#AGAIN EXPECT NOTHING FROM ME life is unpredictable and so am i but. for the day i finally stop being a baby

[todayisafridaynight]

dont look at me with hope im being delusional again but if i were to have an art stream on like. june 14th what'd be the best time for you lot.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Jade Leech - Mermaid Fin Voice Lines

Mermaid Fin Jade does not have a vignette.

When Summoned: Life is pleasurable because of all the unpredictability that occurs.

Summon Line: It has been some time since we've come across each other while I'm in my merform. Oh, yes, what say we have a bit of a chase once again?

Groooovy!!: That was an unforgiving wake-up call. However, I should expect nothing less from my beloved brother.

Home: Let's head into the dark and cold ocean.

Swap Looks: Even deeper, now.

Home Idle 1: It may have merely been a dream, but it was a wonderful experience to be able to climb so many mountains. I feel as though I would be able to utilize the knowledge I gleaned there for hiking in the real world.

Home Idle 2: Perhaps I should simply do as I please in the real world as well. To tell you the truth, I do tend to hold myself back.

Home Idle 3: In the end, my merform definitely feels more comfortable and easier to move around in. If I were to put a finger on one inconvenience, it would be that I cannot go mountain climbing.

Home Idle - Login: Who would have ever imagined we could traverse into other people's dreams... Such a venture could reveal someone's inner most secrets purely by accident!

Home Idle - Groovy: It would not behoove me to bring Azul or Floyd on a mountain hike on land. It could bring dire consequences if I were to bring those uninitiated to the possible perils.

Home Tap 1: A majority of merfolk tend to spend their entire lives in familiar waters. It seems fear of the unknown world outweighs any possible allure...

Home Tap 2: Ever since Floyd came to my dream, he has been giving me an icy look. Is this what they call a rebellious phase?

Home Tap 3: What was I like in Floyd's dream? We weren't together...? I see, well, that seems very like him.

Home Tap 4: Ah, I am beginning to miss the mountains. I may end up purchasing those hiking boots I have been eyeing once we return to the surface.

Home Tap 5: You wish to know if you were in my dream? Why yes, of course. Similar to Floyd and Azul, you appeared looking just as you normally do.

Home Tap - Groovy: Fufu, how many years has it been since we had a proper sibling squabble? In the end, fighting with Floyd is, as always, thrilling and entertaining.

Duo: [JADE]: We should teach them a lesson, Kalim-san. [KALIM]: Jade, your smile's terrifying!

Requested by Anonymous.

[autisticadult]

The deal

Chapter two: the meeting

Warnings: once again yall, pretty tame :) mafiaboss!elijah AU :) slow burn has me in a chokehold so buckle up. As always, minors DNI !!!! Dom/sub dynamics are coming !!!!

A/N: I’m so glad chapter one got so much love yall :) I am really feeling slow burn for this for some reason so I hope that’s ok, I did give yall a nice lil moment at the end though, enjoy <3

Taglist(message me if you’d like to join!): @tinysunshine

Life under Elijah Mikaelson’s roof was nothing like you’d expected, though you weren’t sure what you had expected. Perhaps more violence, more overt displays of the power that made him the most feared man in New Orleans. Instead, you found yourself tangled in a web of subtleties, power plays, and rules so unspoken they might as well have been etched into the mansion’s walls.

For the most part, Elijah left you alone during the first few weeks, appearing only when he had some use for you. These interactions ranged from casual conversation to tasks he assigned without explanation. At first, you had hoped that he might lose interest in you, that his fascination was fleeting. But as the days passed, you realized Elijah wasn’t the kind of man who let go of things he claimed as his.

One evening, after finishing a task in the kitchen—sorting a shipment of imported bottles for Elijah’s collection—you wandered into the dining room, hoping to steal a moment of solitude. Instead, you found Rebekah seated at the massive oak table, swirling a glass of red wine in her hand.

“Y/N,” she drawled, her tone sharp as a dagger. “Adjusting to life in the gilded cage?”

You hesitated in the doorway. Rebekah was beautiful and dangerous, her presence a constant reminder of the family’s reputation. But she was also unpredictable, and you couldn’t tell if she was genuinely curious or looking for a reason to toy with you.

“Trying,” you replied carefully.

Her lips twisted into a smirk. “Smart girl. But I wonder, do you truly understand what you’ve done?”

You blinked, unsure of her meaning. “I’m protecting my brother.”

“Oh, I’m sure you believe that,” she said, taking a sip of wine. “But you’ve chained yourself to Elijah, and he doesn’t do anything without reason. Whatever he sees in you, it won’t be simple. Or easy.”

Rebekah’s words unsettled you, but you pushed the feeling aside. “I can handle it.”

She laughed, the sound musical but laced with disbelief. “Can you? Or are you just too stubborn to admit you’re in over your head?”

Before you could respond, the door to the dining room swung open, and Elijah entered, his presence immediately filling the space. He didn’t look at Rebekah; his dark gaze went straight to you.

“Y/N,” he said smoothly, “a moment, if you please.”

You followed him without question, feeling Rebekah’s knowing gaze on your back.

Elijah led you to his study, a room you’d been in only once before. He gestured for you to sit, but as always, his politeness felt like a command rather than a suggestion.

“I’ve been observing you,” he began, leaning back in his chair. His words were measured, deliberate, as though each one carried weight.

You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. “And?”

“You’re resilient,” he said, his tone almost… approving. “You’ve adapted more quickly than I anticipated. Most would have crumbled under the pressure by now.”

“Maybe I’m not like most people,” you replied, trying to mask your unease with confidence.

His lips curved into a faint smile. “No, you’re not.”

There was something in the way he said it that made your pulse quicken—a mix of admiration and something darker.

“I have a task for you,” he continued. “A test of sorts.”

You straightened in your chair, wary but curious. “What kind of test?”

“A meeting,” he said simply. “Tonight, you’ll accompany me to a gathering of… associates. Your role is to observe and, if necessary, speak on my behalf.”

Your stomach tightened. “Speak on your behalf? Why me?”

“Because I wish it,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Consider it an opportunity to prove your worth.”

It wasn’t a request, and you knew better than to refuse. “I’ll do it,” you said, forcing confidence into your voice.

“Good,” he said, standing. “Wear something appropriate. We leave in an hour.”

The meeting took place in a dimly lit private club, far more refined than The Red Raven. The air was thick with tension, the kind that came when powerful people converged in a single room. Elijah moved through the crowd like a shadow, his every step purposeful. You stayed close, trying to blend into the background while keeping your senses alert.

At the center of the room was a long table surrounded by men and women who looked as dangerous as they were wealthy. Elijah took his seat at the head, his calm demeanor commanding instant respect.

You stood behind him, your hands clasped in front of you, trying not to let your nerves show. The conversation that followed was a delicate dance of words, veiled threats, and subtle power plays. Elijah spoke sparingly, but when he did, his voice cut through the room like a blade.

At one point, the attention shifted to you.

“And who’s this?” asked a man with a heavy French accent, his gaze raking over you. “Your new pet, Elijah?”

The insult made your blood boil, but before you could react, Elijah raised a hand, silencing the room.

“Y/N is my… advisor,” he said smoothly, his tone leaving no room for dispute. “She’s here to observe and ensure my interests are protected.”

The man smirked, clearly unimpressed. “I hope she’s worth the trouble.”

Elijah’s dark gaze fixed on the man, and the room grew unnervingly quiet. “Everything I do is worth the trouble, Monsieur Leclerc. You would do well to remember that.”

Leclerc paled, muttering a hasty apology. The meeting continued, but you couldn’t shake the weight of Elijah’s words—or the way he’d so effortlessly silenced a man who had clearly underestimated him.

When it was finally over, Elijah escorted you outside, the cool night air a welcome relief from the oppressive atmosphere of the club.

“You were a good girl tonight, darling.” he said, a little too casually for your liking, as you walked toward his car.

