: imagine sylus is "the other guy" in rafayel's story

he ignores you. initially, he wants to shout at you. he wants to grab you by the shoulders and shake until you remember him again, remember what you did to him, what the two of you had. he sees your eyes scanning the crowd and missing him. you didn't recognize him, you weren't even looking for him. he watches your lover lean down and plant a kiss on your lips, startling you. rafayel watches you blush and turns to leave. fine. if you were happy without him, who was he to object? the second time you meet, it's at one of rafayel's art exhibitions. he's mingling with the other guests. he's charming, captivating, unforgettable, everything a world-renowned artist like him should be. he's startled when you suddenly appear behind him. you introduce yourself and he turns around with his usual flirtatious gaze. he meets your sparkling eyes and, for a moment, he can't speak. why were you here? maybe you had finally remembered something-- but you only ask him for a favor. he pretends to be skeptical, when he was truly curious. he thought you might ask about lemuria. or at the very least, just be a fan of his work, wanting to meet him. but when he hears your favor. . . he laughs. hard. it sounds bitter, even to him. oh, you were audacious. who did you think you were? he wanted to say no, to just walk away, so badly. he was one of the best, for god's sake. he could afford to be an asshole this far in his career. but that would be cruel and unfair to you. you did not remember him, for whatever reason, and he couldn't expect anything from you. and, perhaps, he also just couldn't refuse you, no matter how hard he tried. like he was under your spell. thomas was right behind you. please say yes, his eyes seemed to be screaming at rafayel. so he does. only a few months later, he's dressed in soft pastels, blending in with the venue. he's sitting in the very front, a little off to the side, brush in hand. he paints. the life, the weather, the people. part of him feels like he's wasting his pigment on this. he's finally done when he hears you, "i do," voice full of emotion. rafayel watches the ring get pushed on your finger. he looks away. packs up his stuff, waits at the back, leaves before the afterparties. drowns himself in his work. years pass and people notice something had changed in his work. like something was missing. his fame and wealth skyrocketed. he had everything he could want. and most of all, he was happy. he didn't need you.

sylus

bonus points: imagine xavier is "the other guy" in sylus' story

he stalks you. he'd never call it that though. he was simply keeping an eye on you, to make sure you were safe. he has cameras set near your apartment building. when you go out, he usually sends luke and kieran, not willing to trust any of his mindless lackeys to ensure your safety. he has mephisto on the job when you're on a mission and you're trying to lay low. that's how he finds out you're with someone, another hunter. someone he had seen you spending time with at home and at work. instead of backing away, he keeps an even closer eye on you. what exactly had you two done? how far had you let him go? he kept catching his evol out of control, ready to strangle the man who dared touch you. he wouldn't believe you were in love with another. not when his soul was tied to yours. when you go on a sort of solo mission to find the leader of Onychinus, he sees his chance. he tries to get you to remember, he tries to resonate with you, he tries near everything he can think of. nothing works. no, he's only made things worse. you leave to go back to linkon city and he felt himself going insane. how had you forgotten everything? when it was you that tied your fate to his and cursed him. you, who doomed him to only be yours, when you couldn't even remember who he was to you now. on his better days, he has hope. he trusts that you'll make your way back to him. but on his worse days, he pays you a visit. he appears in your vicinity, scares the living hell out of you, and he wants to demand answers. but you hated him. you could only see him as the murderer of your foster grandmother and brother. he disgusted you, how could you love him with that fear, that betrayal in your eyes? one time, he appeared in your room while you were in his arms, the two of you in your bed. he went crazy. he lunged, aiming to kill. he almost did, but he caught sight of your eyes again. horror. pleading. tears. you call him a monster. his gaze dropped to his hands, strangling an innocent throat, black and crimson tendrils of smoke clouding his vision. you were in the corner of the room, looking like you wanted to disappear. sylus' grip loosened. he wanted to disappear. he stands up. takes a step back. he vanishes from the room. you never see him again.

