#twitterpated

First of all, you look gorgeous(with and without the dress hehe). I have seen all of your posts and I love your energy of posting consistently with those beautiful eyes looking at us. If you are tired, just remember that you have a cute glow on your face that makes others energetic.

A tight hug for you🫂 and a kiss for your forehead😘 as you made me happy today(and my dick too hehe). Keep going!

Love you ❤️ and keep preserving that energy for me heheeee

Mwaaa mwaaa😚

Thank you for the kind words

Twitterpated

Still working out at home, still very chubby, still barely working, and now feeling extremely twitterpated just in time for Ostara....

Twiterpated/Primal

“Hey Key, how long has it been… Since you actually felt for someone?”

The two had been sitting on the couch, the bounty hunter was deep within some papers and contracts he had come across in his bags, he slowly looked up from them to eye the man, lofting a brow, slowly thinking before he would speak, his mind failing some, but then a sly smirk took play on his lips, he intended to play.

“Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for me already Zanderlan.”

“Oh please, the only thing attractive about you is your ass and cooking. Though you know you’d score a good sugar daddy.”

The two burst out in laughter, it had been a good long while since both of them had lost a partner, oddly enough around the same time, when the void had engulfed azeroth welcoming in the new race of elfs who’ve roamed their own lives all out of sight from the world around them a small fondness set over the bounty hunters face as he thought hard about this, leaning back on the couch and placing the papers down in his lap.

“You know, I did feel for Fid, something was there atleast, how he was never off put by how I acted, how he kept beside me for so many years only to be able to poke back at any of my rude comments or gestures, you know, to keep people at arms length. He never falters though, I think it brought him closer.”

“When I first met Thaelin, I felt something, just something about him, maybe how he cared for his animals, or how soft spoken he was when Alexis went to one of them, how patient he was for her…”

The two both sighed at the same time, relaxing, it was a good night to speak about feelings, they both have changed with all the events happening around them, though the bounty hunter was going to move on from this comfortable spot soon enough, he needed to get back into work, not live off of the nice man. He looked at Zanderlan who was messing with the rings around his necklace, giving a sorrowfilled look.

“You know, It seems like every time I think I can settle, they just keep getting taken from me.”

Hearing this from him caused the bounty hunters ears to lightly twitch, he knew that pain all too well, though he knew the man loved both his late wife and his missing fiance now. Key adjusted himself a bit to face the man and lightly patted his shoulder in a very awkward way, shaking his head a bit.

“Just sometimes this goes wrong, like in my line of work, you never know who could turn, who will shoot first, though I will, I will shoot first.” He tried to joke about things, he was never good at soothing others, he barely did it for himself to say the least.

“Just be glad we found people to love, and to feel Zanderlan, and accept fate as the bitch she is.”

August DWC 2025

Day 3: Twitterpated/Primal

The world always narrows to the circle of glass.

Through the scope, there are no kingdoms, no factions, no words. Just the pulse of prey moving against the weight of silence. The sniper’s eye finds it, drinks it in, studies the rhythm. Every gesture, every careless breath, every twitch of a hand is recorded, measured, anticipated.

His own body obeys a different law in these moments. The breath slows. The heartbeat grows heavy in his chest, each thud echoing like a drum in a cave. The finger rests against cold steel, not yet commanded, but ready. Muscles coil, honed by years, as steady as stone yet alive with the tension of the strike.

The predator lives here, just behind the calm. Waiting. Patient.

Then comes the stillness. The breath halts, held between ribs as if the whole world is asked to stop with it. For that single suspended instant, the distance between hunter and hunted is gone. Two lives, one eye behind the glass and one oblivious within its circle, tied together by nothing more than the weight of a fingertip.

And then the choice to end it. The surrender. The shot.

The world exhales with the rifle, and the silence shatters like glass.

Sometimes, I catch myself thinking about it... what if the contract had ever fallen on him? What if Lukel’s name had been scrawled in black ink on thin parchment, laid at my feet as so many others have been? I can see it so clearly. The glass rising to my eye, the crosshairs settling against that starlit skin, my breath drawing down to stillness. His figure caught perfect in the circle. The way it always is. The way it has to be.

But him… no. Him, I know it would have been different. I can almost see the moment Mizereem’s pale eyes would have turned, unhurried and unflinching, meeting mine through the scope as though he’d known I was there all along. That gaze white as bone, stripped of all warmth would have cut through the calm I’ve trained into every sinew of myself. I would have felt the tremor, the slip, the hesitation that no hunter can afford. He would have pierced me before the bullet ever left the chamber.

And gods, the worst of it is I know I’d have felt the same thing then that I feel now. The way my chest stutters, the way my blood rushes sharp and hot, the way something ancient inside me bows its head in recognition. Even if I’d never touched him, never heard his voice, never known his name, that heartbeat would still have betrayed me. That inevitability. That pull. Even the Butcher, especially the Butcher, would have undone me and I’d never have understood why until it was far too late.

Day 3: Twitterpated/Primal

I'd seen people in love - truly in love. The joy that moved with them, the way things around them softened as if their companionship, their laughter was enough to transform any space into one of warmth. The way their eyes always sought their partners not for approval but to communicate something no one else could hear. That silent language that came with comfort and affection and devotion.  

I'd never had that kind of connection, I had never asked for it. With all that I had done, with all that I had endured, I was content to just have the silence. The peace that came with the quiet of a solitary life, yet one where I could still be gentle. Where my hands could help to carry the burdens that were too heavy for others - where I did not need to hurt or command anyone. I could just be a silent witness to their grief as I knew it well, I knew how to navigate all the roads though it. I could help others stumble down that path with compassion until they were strong enough to walk on their own. And then I would return to the beginning, to assist the next person who looked at me like their world had been shattered - who was lost on how to move forward. 

Maybe this was my self imposed penance, to witness the aftermath of death, to become its companion and to learn how to help those who had been left behind. 

But when I saw those wintry eyes, the distance they held, the brokenness…I found I couldn't look away. I could not simply set him down the path and let him carry it. I didn't know why it hit me so hard, but that pain on his face was just one I couldn't tolerate. Not after everything he'd once done for me. I owed him my life, the peace I had managed to find, and I knew I wanted to do everything I could to help ease that suffering. Even if it was just ensuring that he ate. Or offering him a quiet place to sit and listen to the breeze over the lake. Or a warm cup of coffee. I would share what I had if it meant he would not…look at the world like that anymore. 

I do not know when him looking at me started to make me feel like he was seeing me and not simply looking for a lifeline. When looking back at him became something I did with a fondness that surpassed simple compassion. When I started wanting to make him smile or when I had to start hiding my own because being with him was starting to make me feel things I had no name for, had no experience with.

It was only after many weeks, after he had come for me when I thought no one would, after I had been run through with that unforgiving steel and was bleeding out on a sandy stretch of beach that I realized…maybe what I felt went beyond friendship. Maybe it was the way those cool eyes had no longer been broken when they looked at me, but fierce, how he had touched my face and told me to stay with him that solidified that feeling. Even if I still certainly wanted to be his friend, maybe I cared more for him than friends did. 

It was how his eyes had found mine, how they stripped all the weight of the world away, how the very act of looking at me touched something deep inside my heart that had been born restless - incomplete and bitter for it, perhaps. They brought something to life that I may never have known was missing but had always expected was not present…until he looked at me like that. 

Until I realized that I might love him more than the silence.