“I was?” you asked, shooting him a shy glance while still feeling the lingering tension from the meeting.

He stopped, turning to face you. Elijah reached out, taking her chin into her hand as he spoke, his calm tone demanding to be respected. “Yes. But remember this, Y/N—appearances are everything in my world, to me. Tonight, you were seen as an extension of me. Don’t ever give anyone a reason to doubt your loyalty. Or mine.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, but you nodded, understanding the weight of what he was saying. As y:n obediently whispered out a small “yes sir, I understand.” Elijah dropped her chin and turned to the car.

As you climbed into the car, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d truly passed his test—or if this was just the beginning of something far more dangerous.

The ride back to the Mikaelson estate was silent, the hum of the engine the only sound between you and Elijah. You stared out the window, watching the streets of New Orleans blur into shadows and flickering lights. The gravity of the night weighed heavily on your shoulders, each moment replaying in your mind like a warning.

Elijah, as always, was unreadable, his gaze fixed forward. You wanted to ask him why he’d chosen you for tonight’s gathering, why he thought you were capable of navigating a room full of predators. But you knew better than to question him so openly.

When the car finally pulled up to the grand estate, he exited without a word, leaving you to follow. The mansion’s looming facade seemed more oppressive than ever, its beauty a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within you.

As you stepped inside, you heard a voice call out from the parlor.

“Back so soon?” Rebekah appeared in the doorway, a half-empty glass of wine in her hand. She leaned against the frame, her sharp eyes scanning you. “How did our little dove fare in the lion’s den?”

Elijah didn’t break stride. “She did as I expected,” he said, his voice calm but laced with finality. “Goodnight, Rebekah.”

With that, he disappeared down the hallway, leaving you alone with his sister. Rebekah’s gaze lingered on you, a mixture of curiosity and skepticism.

“Well?” she prompted, arching a brow. “What did he make you do?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you said, though the words felt hollow even as you spoke them.

She let out a soft laugh, swirling her wine. “Oh, Y/N, you have no idea what you’ve signed up for, do you?”

You frowned. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because Elijah’s games are never as simple as they seem,” she said, stepping closer. “He’s a master of manipulation, and everything he does—everything—is part of a larger plan. You may think you’re just surviving, but you’re already a piece on his board.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, but you refused to let it show. “I’m not a pawn.”

Rebekah smirked, tilting her head as if appraising you. “Then prove it. Survive his tests, outmaneuver his enemies, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll live long enough to understand what you’ve truly gotten yourself into.”

She brushed past you, her laughter echoing softly as she disappeared into the depths of the house.

You stood there for a moment, her words swirling in your mind. A piece on his board. The thought unsettled you, but a spark of defiance burned in your chest. If Elijah thought he could control you, if he thought you’d play his game without question, he was wrong.

Whatever his plans were, you were determined to be more than a pawn.

Later that night, you found yourself in the small room Elijah had assigned to you. It was modest compared to the rest of the mansion, but it was yours, a rare pocket of solitude in a house full of chaos. You sat on the edge of the bed, replaying the events of the evening in your mind.

Elijah’s words echoed louder than Rebekah’s. “You were seen as an extension of me.” That single statement carried a weight you hadn’t fully grasped until now. Being tied to Elijah meant more than survival—it meant navigating a world of power, deception, and danger.

As you stared at the faint moonlight streaming through the window, you couldn’t help but rethink over everything from the meeting. The gravity of your situation setting in.

The knock on your door came late, and you hesitated before answering. The mansion was quiet, the sort of stillness that left every sound amplified. You half-expected Kol’s familiar antics or Rebekah with another barbed comment. But when you opened your mouth to call out, your voice caught, something stopping you.

“Come in,” you said finally, barely above a whisper.

The door opened, and it wasn’t Kol. Elijah stepped inside, his figure cutting an imposing silhouette against the dim hallway light. He closed the door softly behind him, his eyes locking onto yours. He looked calm, composed, as always—but there was a weight to his gaze tonight that made the air around you feel charged.

“Elijah,” you said, standing automatically. “Is something the matter?”

His head tilted slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle he hadn’t yet solved. “No,” he said, voice low, smooth as honey. “I simply wished to… clarify something.”

“Clarify?” you asked, your pulse quickening. His presence was unnerving, but not in the way it should have been. Not in the way someone so powerful and dangerous should unnerve you.

“You’ve done well these past weeks,” he began, taking a step closer. “Adapted quickly. But I sense you’re still questioning your place here.”

Your brows furrowed. “I told you I’m here for my brother—”

“And I believe that you were,” he interrupted, his tone gentle but firm. “But I also believe you’ve underestimated what it means to be in my world. What it means to be tied to me.”

Your breath hitched. You wanted to look away, to find some corner of the room to focus on instead of the intensity in his dark eyes. But you couldn’t.

“Everything here has rules, Y/N,” he continued, stepping closer. “Unspoken, perhaps, but binding nonetheless. Every move you make reflects on me. Every choice you make… reflects us.”

You swallowed hard. “I’m trying, Elijah. But this—this isn’t something I’ve ever—”

“I know,” he said, his voice softening. “And yet, you’ve endured. Adapted.”

His words sent a strange warmth through you, though you couldn’t quite place why. And then he took another step closer, his presence utterly consuming now.

“But you still don’t trust me,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Not fully.”

You blinked at him, startled. “I—”

His hand lifted, fingers brushing against your jaw so lightly it was almost like a question. The room seemed to narrow, leaving only him and the way your pulse quickened under his touch.

“You hold me at arm’s length,” he said softly. “Afraid of what it might mean to let me in. And yet, you’re still here.”

“Because I don’t have a choice,” you replied, though the words felt thin even as you said them.

His lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “You do,” he said. “You’ve always had a choice. You chose to step into my world, to take this path. And now…”

His hand moved to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling lightly in your hair. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and your breath caught. “Sure, it started with your dearest brother but..” Elijah said with a small smirk, looking at you with hungry eyes.

“You must decide if you’ll let me show you what it truly means to be here,” he finished, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Elijah…” You said his name, but you weren’t sure if it was a protest or a plea.

“If you wish for me to stop,” he said, his gaze locked on yours, “say the word, and I will.”

Your heart raced, the air thick between you. But you didn’t say anything.

And then, slowly, deliberately, he closed the distance between you. His lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, like he was waiting for you to pull away. When you didn’t, the kiss deepened, his hand tightening in your hair, anchoring you to him.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate. It was deliberate, every movement carrying an unspoken promise. He kissed you as though he was trying to unravel every fear, every wall you’d built between you.

When he pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against yours, his voice was barely audible. “This world is dangerous, Y/N. I am dangerous. But if you choose to stay by my side, I will not let you falter. Do you understand?”

You swallowed hard, your hands still gripping the fabric of his jacket. “I… think I do.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression unreadable but intense. “You’ll come to understand fully,” he said, his tone both a promise and a warning. “In time.”

As he stepped back, the space between you felt colder, but the fire he’d ignited in your chest remained. And though he didn’t say anything else before leaving, the lingering warmth of his kiss spoke louder than words.

Whatever game Elijah was playing, whatever role he saw for you, you’d find a way to survive. And maybe, just maybe, you’d find a way to turn the tables. For now, all you could do was think

‘what the hell just happened.’

[verbenaa]

to eden | chapter nine

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Astarion/F! Tav 𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: E 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 11.1k 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: blowjobs 😎; canon-compliant, non-graphic mentions of SA 😔 (Astarion 😭)

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: “Do you trust me, Astarion?” Rin asks. She’s waited patiently enough for weeks upon weeks upon weeks, she can easily manage another minute for a proper answer from him first.

He shivers just slightly under her touch as her hands still, and Astarion averts his eyes from hers for a moment before huffing a breath and returning her gaze.