xavier

bonus points: rafayel is "the other guy" in xavier's story

he'd introduce himself. he'd make his presence known each time he walked past your desk at work, past your door at home. he'd bring you home-baked muffins, to welcome you to the neighborhood. you're shocked by the acidic taste in the dough, but his aloof nature is charming. he leaves quite the impression on you. you become friends -- going on missions together, hanging out at his place on the weekends sometimes, having a drink together after a particularly intense fight. he's happy. he's friendly, he's sweet, he's respectful. he's such a gentleman, and honestly, a little bit of a flirt. he knows you don't remember anything. but he doesn't mind. it was more than perfect like this. he didn't have enough time to be nitpicking over the finer details. then you decide you want him to meet your fiancé. he had recently come back from a five-month-long world tour, you were saying, and you just had to introduce him to xavier. of course. xavier never did ask if you were single. he thought his feelings were obvious. he thought you two were on the same page. he forgot you didn't remember the things he did. you didn't catch the little inside jokes he made in reference to your past. and now, he was about to come face-to-face with your lover. fine, he'll be the judge of it. and when they met in person, xavier was livid. it would've been easier if he were horrible. but he wasn't. your fiancé was the whole package: deathly handsome, world-famous, wealthier than one could imagine, and most of all, he had left quite the impression on you too. only he had gotten to you first. xavier didn't ever smile at him, never spoke directly to him, always seething beneath the surface. the worst part was he was so good to you. he was so kind to you. xavier couldn't ignore that, no matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise. you invited xavier to your wedding. he still tried to make you see him as the better choice. he could fight, he could protect you, he would never forsake you. but you couldn't turn your head from your husband, your heart couldn't stop loving the passionate, flirtatious, loving man you were already tied to. he could feel how distant you were getting already. he could feel the friendship hanging on by a thread. he had a choice: he could try and save it, savor what little interactions he had with you, or go off the grid again. he never got to make the choice. his body was so tired and he already had such little time. he should've noticed the signs, without your love and comfort, all alone again, the stress, the solitude, it was all getting to him. then, one night, you found yourself dressed in black, hand-in-hand with your husband. you were told it was painless, in the middle of the night. you were grateful. you never knew how deep his feelings went for you.

zayne

bonus points: imagine caleb is "the other guy" in zayne's story

he'd keep his distance. at first, he couldn't believe it. it was you. you were the girl in his dreams. the woman formed from fragments of his mind. it had been years since you two had last spoke. but that was before the nightmares started, when he began to think there was something wrong with him. but like a fairytale come to life, he saw you. your eyes, your smile, your everything -- you were divine. his drink was untouched as he stared out the window, into the town square. he needed to speak to you. he thought he was crazy, having nightmares of killing a wife he never even met. but there you stood, laughing as you were grabbed by the waist, kissed until you ran out of breath. his heart dropped. you looked so happy. all hopes of talking to you vanished. he wouldn't cross that line. he got up and left the café immediately. it wasn't his place, to try to speak of such an intimate matter to a taken woman. how could he ruin that for you? he wouldn't. but, maybe. . . he'd make sure to be assigned to you as your primary physician. he'd get to know you in a professional setting, in a respectful manner. just for his own sake. when you had problems with your boyfriend, he'd comfort you. give you advice, sometimes as a doctor, sometimes as a friend. he kept his eye on you to make sure you were never hurt. he couldn't help himself, he couldn't completely stay away. how could he? but he never pushed it. he never flirted with you. even when he might've felt like you were attracted to him too. you had been in your relationship for years, why would you risk that for him? he never explicitly expressed his feelings to you, never wanting you to feel pressured to return them. there were boundaries he wouldn't cross. you weren't his, for god's sake, no matter how much he'd wished otherwise. but he kept telling himself if things didn't work out between you and that guy, he'd try his own luck. two years later, he was attending your wedding. he watched you exchange your vows, eyes sparkling, skin glowing, like you were made of gems. he was so happy for you. he moved towns. kept having nightmares of your lifeless body, dying at his scarred hands.

[captain-spooks-ahoy]

Otter pop summers

(Lads Li x nonmc!reader)

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Summary; An old friendship in the midst of a hot summer, featuring otter pops.

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Pairings; Lads love interests x non-mc!reader

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Note; Not specific to any of the boys, it’s just a cute little one-shot/ Drabble idea I had :P oh and I didn’t proofread lol, anyways enjoy my jellyfishes -🦈

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It was hot, way too hot to do anything aside from lay on the ground under a tree and eat the otter pops you’d stolen from the freezer. Cicadas buzzed at the heat, birds flew around as did the summer bugs. The sky was big and blue, only few clouds could be seen. As much as you’d like to say you hated it, the summer gave you a comfortable sound to your usually silent office life. You were enjoying this, lying under a tree and watching the clouds slowly inch by.

Then of course all comfortable silences come to an end eventually. “There you are, how long have you been lying there?” His voice comes to your ears, you close your eyes before you can see his face. Maybe if you pretended to be asleep he’d walk away? You hoped that’d be the case until you could feel his take a seat next to you. A sigh pulls from your lungs “I’m not sure, I’m just relaxing out here” you take another bite of your otter pop, finally opening your eyes to see his face partially above yours. It seemed he was just looking at you. He squinted lightly before leaning back against the tree. “I see, you could have told me or mc” silence enveloped you once more. The sound of cicadas, birds, and bugs filled your ears. Then of course he had to speak again, “do you think mc likes me?” How odd, you assumed they were both already together from the uncomfortable closeness they had. Not to mention how gross their flirtatious banter back and forth was. You know you’re his friend but sometimes you can handle all of that. Maybe it was because you yourself have had the biggest crush known to man on this guy, or the fact you’ve finally given up on giving him hints. Whatever it was, it seemed to have left you unable to respond. Leaving an uncomfortable silence between yoo both, it was awhile before you finally responded with an internal grimace. “I’d assume she does” you kept it sweet and short, but it seemed that wasn’t enough to settle his mind. “She’s really nice, I was hoping you two would hit it off. Do you like her?” You silently prayed for her to come steal his attention away once more. “I don’t mind her, she seems nice. You know how I am around new people” luckily after your response he finally closed his mouth. As much as you’d love to talk to him, you wanted to replace in silence more. Another bite of your otter pop, the cool sweetness spreading across your mouth. It was a perfect way to stay a little cool in this hot weather. You ignored how he stared at you, like he wanted to say more but knew from the look on your face you wanted silence. “Okay you staring isn’t going to get you anywhere, what do you want?” You ask him with a tired glance in his direction. His cheeks dust lightly, like a kid caught doing something bad. He looked away from you, it seemed he was looking at the ground. “It’s nothing really, I was just thinking about that time in grade school when we shared otter pops” his words bring back that memory. Your first kiss, so weird it was him who suggested it.

Two ten year olds sit under a familiar tree, one has a red otter pop while the other had a blue.

“If we kiss would your lips turn purple?” The boy asks, the smaller one of the two turns to him and gives a curious look. “I dunno! It would be cool if they did though!” They were silent before the boy asked “can I kiss you to find out?” “Sure” the other responds almost too quickly. And like that they both peck each other on the lips, the sticky sweet residue of the otter pop on their lips.

In the end their lips were not purple and it was a fruitless effort.

Remembering that was unpleasant at best. You looked away from him, back at the sky. “Yeah, I do remember. Our lips never did turn purple.. such effort wasted what a shame” you fein a sigh and lift a hand to your forehead to ass dramatics. A chuckle comes from him in response “very funny, and here I thought… well anyways. When do you plan on heading in?” He thought what? You had to admit to the curiosity that ran through you now. You didn’t question it though, you offer a simple response. “Probably soon, I’m running out of otter pop” you hold the mostly eaten purple otter pop up.

The silence that followed was comfortable, well at least in your opinion it was. You watch the clouds inch by once again, just as you had been doing. Why was he still sitting here? You were sure you had heard someone call him. You close your eyes, the sound of summer buzzing in your ears. You finished off your otter pop as the minutes rolled by with the silence of summer. You sit up, eyes still closed as you stretch. You stand up, dust yourself off then look to him. He’s sitting there just watching, like he wanted to say something to you but feared your response. You let out a small sigh, “come on, it’s getting late and I’m sure mc is wondering where you are-“ “she left a few minutes ago” he interrupted, you cock a brow at him as he stands up. “Alright.. well I assume you’ve got to get going unless you plan on hanging around longer.” You shrug, turning to walk. While you’re facing away from him you look up at the sky again, he speaks “what are you looking at?” You’re silent as he seems to keep his distance. “Nothing, I’m just remembering something funny. Do you want an otter pop when we get inside?” Nothing, was it really nothing? You had no idea as it plagued your mind the rest of the night. Every memory of how he treated you completely different from how he treated mc. While he knew you could handle your own problems, he never showed the same worry he showed for her. Why is that? You assume it must be because you truly are just a friend.

“Sure, maybe I’ll finally get another kiss off of you” he playfully jabs at you, earning a playful glare from you. “Yeah, yeah. In your dreams lover boy, don’t you have a thing for mc? Can’t go around acting like you can get kisses off everyone now can you?” You tease. Only you didn’t get another playful jab back, he simply looked at you like a kicked puppy. “What? I’m only joking come on-“ you go to walk but he grabs your upper arm, he looks at you like he’s searching for something in your eyes. “Do you really believe that? That I like mc?” You give a weary glance at him, had you misunderstood the situation? “Yeah.. you guys spend like.. every waking moment together and are always hush hush… I thought you two had a thing for one another?”

He’s silent, like he’s thinking of a response. He lets your arm go, “sorry.. uh let’s go inside then, I call the red otterpop” he says, albeit trying to be playful his brows were still furrowed with what seemed to be confusion. You just mentally shrug it off, what’s the worst that could happen. He likes you instead and is upset you don’t see it? As if, he couldn’t ever see you in that light… right?

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(Teehee, okay what do we think? It’s another Drabble but I thought it was kind of cute. I don’t feel like writing versions of this for all of them so I made it as vague as possible to what love interests it could be, so imagine your boy and boom you’re good. Anyways time to work on the other two works -🦈)

[leviathan-supersystem]

One of those rules is not supporting terrorist organizations. Rumeysa Ozturk was supporting Hamas, a terrorist organization.

this is a flat fucking lie and you know it.

yet another example of what a joke you are. ready to spread lies to defend the suppression of criticism of the government. some libertarian you are.