“Stop asking me questions you already know the answer to.” The bite in his words is softened by their meaning, his swallow audible as he stares down at her, a veiled vulnerability shining in his eyes as they run over the planes of her face.

𝒶/𝓃: hello!!!!! apologies it took me so long to get this chapter completed. But it is finally done and I very much hope you enjoy it. Here's to chapter 10 taking me half the time to write as this one did. please let me know your thoughts down in the comments and I appreciate you all!!!

read on ao3 | masterlist

“Are you even listening to me?” 

Rin blocks out the sound of Astarion, positively incensed about absolutely nothing of consequence, as he follows her around the grounds of the Last Light Inn, complaining rather loudly for her tastes.

She sighs as she trudges down one of the dirt paths leading away from the inn and back towards their camp, the area thankfully empty as he strides just behind her at a clipped pace. 

“I stopped listening about five minutes ago, Astarion, when you decided to keep saying the same thing over and over again,” Rin says, annoyance sneaking into her words as she cuts a look back towards the angry vampire somehow managing to stomp elegantly after her.

“I’ll stop saying it over and over again when you realize that I am right.”

Gods, he could be so irritating. 

While their encounter with Ketheric Thorm went surprisingly well and no one dared to second guess them in their ruse of pretending to be True Souls, Rin still felt somewhat unmoored by it all. The plot was thickening with a quickness and intensity she didn’t care for; something that was only growing more and more sinister brewing just beneath the surface, and she isn’t looking forward to figuring out whatever that something might be.

There’s a very large part of her the longs to run—to simply disappear into the darkness and never return; to sprint away from all of this madness, the constant battles, the sharp malice of it all.

Her life may not have accumulated to very much back in Baldur’s Gate—little money, the occasional performance at a shitty tavern, the more-than-occasional odd job for the Guild—but at the very least it was predicable in its unpredictability. 

Sure, she didn’t always have the money that she quite desperately needed, but she always knew to expect the possibility of not having it. She always knew how to sweet talk her way into getting more time to pay her debts, how to charm the baker into giving her an extra roll or two, or when times were particularly tough, how to steal what she needed to without even getting caught (most of the time). 

They were skills she had honed over a lifetime of living on the streets and in the murky shadows of the Lower City, things that she had worked hard to perfect to the best of her ability in order to survive. If there was one thing Rin knew, it was how to work to the system.

Thirty-four years in and she’s yet to meet a magistrate while draped in chains, so she must be doing something right.

But the only thing she can dare to expect these days is the unexpected. 

And Rin is not a fan of unexpected things—unless said things happen to be a nice bottle of wine or a fancy necklace; though as far as she can remember, no one has ever gifted her much of anything.

“What exactly did you want me to do, Astarion?”

“We should have stayed longer,” he hisses towards her, eyes narrowed and lip curled menacingly. “There was more information we could have dug out. There were merchants we could have bought more weapons and potions from. There were plenty of things we could have done, and yet you had us running away scared. You even let those goblins fight for their lives instead of just killing them outright. Absolutely ridiculous.”

Clearly, she doesn’t see the issue the same as Astarion, because she couldn’t find a single problem with the plan. It was the sane, normal thing to do after such a covert operation. They were a rag-tag group of adventurers, not spies.

They had maintained their cover, eventually killed the goblins, talked to the decidedly awful Disciple Z’rell, and then got the hells out of there as fast as they could.

The memory of Z’rell searching through her mind draws a minute shiver to her form, the sensation of another tadpole clawing through her brain with a wave of energy and touching on the darker things she keeps hidden in the depths of her thoughts—old memories that were purposely forgotten, hopes that she had long given up on having, disappointments that had been left to languish in the corners like dusty cobwebs—had been very unwelcome, to say the least.

She hadn’t been expecting to have to defend herself against Z’rell’s invasion, and she hated having to use her desire for Astarion as a distraction, even it if had worked. 

It had left her feeling as though she had been stripped bare, like some raw part of her had been left exposed to salt.

She didn’t dare to show Z’rell any of the truly illicit memories, for the half-orc certainly didn’t deserve to see Astarion in such a way and Rin was not about to put his body on display for her, even within the relative safety of her own mind or for the sake of the mission. 

Thankfully, she had plenty of other memories to use to showcase her more…amorous feelings about him.

The memory of him crowding her up against a cave wall, the feeling of his lips on her neck as he kissed it seconds before biting in, his lips claiming hers for the first time in the forest clearing what feels like forever ago, his fingers removing her armor piece by piece in the Underdark as heat had begun to curl in her belly…she could, theoretically, probably go on for forever.  

Rin breathes out a frustrated breath, attempting to steady herself as she turns around to face Astarion with little thought, and he pulls up short to avoid running into her, stopping right before they collide.

“Here’s the thing. You are not in charge because you did not want to be, and so now I am. And as such, I made a decision to leave, and so we did. If you don’t like it, Astarion, then by all means, go march your way back to Moonrise and have a look around, if you’d like.” 

Rin is careful to annunciate her every word as her finger pokes in the center of his chest, eyes steely as she glares up at him. 

“But,” she continues, “in the event that you decide to not trot off back to that hellish place, can you please tell me how to possibly shut you up now? Because as much as I honor and appreciate your opinion, I am tiring of hearing it.”

Astarion casts a slow look down at the finger resting innocuously against him before dragging his gaze back up to hers, brow raised alongside the casual arrogance painted on his face.

Rin knows she couldn’t look any less threatening—camp clothes slightly wrinkled from where she had pulled them on hurriedly after bathing, her hair still slightly damp, and at least a full head shorter than Astarion.

Anger has never been her strong suit, she’s far better at using the written word as a weapon than she is at yelling, and she realizes she probably has all the intimidation of a hissing cat rather than something terrifyingly ferocious and beautiful.

At the very least, the letter she writes him later tonight will be properly vicious—or at least her version of it. She’s not sure she’s capable of the raw rage of someone like Karlach or the steel-sharpened vitriol of Lae’zel, but she can at least use several choice adjectives to describe him that she has no doubt will irritate him. 

“Well, if you don’t want to hear it then you shouldn’t make stupid decisions,” Astarion says through gritted teeth, claret eyes glaring down at her. “and if you want to shut me up, you’re going to have to make me.”

“‘Make you’? How old are you, ten?” She presses her finger into his chest harder as her patience thins, biting down on her lip hard in failed attempt to take a calming breath.

Her heart is still pounding in her chest even after a relatively relaxing bath, and Astarion yelling at her about it does not help one bit. She aches to wipe the smirk off his lips as her eyes dart down to them, the way they curve up into a maddening off-kilter smile one that burns itself into her memory.

The traitorous part of her mind, the one that won’t disappear no matter how hard she tries to banish it and instead only serves to grow stronger as if to spite her, taunts her to kiss him if she really wants to shut him up. 

No better way to rid his mouth of that self-righteous smirk than by giving his lips something better to do instead, after all.

She had thought after that night, the one where he had so coldly thrown her out while still in the haze of their shared pleasure, that whatever it was that had been growing between them would be no more. It had seemed, at the time at least, that he wanted nothing more to do with her.

Instead, Astarion had shown up every night since at her tent. 

And every single night, he’d ruined her.

It had become their new routine, apparently. Every night they start by the fire as they always do—talking, drinking, divulging secrets in one another; and then afterwards, he follows her back to her tent, sets her alight with his touch, only to leave when he’s done with her.

They make something that Rin thinks must be akin to love; although she’s never really made love with anyone else before, so what does she know?

Perhaps he simply fucks everyone like the way he does her.  

The Traitor in her mind is quick to point out the falsehood that statement, reminding her that he didn’t lay with her at first like he does now. At first, there had been no mistaking what they were doing—it was sex, pure and simple, between two people indulging in a mutual curiosity and need. 

Looking back, it feels like Astarion had barely even enjoyed their first few liaisons together, his actions mostly halfhearted and his mind barely present. 