They already have the media, the biased left wing courts, and one of the two major political parties bending or outright breaking the law in their favor.

genuinely flat-earther level of delusional for you to claim this. the same courts that denied ozturk bail? which political party? both political parties support israel you cretin.

I was warning fellow conservatives of the dangers of giving the government the power to suppress or ban things they personally don't like. Because eventually that power is going to be used against them.

oh well i'm sure treating critics of a war as though they're "supporting terrorist groups" could never be used against conservatives hahahahahahaha

The amount of frothing, censorious rage self-described "anti-censorship activists" and "free speech absolutists" will descend into when confronted with that one thing that causes no harm on its own when consumed in moderation by adults, but that they have a visceral, negative personal reaction to, will never not be fascinating to me.

And yes, this is once again about right wingers demanding all porn be banned and celebrating its censorship.

[avsanderoth]

Writing Emotions: Sorrow

Welcome. Below lies truths, though not universal, for the art of woe - its reality, its impact and its depiction. Thank you for reading. 

To grieve at all scales is an utmost inherent aspect of processing the trials thrown at one by life. Whether for your own loss or the loss suffered by another, sorrow can be grounding when treated as it should be, or deluding when not. 

Misery loves company

Ideally, the sadness you express through your characters will draw the reader in, and via their empathy, leave them feeling similarly. Indeed, sorrow has the ability to humanize your characters - it makes them seem vulnerable in ways that allow the reader to understand them better. 

And in turn, it allows you to understand your characters better. Seeing and writing someone at their most vulnerable gives you an insight for their qualities when they don’t have the energy to hide behind a facade, whether consciously or unconsciously. Writing scenes that feature your characters grieving over any sort of loss is a good means of getting to know them. 

So then, how is one to write sorrow?

Your sorrow is your own

No two people grieve the same. When they experience loss, the reality hits them at different times, and haunts them just as sporadically. It is up to you to understand your character, and reason for yourself - how would they react to losing something? For loss is the great source of nearly all sorrow, be it your own loss or another’s for which you grieve. 

In this sense, I can only recommend two broad things. 

First, draw from yourself. The idea of sorrow one knows best is their own, and while you don’t need to directly copy the way you experience sadness and paste it onto your characters, it is a starting point you’re already deeply familiar with, and so you can revise it - adjust timings, physical and verbal reactions, the sheer fact it stems from you will make the process far, far easier. 

Second, allow yourself to be immersed in what your character is going through. This is a tip I give to all writing, but it is especially important when depicting sorrow. The closer you get to your story - the more “real” you allow it to be - the more natural the result becomes. 

I can also list some things that factor into sorrow - things to think about displaying through your story, though I cannot recommend using all of them at once. 

Does your character search for an escape, or a distraction? Do they allow the feelings to stew in their gut, waiting for them to settle or disappear?

Is your character’s reaction to loss inward or outward? Do they keep their grief to themselves, or do they shed tears and lament as the feelings naturally bubble up?

More particularly, how does your character react physically to loss? Does it make them feel weak and reach for support, does it make them feel eternally tense, are they overcome by sudden chills or flushes of heat?

Do they try to compensate for their sorrow via other emotions? Masking their feelings over loss through indiscriminate anger, or false content, or utter indifference?

Who does your character reach to for help, and why? Maybe they don’t dare reach out to anybody - if so, why not?

Should your character try to articulate their sorrow in words, do they succeed or does their vocabulary fail them? Grief is so inherent, there are times when not the harshest terms can do it justice - what does that inability do to your character, being unable to rationally communicate their feelings?

Feel free to use these when you depict sorrow - they are drawn from my own experience doing so, and work well for me. 

When grief owns you

If not handled, sorrow rots. It grows, though you delude yourself into thinking it’s dissipating. In reality, it merely loses its “shape”, detaches from what caused it in the first place so it may grow with every loss that follows, no matter how minor. The lows of the day grow deeper, the highs flatten out and turn life into a hay field hiding widespread sinkholes. 

Depression is one of many things that can follow a poorly handled loss, when the mind’s ability to produce the chemicals that steer your mood is stressed to a point of effectively shutting down. It’s a state of your grief encapsulating you, a suit of armor to protect you from the possibility that things get even worse. It distances you from reality, makes the embrace and touch of your loved ones feel empty. Your own personal abyss. 

But not all sorrow takes this path. The vengeful channel it, convert every ounce into relentless fury. If they make right of what happened, take revenge on those who caused it, they may be free - their own personal balance will return!

It doesn’t. Revenge is a distraction, and once fulfilled, the mind is left to fend for itself. There, the unresolved loss stands, waiting with open arms. And with nobody to stop it, the mind accepts. 