Now, though, there’s a marked difference in the press of lips, each and every one meaningful and every caress upon her skin intentional during the house they spend lost in one another.

She could no longer call it just sex, at least by her standards.

Rin didn’t know what to think. 

And how could she know, when he comes to her and sends her into complete bliss with a touch that only seems to grow more reverent with every passing night, the look in his eyes when they twine together that of a fire only growing as if being fed by more and more fuel.

But no matter how rough or how gentle he handles her—his touch somehow both softer and more intense with each night that passes, no matter how passionate or sweet the presses of his lips are against hers are as they find their completion together—he never stays.

Astarion’s interests, it seemed, were only in her physical attributes.

She shouldn’t be surprised, in the end. She was nothing more than a half-rate bard whose skills amounted to little of importance, so she can’t quite blame him for not being interested in the rest of her.

She was no sagely wizard like Gale nor a noble warlock like Wyll. She patroned no cause like Shadowheart or Lae’zel, no matter how questionable Rin finds their worship and ideals. 

She has no greater calling, no reason to be; neither a paragon of good nor an avatar of evil. 

She simply exists, day to day, in whatever way she can make it through. 

Perhaps if she were someone greater, someone of skill or importance, someone of knowledge; he would want her for more than just nights of shared passion.

The thought rankles something in her, though it shouldn’t. People like her weren’t meant for much more, and she’s never done anything to be worthy of things like tenderness, affection, or love.

If she were, then surely everyone else wouldn’t have left her. She wouldn’t have been abandoned if she’d been worth it.

Rin has nothing more to offer anyone but simply who she is—and who she is has never, ever been enough for anyone to ever take a chance on.

She’ll just have to make do with what she gets when it comes to Astarion, though he’ll no doubt leave her like all the rest when he’s had his fill of her.

But in the meantime, she’d rather have him in whatever way she can—in whatever way he will let her have him—than not get have him at all. 

And so she gives in to that traitorous part of her brain, the one still whispering of all the ways she can distract him, of the limited chances she has to revel in his closeness, and makes her move.

“You know what, fine. You want me to shut you up? I’d love the honor.”

Rin flattens her hand against his chest and pushes before taking a step forward into his space. Astarion glances down at her hand once before gracing her with a very skeptically raised brow.

Slowly, Rin steps forward again and Astarion steps back; one step followed by another and then another as they walk backwards until his back hits the stone of the wall behind them, dirt and chipped rock crumbling onto the ground next to them.

“Many have tried, most have failed.” He’s devastatingly handsome with such a devious smile, and she almost hates the way it makes anticipation startle to life in her chest. Almost.

Rin keeps her hand where it is as a small smirk of her own forms on her lips. “Most have not been me.”

“Do tell, little bard, what is to be your perfect strategy, hm?” He’s teasing and taunting her again as his head leans down towards hers, eyes narrowed in challenge.

She’s not quire sure what sparks the idea in her head; but she blames it on her ever-evolving and only growing adoration of him—slightly painful to admit, despite being very, very true. 

Regardless of whatever the reason is, she takes her chance.

No time like the present, they say.  

“Maybe I don’t need to shut you up so much as I want to hear you say something else instead,” And for the first time, it’s her own register that drops, words hushed as her cheeks flush despite herself. 

Astarion is quick to catch on, a knowing glint sparking to life in his eyes as he gleans something in her own gaze. In an instant, Rin feels an arm come to circle around her waist, dragging her closer to him until they’re flush together.

“And what is it that you have in mind, darling?” Her skin tingles where his hand rests upon her lower back, thumb brushing teasing strokes that send her mind swirling with a rush of delight at his touch.

Rin runs her hand up, drawing it across the expanse of his chest with enough pressure to make sure that he can feel the drag of it until it finds its home around his neck, her fingers curling into the hair at his nape.

She stays silent in the wake of his query, answering with only an innocent quirk of her lips before giving the path they’re standing on a quick, covert glance. She can see or hear no other being near them and, so long as they’re quick about it, she doubts anyone else will be coming this way. 

Hopefully.

“I must say, I’m intrigued. Are you thinking what I think you are thinking?”

“I guess it depends on what you think I plan to do.” She flicks her gaze back to his.

“I think that you want to—” Astarion’s voice cuts off and the smirk falls from his lips as Rin slides the hand from around his neck down his front and she lowers with it.

Rin looks up at him from under lowered lashes as her knees hit the dusty earth below her with a soft thump and she runs her hands up and down his thighs in teasing passes, thumbs pressing into the muscles of them intently.

He looks momentarily bewildered at the sight of her before him, expression going slack as his brows knit in surprise. Clearly, of all the things he expected of her, dropping to her knees on a decently well-trodden pathway wasn’t one of them.

For all the times he’s tasted her, Astarion’s yet to give her the same opportunity and she has plans to fix such a terrible discrepancy. He has no idea how long she’s waited to worship him like this—to touch and taste and learn his body as well as he’s studied her own.

She wishes that she had more time to make such an important scholarly pursuit, and the privacy of one of their tents would be vastly preferable, but Rin was nothing if not adaptable.

“Do you trust me, Astarion?” Rin asks. She’s waited patiently enough for weeks upon weeks upon weeks, she can easily manage another minute for a proper answer from him first.

He shivers just slightly under her touch as her hands still, and Astarion averts his eyes from hers for a moment before huffing a breath and returning her gaze.

“Stop asking me questions you already know the answer to.” The bite in his words is softened by their meaning, his swallow audible as he stares down at her, a veiled vulnerability shining in his eyes as they run over the planes of her face.

He’s flustered, and it’s an absolute wonder to see.

Her cheeks flush and her heart swells, despite that fact that she is technically still mad at him. Or at least she’s supposed to be. 

She can’t feel her agitation quite as keenly as she could a few minutes ago.

Rin had lowered herself onto her knees for only a few people in her lifetime, the act one she couldn’t say she had the most practice at. Men were always so typical, shoving themselves into her mouth without care until they reached their end; it was no wonder she rarely offered herself up in such a manner. 

But, Astarion—Astarion she knows will be different.

“I can’t promise to be the best you’ve ever had, but—”

“Don’t sell yourself so short.” Astarion cuts her off, his hand coming down to trace her jaw lightly as she looks up at him from beneath her lashes.

Rin leans her head slightly into his hand as it runs along the line of her face, turning slightly to press her lips against his fingers. “Is this alright, then? Will you let me suck your cock?” 

Astarion’s thumb brushes along the plush of her lower lip, and she takes the opportunity to open her mouth and nip at it playfully.

“Do you think you can take it, darling?” His eyes darken as her lips encircle the tip of his finger and she sucks, Rin relishing the almost imperceptible intake of his breath.

“I guess we’ll just have to see what I can handle.” 

“Well. By all means, then. Have at it,” Astarion says, eyebrows raising in smug challenge.

At his permission Rin’s hands jump to life, fingertips tracing up his covered thighs to hook into the waistband of his pants. She keeps her eyes on his as she slowly pulls them down, revealing his hardening length still hidden behind his underwear. 

She leans in to press kisses to the defined line of muscles along his hips, nosing his shirt out of the way as she runs her lips over the indentations of each and every one of them as she slowly traces her way down, moving ever closer to where his member twitches with every press of her lips.  

“I must say, our pretty little leader on her knees is quite a sight.” The words are meant to be easy, teasing; but the tightness in his voice belies any ease, his hips jumping as she traces her lips over the silhouette of him through his underwear.

Astarion chokes back a moan at the feeling and she smiles up at him, fingers playing at the edge of the final barrier between them before she begins to pull. Her fingers find his length once she’s freed it from his underwear, quick to run them down the velvet softness of his shaft as the deep green of her gaze meets the darkened ruby of his own once more.