The hand reached out

Nobody can handle sorrow that deep on their own. They need help, and they need to want it. What is your character’s “safety net”? Do they have one, and if so, do they realize it? Does something keep them from accepting help, whether pride or self-loathing or fear that things will only get worse? Deep sorrow changes your perspective on life - do their days seem bleaker? Does opening their bedroom door feel like a monumental effort, much less making food for themselves or going outside?

Know that handling sorrow is a process that can span a lifetime depending on the event. Do not rush yourself in resolving it in your story, lest the impact is weakened and the end becomes rushed. Even if your story ends with the character still processing their loss, you can make it “good” by surrounding them with people who can help them, or just offering any reason for the reader to feel hope. 

These two concepts - grief and hope - go hand in hand when storytelling. When in tandem, the reader’s mind will fill in what your story is not long enough to contain, give happy endings, though distant, and make a resolution as good as the reader wants it to be. 

The end

Thank you for reading. I appreciate the support for this blog, and goodbye.

[devswritingcornerorsmth]

OK so because of the fact you just stabbed me in the gut with that bad ending I think we deserve more fluffy romance story and head cannons :)

fiiinnneeeee only because i lowkey feel bad for how dark it got (and also i love writing for dorian)

More Dorian/Reader headcanons

= Dorian is surprisingly good at remembering your favorite foods, treats, snacks, and drinks. It's most likely due to the many years of being a door and keeping track of banned and welcomed faces, but it's also because he loves you. Don't be surprised if a Food Fetch (Date Everything's version of Door Dash) order is outside your door with your favorite food when you've been feeling down.

= For someone who used to be a door, Dorian is surprisingly warm and comfortable to lie on and cuddle with. He'll let you lie on him after a long day of work as you both watch TV or a movie, or maybe just talk about anything and everything.

= Not big into PDA, but if you're feeling uncomfortable or scared, Dorian will wrap his arm around your shoulders and lead you home or somewhere safer. If you're not comfortable with that, he won't, of course.

= He can't lie to you. Even small white lies are a struggle for him. Dorian looks away, making an obvious face that he's lying, but it's only about small things like a surprise birthday or something. It's also easy to tell because he'll change the subject and move on.

= "So, anything new?" "... no, definitely not. Anyways, what about that book you've been reading?"

= Dorian owns up to his mistakes and takes responsibility if he messes up big time, even if you'll get mad at him for it.

= He knows nine languages besides English and will gladly help you learn one or speak with you in another if you're more comfortable speaking in your mother tongue. If you do want to learn another language, he'll teach you as best he can, but he's not a very good teacher. Sure, he'll teach you how to speak, write, and read, but it's not a professional level if you're trying to learn fully. Will help you with Grammar and stuff, though.

= "Ich... lieben dich..." "Close, but *lieben* should be *liebe*. Sie lieben dich oder ich liebe dich." "Ich liebe dich." "Sehr gut."

= Dorian is not a big fan of music, but LOVES to listen to you sing. He finds himself with the ghost of a smile on his lips listening to you, no matter how good or bad you think you are, he thinks you sound lovely.

---

sorry for the angst throws this as an apology and runs away

it's also been a minute since i've spoken or read german so apologizes if i messed anything up lol

[noctiva]

Toby’s the type of guy to casually finger uou while watching a movie

key word: casually

toby’s very touchy. he has his hands or mouth on your pretty much at all times. a hand around your waist, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt. slipped into your back pocket so he can feel the curve of your ass under his palm. lazily twirling your hair around his fingers, absentmindedly nibbling on your shoulders or earlobe just because he can

and that’s in PUBLIC. so in private….

I’m not gonna say free use… but I’m not gonna NOT say free use skskfklsls

he’s got the libido of a horny teenager and he’s incapable of keeping his hands to himself. he just can’t help it, he loves touching you. feeling the smoothness of your skin, the texture of the goosebumps that pebble it as you fight to keep yourself in check. likes feeling you heat up. skin growing flushed and clammy as he kneads your flesh under his fingers

your body is like his fidget toy - his brain just going blissfully blank as he lies next to you and toys with your tits. squeezing and kneading them just to make you whine. pinching and tugging at your nipples through your shirt to feel them perk up so beautifully.

half the time he’s not even trying to fuck you, he just wants to touch.

so, fingering you while watching a movie? yeah.

snuggled up under a blanket with him, wearing comfy pyjamas as you rest your head against his shoulder. your eyes are glued to the screen, you’re the one who picked out this movie after all (some cheesy romcom you’ve seen a million times before), but Toby’s attention span isn’t as admirable.

he’s focused on the film for maybe 15 minutes before his gaze is drifting, settling on you. on how pretty you look, all curled up next to him. how the television reflects in your eyes, how you’re so engrossed even though you know the plot like the back of your hand.

you’ve seen it so many times, he’s sure you wouldn’t mind it if he distracted you a little.

so his hands start to wander, his gaze flicking back to the TV while he creeps towards the waistband of the soft cotton shorts you were wearing. skimming over your tummy, feeling your muscles tense up.

seeing you out of the corner of his eye - your head snapping to look over at him as his fingers slip under your panties.