“Only for you, Astarion.” Rin cuts off anything further he could have to say by leaning her head forward to press a searing kiss to the side of his erection before tracing her lips over his length.   

The first touch of her mouth against his cock has him exhaling sharply, one of the hands at his side coming up reflexively to rest atop top her head, fingers sliding through her curls as his hips jump.

She wastes no time as she licks a line across his slit, the heady saltiness of him hitting her tongue as she brings a hand up to grip him at the base, pumping him gently in her palm.    

“Does it feel good like this?” Rin swirls her tongue around the head of him, savoring her first real taste of his essence. “You’ll have to let me know how you like it, Astarion.”

His hand curls in her hair, brushing stray locks back from her face as he watches her mouth move along his length, tongue slicking across a vein before she finally wraps her lips around him.

“I assure you, you’re already doing a very, very good job.” He sags back against the crumbling stone facade of the wall as Rin takes him deeper into the warmth of her mouth, her hand pumping at the base of him as her lips work the rest that she doesn’t yet fit inside.

His praise sends a trail of heat straight to the core of her, pleasure of her own ebbing deep in her stomach as her thighs rub together. She leaves his length for no more than a second, adjusting her position on her knees before pressing more kisses to the side of him. “And this?” 

Astarion moans as her lips envelop him once more, sucking at his cock with hollowed cheeks as she takes him in, her hand moving in time with her mouth as she begins to bob her head.

“Decidedly perfect technique,” He’s practically breathless as he speaks, eyes closing as his head falls back against the wall behind him with a dull thud.

His moans echo off the ancient stone as she sucks and licks and kisses his cock, pouring every ounce of her wayward affection for him into this moment.

Astarion, she’s learned, doesn’t give up his iron-clad self control very easily; and Rin’s not going to let herself think about what it means that he trusts her enough to let her take care of him, even if it’s only like this.

It’s intoxicating to have him so utterly undone as she alternates her ministrations, each and every one only serving to push him further and further to the brink as she laves at his length, pleasure flitting openly across his handsome face.

She should tell him to be quieter, but she doesn’t have it in her to halt those beautiful moans and breathy gasps leaving his mouth, not when she revels in the sound of them far too much.

Rin pops off him to take a breath, tongue running around the crown of him before she renews her attentions, swallowing him down deeper and taking as much of him as she can fit into her mouth.

Dots of crystalline tears settle on her lashes as the head of him brushes against the back of her throat, but the ragged moan he releases is more than worth it, another bolt of heat surging down to the place between her legs.

She’s lucky she cares nothing for her reputation, because being found on her knees in front of her most dubious companion with his cock shoved deep down her throat would most certainly ruin it. 

“Such pretty noises you make, Astarion,” She hums as she pops off his cock, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his length as she breathes in another lungful of air. “Please don’t stop making them.”

The hands in her hair tighten as her mouth envelops the head of his length again and he whines, Rin once again savoring the tang of him as she sucks before taking him back into her mouth, deep again as he slides against her tongue.

“Fuck, darling—” She breaths through her nose as his thighs quiver, making sure to keep her mouth moving back and forth on his cock. “Don’t stop. Rin, sweetheart, I’m going to—”

Sweetheart. It was a new one from him, one that she finds that she likes. 

Quite a lot. 

He breaks off as Rin hollows her cheeks once more around him just as his cock hits the back of her throat again, stray tears breaking free to run down her cheeks and she can barely breathe with him like this in her mouth but can’t seem to find it in her to care. 

The thrill of finally being able to taste him and to bring him to the edge of pleasure is one she knows she would do anything to feel again, the weight of his cock nothing short of exquisite in her mouth.

She gives him a final suck and Astarion comes down her throat with a wanton moan, hips bucking as his brows crease and he cries out his completion, the sounds of his ecstasy nothing short of beautiful as they ring off the rock and stone and dirt around them.

Rin swallows his come down as his body quivers and his hips rut into her, the hands in her hair tightening into a vice grip as he rides her mouth. 

He tastes as perfect as she knew he would as words fall from his lips in a torrent—a chorus of praise, moans, and the occasional elvish word or phrase she doesn’t understand all flowing freely from his lips.

Rin lets him ride out his orgasm however long he pleases, a deep satisfaction coursing through her as she watches the pleasure painted across his features until his hips begin to slow and air he doesn’t need finally begins to return to his lungs.

“Dear Gods—” Astarion groans as his eyes open as the hands in her hair loosen  and he stares down at her, one of them migrating down from her curls to her cheeks, softly brushing away the tears that have tracked down the planes of her face.

She pulls off his softening cock slowly, taking in a much needed breath of air.

“Do you still question my decision making skills?” Rin licks off a stray drop of his come from her bottom lip before she smiles.

“Absolutely; and if this is the treatment I’m going to get every time I do, then I think I’ll have to disagree with you more often.” Astarion’s still catching his breath as he replies, but it doesn’t stop a wolfish grin from spreading across his face.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Astarion.” Rin gently tucks him back into his pants, patting his hip with a smirk before she rises back up to her full height, knees aching slightly with the motion. “If I did that every time we had a disagreement, I’m not sure I would have much time to do anything else.”

Astarion has an arm wrapped back around her waist in a mere moment and she’s pulled close again, the one hand still in her hair curving around the back of her head to tilt her face up to his own.

“Then maybe you should try to be less difficult, dearest.” His hand runs down, caressing the curve of her bottom before sweeping back up and around to hover at the front of her pants.

His touch sends a spark of heat down to her neglected arousal, Rin taking a steadying breath as she braces her hands on his chest. “If I were less difficult, you would be bored.”

Astarion chuckles as his fingertips dip below her waistband, more heat curling deep in her core as they quickly slip beneath the band of her underwear, intent to find the wetness that has settled between her thighs.

He wastes no time gliding them through her folds, running them up and down her center as Rin gasps, Astarion’s eyes intent on hers as he slicks his fingers with her arousal before finding her entrance and sinking two of them inside her with ease.

“I see I wasn’t the only one enjoying myself,” Astarion groans at the evidence of her own lust he finds waiting, pushing his fingers deeper.

“Far from it, Astarion.” She moans as her head falls forward onto his shoulder, eyes drifting shut as he curls them once, twice; her limbs tightening as he seats them fully inside her.

It would be so easy to let Astarion bring her to brink and push her over into euphoria, no doubt only a few quirks of his fingers and she’d be gone, clinging to him with every ounce of her strength as he makes her come. 

But she doesn’t want it to be about her. Not right now. 

Despite the breath that rushes free and the soft whine she lets out as Astarion pumps the fingers he has buried in her, the desire almost painfully hot in her core; Rin reaches one of her hands down to grasp his wrist, pulling his hand away from where she wants him most.

She’ll take care of herself later. She certainly has plenty of material to think about.

Astarion sends her a questioning look as he slips his fingers out of her, Rin’s hand still on his as she guides him out of her leggings. “Is there a problem, sweet? Need something else inside of you instead?”

Rin huffs a soft laugh as she intertwines her fingers with his, squeezing his hand. She fears that her expression is entirely too open as she looks up at him and her lips quirk into a smile, but it’s too late for her to take it back so she commits to it, letting a tiny bit of the feeling that’s been growing inside her show on her features.

“I just—it doesn’t always need to be about me. Take your pleasure and enjoy it. You don’t owe me one back, or anything silly like that.”

Astarion stares at her as his expression clouds with confusion, but the hand in hers doesn’t weaken, his grip still strong and sure. 

Rin stands up on her tiptoes, lips seeking his cheek as she bestows a light kiss upon it before whispering, “Thank you, Astarion, for letting me give you something for once. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

She steals her hand back, the slide of his skin against her own slow as she takes a step away from him, sending a little wave his way before she turns and walks back towards camp, leaving Astarion to stare perplexed at her retreating form.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

Astarion sits perched on his favorite rock in camp, handsome and brooding, no doubt the perfect portrait of a mercurial and mysterious vampire to anyone with eyes who chose to look his way.