“K-Keep watchin’ your movie, baby.” as he slips the digits between your thighs, roaming the pads of his fingers across every dip and fold. sinking his teeth into his bottom lip to suppress a grin when he rolls his thumb against your clit and tugs a gasp from your lungs.

working you up so torturously as you fight to focus like he had told you to, your vision going hazy as your breathing quickens. slick pooling against his fingers, that he rubs into your folds before he’s finally plunging a digit into that velvety warmth.

he’s so nonchalant it almost pisses you off. his face betraying nothing, the only sign of his actions being the way his arms jerks and tenses up every time he thrusts his finger back in. nice and slow, really drawing it out. swiping and curling it inside you - not because he didn’t think you could take another one, but because he was just having the time of his life feeling every nook and cranny of your pretty little body

by the time he’s sinking another finger in, your practically melting into the couch cushions. thighs falling open wider under the blankets, your legs twitching and trembling as he plays with you. plays. that’s exactly what he’s doing. there’s no end goal, no quota he’s trying to hit. he’s just playing. you’re just so warm, and tight, and the way you squeeze around his fingers - the way you stretch around them when he scissors you open. he could do this for hours. days. until his damn wrist locked up.

“Toby-“ You’re gasping against his shoulder, drool wetting the fabric of his hoodie. eyelids fluttering, all focus on the movie completely gone out the window.

“Keep you-your eyes open.” He’s murmuring back to you, lazily rolling your clit with his thumb as his fingers pump into you. “This is your f-favourite part, isn’t it? You’re gonna miss it.”

he’d keep you that way for the entire duration of the movie. maybe you should’ve picked a shorter one lol

[jennelikejennay]

How to Make Up Vulcan Words

Using the Vulcan language is like trying to follow a recipe written by a grandma who already knew how to make the thing and only jotted down a couple measurements. That is, it does have information, but it rarely has all you need. Even words I would consider obvious and necessary simply aren’t in there. However, if you know how to put Vulcan words together, you can create a lot more words than the VLD will give you.

Vulcan is a language that relies very heavily on a small number of roots and affixes. English does the same sometimes, especially in scientific language, where we use Greek and Latin roots to hide the fact that we’re doing it. This makes it easy to make up new words whenever you want, in exactly the way the creators made them: by jamming together bits until a word is built up with all the parts you want.

There are only two basic rules: first, you have a limit of two hyphens, so when parts are connected with hyphens (which is the case with some affixes and all roots) you are limited to three. There’s no limit on apostrophes or jammed-together affixes, though, so keep that in mind.

Second, you want the final version to be the part of speech you are looking for, which may require a change in ending. Verbs usually (but not always) end in -au or -tor. Making a noun out of a verb is a little complicated, but in the end, a noun can have any ending. Adjectives end in -k, often -ik. Adverbs end in -ng.

The basic process I use for finding a word is this.

First, I look up the word I want in the VLD. Instead of searching by word, I go to that letter of the alphabet and scroll to it, in case there are related words in the same area. It’s probably not there, so I try a couple of synonyms. Then words that aren’t synonyms, but are related.

Hopefully in all that searching, I’ll come up with a couple of roots. For instance, I can find that sadakh means “to eject.” Dakh means to cast out, get rid of. Sa- can mean a bunch of things, including “male” and “automatic” but I see it in a lot of words like extend, exhale, expand, etc. So I think in this case sa- means outward.

Then I can add on other roots and affixes that I want. Say I want a substance that has been ejected, I can use -tukh, stuff, substance, and get sadakh-tukh. Or if I want a machine that ejects, I can use sadakh-vel. A thing that ejects? Sadakhek. A person whose job is ejecting things? Sadakhsu.

Here are a bunch of Vulcan affixes, some of which are in the VLD, some of which you have to figure out after seeing them in a bunch of related words.

su: person. This can mean a person from a given place or a person who does a certain thing. It attaches without any punctuation. ashausu: one who loves. besu: a companion, one who is beside or with you. kugalsu: a person who is betrothed. sasu: a man. kosu: a woman.

-vel: thing, object, machine. tor: do; tor-vel: mechanism. tum-tor: to count, tum-vel: computer.

-tukh: stuff. alem: salt; alem-tukh: sodium. dau: affect; dau-tukh: hormone.

ek: -er, something that does a specific thing. Not used with people. feshel-tor: to disrupt; feshelek: disruptor. spitau: to drill, spitayek: a drill, something that drills. (Note: -ek is going on the noun form of the verb, generally, spitaya being the act of drilling.)

sa-: male, masculine. sa-mekh: father. sa-fu: son.

ko-: female, feminine. ko-mekh: mother. ko-fu: daughter.

‘es: -ness, basically turning another word into an abstract noun. abru’: over; abru’es: dominance. marom-: excellent; marom’es: excellence.

shi’: place. masu: water; shi’masu: oasis. 

-bosh: full of. kau: wisdom; kau-bosh: wise

-fam: without. kau-fam: unwise.

-tal: study, the study of. gen-lis: language, gen-lis-tal: linguistics. (And -talsu is a person who studies the topic! We’re all being amateur gen-lis-talsular right now.)

tra: this is an odd collective plural, which I think is really cool. It’s a big mass of the thing you’re talking about. So sular is people, but sutra is a nation. masu: water; masutra: ocean.

rik, ri: not or without. kwon: forever; rikwonik: temporary. tsuri: normal, usual; ritsuri: abnormality, divergence, eccentricity. kup: can, able; rikup’es: disability. Vulcan loves to use this one to make opposites; if ever you need a word and only have its opposite, use this.

pi’: small. laptra: forest; pi’laptra: copse. sahan: wind; pi’sahan: breeze. You can make diminutives of any kind like this.

weh-: more. abru: above; weh-abru: upper.

dan-: most. irak: far; dan-irak: farthest.

From a few roots and these affixes, you too can craft words like shi’sasnem, bathroom, or qlar’hy’es, curiosity. The VLD alone barely gets you through a few sentences of whatever you wanted to say, but if you know how to construct your own words, you really can say almost anything.

[lynzishell]

Epilogue 💛 Atlas

The rest of the year flew by in a rush of one event after another.

First, there was Spencer’s birthday party. It was the first family event that Ezra and I were both present at, and overall, it went okay. I focused on spending time with everyone else and just let him exist in the same space as me, which was the best I could do at the time.

Dawn also saw Ezra for the first time since high school that day. She did try to be kind and talk to him, as is her nature, but it was quite satisfying that Phoenix didn’t like him from the moment she introduced them. Maybe that’s petty of me, but it’s true.

The important thing though, is that, even though we all walked away a bit sore, Spencer had a great birthday, ice skating and celebrating with her family and two best friends.

When Winterfest came around, we stuck with our original plan to visit Phoenix and Dawn in the city. It was fun to see Aspen getting excited and opening presents. I know our little ones won’t quite be old enough to properly enjoy the holiday, but I’m still so excited for next year and our first Winterfest with them.

Dawn also surprised us with an amazing gift. She knitted two little onsies for Sadie and Simon, which I’m happy to report, they’ve both finally grown into!

That afternoon, when they were ready to head to Copperdale to see Pheonix’s uncle, Ash and I decided to spend the rest of the day with the Goodes after all. I’m glad we did. Even with Ezra there, it was nice to have our usual evening of games and music.

I’m absolutely in awe of Spencer with her violin. She finally mastered Einaudi’s Experience and wanted to play it for us, a duet with Pop on the piano, of course. The performance brought tears to our eyes. Listening to her play with such skill and emotion, she should be in a concert hall, not standing in our living room in her little mis-matched socks.

As happy as I am to have our own place again, I wouldn’t trade the time we spent living there for anything.

For New Year’s we’d planned to take it easy. Watch movies and likely fall asleep well before midnight. But, as you can see, that isn’t what happened.

We got a call from Lex saying that Evan had been dumped, so we cancelled our plans and drove to the city. Charlee raced to Evan’s apartment and dragged them to Lex’s where we were all waiting for them. After a bit of venting and a few tears, we were able to cheer them up, and we all celebrated the new year and good things to come. Charlee was even able to convince them to move to San Sequoia with her and Jay, which I know Ash is happy about.

I’m really grateful we ended up spending New Year’s with our friends because the going away party they had planned for us the following weekend ended up being canceled because… well…

The next morning, I woke up on Lex’s couch being jostled by Ash. He was in a panic because our phones were blowing up, and with the way I was laying on him, he couldn’t get to either of them. He was worried something bad had happened, that someone had been hurt.

But, when I sat up and checked my phone, it was the opposite. Li was in labor. All at once, everything became real.

We drove to the hospital as fast as we could and barely made it in time. But we made it. And now that our twins have arrived, life will never be the same again.

I suppose you want to meet them now. You will. Soon.