Or he would be, if anybody in this damn camp would pay any attention to him.

He rolls his eyes with a scoff as he directs his gaze towards the small group of idiots that are now his companions; a preposterous notion that he even considers them to be such. 

They make their merry by the fire, passing around a bottle of what is clearly a very strong whiskey if the faces they pull after taking swigs of it are anything to go by.

He can imagine the smell of it, smokey and stout, and is very glad to have a goblet of wine beside him instead. 

Whiskey was all fine and good and certainly had its uses, but it lacked the elegance of a fine wine; no whiskey ever as smooth on its own as a delectable vintage feels gliding over his tongue and down.

It’s a chilling thought that he’s been in such close contact with these fools for months now, Astarion learning all their little intricacies whether he wants to or not. 

Yet, he doesn’t find himself hating the growing familiarity quite as much as he did at the beginning. 

He knew his siblings, of course. But that bond was different, one forged by mutual fear and shared pain. He didn’t know what kinds of books they liked to read or what their favorite sweets had been. Instead, he knew how each of their screams sounded and how their bodies had looked torn apart under Cazador and Godey’s punishments, flesh rent from bone.

No, he firmly knew more about this merry little band of imbeciles he had been thrown together with than the six souls he had known for years and years and years, with one individual in particular standing out above the rest.

Astarion, it seems, now knew more about Rin than he had ever cared to know about another person in over 200 years. Useless, meaningless information she’s offered up about herself seemingly at random and without purpose or prize. 

She was a complete and utter fool.

And yet, he drank up each and every tiny piece about herself that she gave him as though it were her blood, flowing free and pomegranate-sweet from her neck. 

Astarion knew her favorite flowers—a hard choice, according to her, but she tends to favor the perfect, happy purple of the crocus a little more than the rest. 

He had rolled his eyes at this, swiftly informing her that flowers were essentially no more than useless, pretty things with little substance; and had earned himself a very sound swat upon his arm.

He knew her favorite foods—any sort of sweet berry at midsummer, along with a nice loaf of bread and perhaps some butter or cheese. 

Her taste in food was pitifully simple, though Astarion supposes a life on the Lower City streets didn’t usually imbue people with a terribly complicated palate for the finer delicacies life had to offer.

He knew that Rin did not know her father—only that he had been an elf come to the city on some sort of business from a far away place and Rin her human mother’s only token of remembrance from an affair she only wanted to forget about, and one she eventually did forget about when she left Rin to fend for herself.

She knew nothing of the Elvish ways and customs, nothing of the language that should sit so naturally on her tongue.

The knowledge that he could say anything he wanted to her in their language and she would be hopeless to ever understand him is one that tempts him in a variety of ways that he doesn’t indulge, lest his mind find its way heading into dangerous territory.

He knew that she’d had no sweeping romances with tender touches and soft sighs—only quick nighttime flings helped along by pints of cheap ale from equally cheap taverns and that while they had perhaps filled a need, they tended to leave her feeling more empty and decidedly less than, in the end. 

Astarion all too well understood that particular feeling. He hated that she had ever felt the same.

He readily ignores the inkling in the back of his mind warning him that he, perhaps, is no better than the others when he leaves her every night staring up at him, poorly concealed disappointment etched across her pretty face.

Uselessly, he also knew her favorite color—the deep, turquoise blue-green of the Chionthar on a clear day at noontime, naturally, when the sun sparkled off the undulating current of the water. 

It could never be anything quite so easy as simply ‘the color blue’ with her.

Astarion himself had long forgotten the color of the river, having only seen it as the darkened muddy blue-black of the midnight hours for centuries now.

Rin had been utterly shocked when she asked him for his own and he had told her he didn’t have one.

“You don’t have a favorite color? Astarion,” She had said aghast, drawing out the syllables of his name as her bright eyes had widened in surprise. 

He had no use for frivolous things like favorite colors. 

What colors, exactly, was he to have had the time to enjoy?

Certainly not the darkly stained, ornately paneled woods of the chamber he used to entertain his victims; or the gaudy, overly saturated reds and too brightly shined golds in that room meant to invoke opulence and luxury, yet another layer designed to further lure them into the fantasy he provided.

Nor the watery yellow glow of torchlight against the dull, muddied brown of wet cobblestones as he led whoever had been chosen that night back to the Szarr Palace, charming and seductive as he promised them his body and their control over it. 

There was nothing beautiful about the metallic shine of a silver cage in the kennel, dotted with the rusty brown of dried blood, though whether it was his own or belonged to one of his siblings he never really knew.

How was there to be any joy found in color beyond the allure of the deepest burgundy wine as it filled up his cup to help dull his mind as he lowered himself to do the things his mark that evening wanted of him, mind drifting to focus on anything else as he did whatever he needed to do in order to survive.

Astarion grimaces, throwing back another swallow of his wine as the thoughts leave him tinged with the sickly yellow-green of disgust and the feeling of shame: a blistering, burning, glowing red.

At first, right after the Nautiloid had crashed and he had escaped the closeness of that dreadful pod, his chest having constricted at the tightness of it around him—it was just another cage in the end, wasn’t it? Just another leash for him to be collared to—the riot of colors in the bright light of the sun had hurt his newly sensitive eyes as he had hid in the shadow of the wreckage.

It was only once he had realized he wouldn’t be burned to a crisp in the sunshine, a wonder in its own right, that he began to take notice of them all. There were far too many colors and all of them were so…so saturated; all the different shades and intensities unbearably overwhelming.

From the small green leaves of the scrubby trees, to the brown grains of sand, to the grotesque purple of the Nautiloid and the soon-to-be rotting corpses of mindflayers—terribly, horribly overwhelming.

She was overwhelming to look at when he first saw her, too. Shining eyes of emerald green, warm skin thoroughly kissed by the sun, dark blonde curls gleaming in the unbearable brightness of the light. That awful outfit she wore that marked her as none other but a bard, albeit one with terrible sartorial sense. 

Rin was the first person he had set eyes on in the sunshine in over 200 years and he had hated the very sight of her. 

She had been a clash of colors, all dreadfully uncomplimentary to him, that he shied away from the sight of. Colors like that were never quite so bold in the darkness that he was so used to, their vivacity dulled by dancing firelight and the shadows of night.

She was too brilliant to bear the sight of, utterly casual and downright flippant, too unbothered by it all to be trusted—though, he knows better now; and looking back he can see that her confidence was all nothing more than a well-executed performance on her part.

He still doesn’t feel bad about holding that knife to her neck as he had dragged her down into the coarse sand with him, the scent of her scarlet blood still rich despite it drying against her cheek, dots of it mixing in with the freckles that were scattered across her cheeks like the tiniest of constellations.

Perhaps that was his first mistake in all of this, allowing himself to get so near someone so dazzling and warm. It was like playing with fire—dance too close to the flame and you were bound to be burned. 

And going up into flames was something Astarion could not afford. 

But now, slowly, the color has begun to come back to him little by little and he could start to appreciate again it for the first time in centuries.

The precise cornflower blue of the sky on a cloudless day or the deep violet of it at twilight as the stars wink to life. 

The way sunlight dappled onto the ground through a forested canopy to illuminate the all the tiny flowers that grow up from the ground in a rainbow of colors—purples, pinks, yellows, blues. 

The myriad of all the different greens that he could now truly behold: the dark, bountiful leaves of a fern, a fragile spring green stem of a flower, the lush and verdant shade of her eyes.

Astarion still didn’t have a favorite color. Not really.

But he was coming around to the idea of having one.

A laugh carries across camp, melodic and light and lovely, dragging him from the depths of his musings over to where Rin sits by the fire, their companions all floating around her like moths to a flame.

He absolutely hates the way they all look at her. 

He can see it on their faces, a blatant adoration that she somehow seems to completely disregard for reasons he can’t fathom, instead intent to spend her time with him of all people.