Prev // The Goode Life

A/N: I will try to introduce everyone to Sadie and Simon this weekend.. just know I’m completely obsessed with them! But this wraps up this part of my story. From here, I plan to split into two stories: The Good Life will focus on Atlas & Asher (and occasionally the extended Goode family) and my Star Sign Legacy will go back to Phoenix, Dawn, and Aspen as the main focus. I’m currently writing their next big arc, which will take some time, so for now I’ll be sharing sporadic gameplay of the boys (cos infants are my favorite thing in game)

[glxssy-the-first]

Guest 1337👊+ Doey!reader angst

Requested by strawb3rrycr3p3c00ki3, reader goes by they/them

TW: Death

May be OOC

You were some kind of robloxian made up of some playdough-like consistency, being more flexible due to this. you also have the ability to walk through tight spaces since you have no bones, just dough. And carrying three souls in one body! Though, you were mostly in control.

You got kidnapped and placed in some realm in a processed called 'forsakening', and forced to play some cat-and-mouse game against killers all while trying to survive.

But despite the situation, you managed to stay strong! Besides, your motives to protect others stayed with you while trapped in this place, and you made it your goal to protect the other survivors stuck here.

This caused a friendship to sprout between you and another survivor with the same ideas in mind; Guest 1337! You both wanted to protect others in this hell

He would help reassure you everything would be fine in the end, hopefully, everyone could escape from this place peacefully. You and Guest 1337 were inseperable

That was until...

tonight.

𝄞✦⟢𓂃⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍃ɞ˚‧｡⋆𓂃⟢✦𝄞

You sat at the end of the dock, clutching a newspaper that had appeared in the lobby (like those missing posters that would appear sometimes) But this one...this specific one...

It was like a brick to the heart- someone you cared for before you got kidnapped here. They died. They're gone. You would never see them again. Even if you managed to escape, they would still be gone.

You clutched the newspaper harder, feeling a different soul take it's place, the more emotional one. Why did this have to happen? Why? Why while you're stuck in this realm?

As you felt these emotions start to overwhelm you, a voice cut you out of your own thoughts. Right...It was Guest 1337.

"[Name]" He started, standing over you "What are you doing?"

You stayed silent, before handing him the newspaper you were holding. He would look it over, realizing your situation "..Ah"

Staring at your reflection in the water, you let out a sigh "That was...my friend. Someone I really did care for before this whole thing. And now, I won't ever see them again. Free or not from this place." You turned your head up to look out past the water, if there was even anything beyond, nobody really knew.

"I'm supposed to protect others." You started, picking up a smooth stone next to you, your doughy fingers brushing over it. "But how can I protect everyone if I can't prevent the death of someone else?!" As you started to get more upset, Guest 1337's face changed to one of concern.

"If it wasn't for this stupid realm, I could've been there to stop that from happening!" You said before throwing the stone out to the water, causing it to skip a few times before falling into the water.

"Hey- it's gonna be fine-" He reached for your shoulder but you stopped him by slapping his hand away and abruptly standing up. "No it's not!"

"It's not gonna be okay! What about everyone else up there?! What if they follow suite and if I escape, there's nothing left?!" You spat, while Guest 1337 put his hands up

The other soul was now taking control, all you were feeling now was just pure, unfiltered anger. He said everything was gonna be fine, and was everything okay right now? No, and things could only get worse from here.

"Just calm down..." You couldn't calm down, not right now. He lied, he gave you a false sense of hope. Your anger was currently directed towards one person, and it was him.

Completely blinded by rage, you swung at him. Out of self-defense and pure instinct, He countered the attack by shoving you backwards. The shove was more powerful than you both predicted, and you went barreling back, falling into the freezing cold water.

The cold engulfed you immediately, shock from the temperature following. The water filled your nose as you sank down, his figure slowly fading away.

Now it's all quiet, with the cold water biting at your body, you come back to your senses. realizing your actions resulted in you here. You'd be with that friend soon

As you felt you end creeping in, one last thought came to your mind.

I'm sorry...

𝄞✦⟢𓂃⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍃ɞ˚‧｡⋆𓂃⟢✦𝄞

Standing where you once were, staring into the dark water. seeing the ripples slowly fade, leaving nothing behind but silence after a conflict.

He dropped to his knees. They're gone, just like that. No more [Name]. He was left alone.

𝄞✦⟢𓂃⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍃ɞ˚‧｡⋆𓂃⟢✦𝄞

Some wonderful drawing provided by the person who requested this!

[villainessbian]

@lavendersalve is STILL a pedophile and he directly helped @is-the-owl-video-cute contribute to the suicide of SaveAFox

You're a nazi and unless they both participated in a seppuku ritual there is no "suicide contribution." Your misgendering of a transfem is noted. Your pedojacketing of a transfem is noted. The fact even the transphobes who agree with you distanced themselves because your blog has "Aryan pride" bullshit on it is noted. Your lies are noted.

No one knows why she committed suicide. You're trying to end another life or two though. And only because - what? - they posted screenshots from SAF's own posts that show that she wasn't perfect but in fact hoarding animals and causing them harm? Up to and including euthanasia after grave injuries caused by neglect and getting unsafe equipment.