But he cannot blame them, after all, because he’s no better. Just as desperate for her attention and her closeness, it seems, if the way his feet kept finding their way to her tent night after night was anything to go by.

Astarion wonders sometimes if they can see the very same hopeless look on his own face as he gazes upon her, despite how well he tries to hide it. 

Rin leans against Halsin as she laughs, cheeks flushing at whatever it is the oversized elf says to her. Her curls are unbound, falling freely around her tonight in a wave of shining gold to her waist and he wishes he could bury his fingers in the strands to feel the softness of them for himself. 

The druid does nothing to dissuade Rin from the circle of his arms as he claps a hand on her shoulder before sliding it down to the small of her back, smiling at her a touch too friendly for Astarion’s liking and a stab of something hits him straight in the chest.

Jealousy.

He has no claim to her, of course. He’s not made one and has no plans to. But the sudden thought of her underneath Halsin—or any of them, really—has his jaw clenching tight. 

The other elf is attractive and strong, no doubt a good lover; and the thought of the warmth he could so easily provide her that Astarion cannot churns his long-empty stomach.

He can see it all too easily, imagining Rin so very pretty with cheeks flushed pink and body inviting as Halsin leans over and takes her sweetness for his own.

He can see Rin on her knees, looking up at the druid with the same look of affection in her eyes that she had given him earlier that day as she had tasted him.

Or perhaps the worst thoughts of them all—Rin telling Halsin all the inane things she would normally bother him with; Rin playing tiny bits of melodies and sweet little songs on her lyre for Halsin while he whittles by the light of the fire; Rin writing the druid letters that she would then hide poorly in his tent, ensuring they can always be found and read and replied to— 

He was spiraling, and he needed to stop.

Astarion shakes the thoughts away with a frown, bringing his goblet back to his lips for another sip. He doesn’t know why she favors him so, why she allows him into her orbit when there’s a group full of others who would so readily take his place, all of whom would no doubt treat her better than he has. 

He wouldn’t blame her, if she sought after any of the others.

Certainly not after that night, the one where he had made her undress before him for his entertainment and then kicked her out of his tent when she was still wrapped up in the afterglow of what was a very intimate evening.

Perhaps too intimate.

His chest gnaws at itself at the thought of the way he had handled it all.

Astarion had lost count of how many times he had undressed in front of others, so many of their faces blessedly long blurred by time.

He had unbuttoned and unlaced countless of his shirts, pants, doublets—a liar’s allure painted upon his features as he gave whoever it was a show, forever the night’s entertainment for his quarry. 

Yet, he had made her do the same.

He had enjoyed it, too. He had enjoyed watching her undress solely for him, piece by piece, her gaze piercing his own as she reveled in his attention on her.

She hadn’t said no or objected to it. But he could see the challenge in her eyes just as easily as she could see right through him and his attempt to gain back his precious lead in their little game, the perceptive little thing. 

A strange feeling—remorse—settles itself in his chest as he watches her from across camp.

The remorse only grows the longer Astarion fixates on it, leading to more and more questions that he doesn’t have the answers to, the weight of them near unbearable upon his scarred shoulders.

The crushing reality was that his plan was crumbling bit by bit, like a tiny pebble crushed under foot; and the worst part about it was that he was finding it harder and harder to care. 

Rin has made it abundantly clear that she is on his side.

He’d seduced her, had won her sword (mediocre skill notwithstanding), and had long secured her dedication to his cause.

By all accounts, his plan is practically complete where she’s concerned.

All they needed to do now was get back to Baldur’s Gate and—well, he wasn’t quite sure what would come after they get back into the city, Astarion was still a little fuzzy on the details of it all, but she’d help him figure it out when the time came, of course. 

Rin was aways helpful when it really mattered.

So why is it that he can’t stop with the first part? Even if he were to decide to stop sleeping with her, he wasn’t particularly concerned that she would suddenly turn on him. 

He has no reason to find his way into her bed now; no reason other than his own selfish, deep-seated desire for her company and attention and affection.

Rin catches his eye in a poorly timed glance of his own, and smiles so full of a sickening fondness—nose crinkled and flushed cheeks—at him.

Faster than he can follow she’s out of Halsin’s embrace, gracing the druid with a playful smile and a pat on the shoulder before she saunters over to where he sits perched on his rock, limbs unnaturally loose as she pads closer—drunk indeed.

Astarion doesn’t miss the way the light from the fire limns her figure from behind, setting her aglow in a halo of golden-red as she finds her way over to him, something in his chest warming as she nears.

She sways slightly when she stops before him and he can smell the rich tang of the whiskey on her as she sends him a mischievous look that has his lips already quirking up at the corners. 

“You,” she pokes him in the chest to add an emphasis that he did not need. “Should come join us”

“And you,” he refrains from poking her back in response, though the thought amuses him. “Are drunk.”

Rin takes a step closer, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning forward, slotting herself between his legs and blithely ignoring the glances the motion garners from their companions.

Astarion’s eyes widen at the blatant display of affection, taken aback by the ease of it as the scent of her surrounds him—honey and flowers and all around loveliness. 

On anyone else he would hate the perfume she wears, but on her it smells nothing short of wonderful; tempting him to bury his face into her neck and breathe her in.

Her hands play with the hair on his neck, as they always seem to, delicate fingertips running through the waves and he resists the urge to lean into her soothing touch.

He can feel multiple sets of eyes upon the two of them, voices lowered into whispers as the group no doubt gossips. The nature of his relationship with Rin is far from a secret, he’s drawn too many beautiful sounds from her lips for anyone to be unaware of their trysts. 

Astarion secretly revels in the idea that they are quite possibly jealous of what Rin gives to him; something that none of them have ever received from her. 

So let them see, then. 

Let them see that it is him who she seeks out, his arms the ones she wants to find herself in, his lips the ones she wishes to kiss.

Astarion’s arms find their way to her waist with an uncomfortable ease, hands settling along the indent of it as his thumbs run up and down her covered skin without thought, dragging her closer between his legs until their faces are mere inches from one another’s, only the rock beneath him stopping her chest from pressing fully against his own.

“I’m not drunk enough, I fear.” Rin cocks her head to the side with a smile, as she whispers covertly to him. “Maybe, if you come share a drink with me, we can fix that.”  

Astarion allows himself the temptation to brush an errant curl away from her face, the lock just as soft as he knew it’d be, before matching her tone. “Don’t be such a lush, dear.”

“Oh, come on, Astarion. I know that you enjoy a good drink as much as I do. And I promise, the whiskey is good.” 

He swears that he can hear her breath hitch as his fingers accidentally brush against her cheek, her eyes widening ever so slightly in surprise as he tucks the curl behind her ear.

“Oh, I’ve got no doubt of that, my dear,” He chuckles, a corner of his mouth turning up without his permission. “If it weren’t, you wouldn’t be quite so tipsy in front of me.” 

“Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing,” Rin tuts, pouting. 

The way her bottom lip pushes out and her eyes widen under lowered brows is, dare he say, cute; and he can’t help the inward sigh that he’s now been relegated to thinking of a beautiful woman something as absurd as cute. 

It’s a blow to his seductive charm, surely, to use such a word to describe her; but all of the other adjectives he’s thought of in the past seem to had fled his mind under her spell when she looks at him like that. 

What in the absolute hells has she done to him?

“Pouting? Really, darling?” Astarion drawls, the hand he had used to tuck her hair back now brushing openly down her cheek in a touch that has her face heating to a most becoming shade of pink.

Rin instinctively leans into his hand and he resists the urge to cup her cheek, suddenly possessed by the want to draw her face closer to his.

“You don’t have to come drink with me at all, of course.” Her voice takes on that same tone it had taken on earlier, intention dripping from her words like the thickest of honey as her she bites her lip, drawing his attention to her mouth. “We can always go find something else to do instead. Just the two of us.”

The pink of her tongue peeks out to wet her bottom lip, soothing the place where she bit down upon it, and if Astarion hadn’t been paying attention already, he certainly would be now.

“Oh? Just the two of us?” He teases her, his other hand moving to curl around her lower back to pull her even closer, Rin curving herself into him, and Gods if the feeling of her against him didn’t feel like heaven. “What do you have in mind? A game of cards? Or, perhaps we should practice our calligraphy together, hm?”

Rin leans in to let her lips brush against the tip of his ear, Astarion barely holding back the shiver that threatens to break free as her hands comb through his hair and she speaks low, “I can make you feel good again, Astarion. If you want me to.”

Her words bleed with affection and genuine sweetness, and Astarion finds it very difficult to say no to her when she asks like that.

His mind flashes back to earlier, the image of Rin on her knees as she had waited for his answer, hands poised at his waistband streaking through his mind along with others as his stomach tightens. 

Her perfect lips wrapped around his cock, the feeling of coming down her throat, drops of diamond-like tears tracing down flushed cheeks, his hands buried in her hair.

How she had told him to take his pleasure and not worry about hers. A very sweet sentiment that he deeply appreciated for reasons he very much didn’t want to think about at the moment.

‘Thank you, Astarion, for letting me give you something for once,’Rin had said. 

As if she didn’t already give him plenty.

He’s thoroughly enjoyed being at her mercy, her touch always soft and gentle while she asks for permission. It had been so many years since he had indulged in wanting to be touched like that, and having affection heaped upon him by someone so eager to please him has quickly become nothing short of addicting. 

“Oh? And do tell, how you plan on doing that?” Astarion lets his fingers drift slowly up her spine, enjoying the way her body presses harder into his and her breath catches, the sound lovely.

“Follow me and I’ll show you,” Rin whispers as she steps out of the circle of his arms, swaying slightly as she does, and Astarion’s brows knit together in consternation.

She grabs his hand, and Astarion swears the feeling of hers wrapped around his could scald him, every nerve in his body set alight by that innocent touch.

He allows himself to be lead to her tent, content to follow after her with hands still connected; but there seemed to be a single glaring issue standing in Astarion’s way that he was apparently now unable to ignore. 

She was quite drunk tonight. 

Too drunk, according to a newer, still unfamiliar voice in his head. 

It’s a step too far for him now, or at least it is where she’s concerned; a step that, granted, months ago he wouldn’t have batted an eyelash at taking. 

All the better if they were too drunk, it only made his job easier in the end.

But Rin’s not like that, she’s not a mark and she deserves so much better than being taken advantage of in such a state, even if for his plan or his own personal desires of her. 

She would be so easy to please like this, with the alcohol addling her mind. 

And oh, how he could please her. 

He could so easily touch and kiss and fuck any thoughts she may have about Halsin or any of the rest of them right out of her mind, ensuring that his name is the only one that falls from her lips.

She steps through the flap of her tent, her hand still holding his, and once he’s inside she’s turning again, wrapping her arms around his neck as she balances up on tiptoes, staring earnestly into his eyes. 

“I’ll do whatever you want, Astarion. Just tell me, I want to know more about what you like.” She sways again, and his arm wraps around her waist to steady her as their bodies press together.

“Let’s get you lying down, sweetheart.”

He hadn’t meant to say such a word earlier, but it had slipped out of his mouth as he had hit the burning, white hot peak of his pleasure at her worship. 

Astarion finds, though, that he likes the way it flows off his tongue when directed at her. 

It fits her well enough, in his opinion.

He lets Rin drag him to the ground until her back is against her bedroll and he hovers over her, staring down into hazy green eyes as her curls spread around her. She’s a vision like this, and he memorizes the sight of her without thinking to, his eyes moving to capture every inch of her before his mind even realizes what he’s doing and can tell himself to stop.

“And now, Astarion?” 

She waits on a bated breath, waiting, as his eyes finding their way again to her lips.

Kiss her. That voice in the back of his mind is nothing but a traitor as it whispers to him, knowing full well he can’t give in to such dizzying impulses like that on a whim.

He knows better than to allow himself to kiss her. Because once starts he won’t be able to stop.

It would be so easy to fall into her, to kiss her into utter oblivion and lose himself in the body she so readily offers. To forget all about his pathetic life if only for the little bit of time they steal away to spend together in temporary bliss.

But it always comes back after. 

The memories, the reality of who is he and what he’s done, the feeling of his skin crawling in the aftermath of so many hands that have touched him without permission.

Her touch is different, but when he’s been touched thousands of times by thousands of people, it all seems to blend together in the end no matter what he wants—even if hers is the only one he wants to think about and remember the feeling of, thoughts of her consuming him even with just a gentle brush of her arm against his.

“And now, darling, you sleep.”

He doubts she’ll remember much come morning, the whiskey burning through her veins hotter than a flask of alchemist’s fire; but Astarion finds that he wants to be remembered, if only by her, just this once.

Wants her to remember their time together the way he always will. If they survive this, even when he has his freedom and is long gone to wherever it is he wants to go—he will always remember. 

He ignores the stutter of loneliness that pangs in his chest as he imagines ever so briefly what his freedom will look like when he’s on his own with no one else around.

It would certainly be quiet. Perhaps even peaceful. 

He would be able to spend his time however he wished it in the solitude, not a soul around to bother him with foolish chatter unless he went in search of such a thing. 

Strange how the thought of it doesn’t hold the same appeal that it once did.

A hand running along his cheek draws him out of his thoughts, dragging him back to the present as Rin looks up at him, eyes soft and yet somehow still managing to pierce straight through his un-beating heart as she studies his features.

“I meant it, you know—what I said to you that night. You don’t have to fuck me, Astarion. You can come sleep with me and we can just lay together. Or even just talk. I know my conversation doesn’t mean much, but—” She cups his cheek in her palm, the tenderness of it threatening to burn him to cinders. “It doesn’t have to be just about sex between us. We’re friends too, aren’t we? Friends can simply enjoy each other’s company and presence and take care of each other, can’t they?”

She’s babbling, words falling out of her mouth freed by the whiskey; but the innate truth he hears in them threaten the remaining bits of resolve that he has left.

Astarion’s not quite sure who she’s trying to convince—herself or him—but his determination wanes regardless, like a thread pulled too tight and on the verge of snapping.

But it wasn’t just about the sex, and if it’s not just about his plan, then what was it about?

He’s fairly certain friends don’t typically know each other’s bodies as intimately as they do, or know how beautiful they look as they fall apart, or find themselves craving nothing more than to simply exist with the other near.

Friends probably also don’t think about each other in the depths of the night when they’re cold and alone and hurting, the thought of the other a shining light in the eternal darkness of their existence.  

Astarion, though, has never had any friends that he can remember.

With more gentleness than he would prefer, Astarion removes her hand from his cheek and rights himself to a kneel, his knees finding their home on either side of her hips. 

He holds her hand within his own, turning his attention where he cradles it in his palm. Her hand is smaller than his, several calluses along the places where she holds her rapier and her quill, fingers still decorated with the ink she must have used earlier to write him a very scathing letter.

He had briefly considered tearing the letter to bits, the words contained on the piece of paper properly irritating and, in Astarion’s opinion, practically libel, but he couldn’t do it; instead relegating it to the pile where he keeps all the other useless slips of parchment from her in a neat stack hidden out of plain sight in his tent.

Her letters were, after all, the first tangible thing anyone had given him since he was bestowed with his sanguine hunger, his dark curse. 

And whether he wants to admit it or not, he’s so far been unable to find a valid reason to rid himself of them, useless though they may be.

Before he can catch himself, he’s leaning his head down to the hand he holds within his own, and with a damning softness he brushes a kiss onto each of her ink-stained fingertips where they had touched his face, lips light against them before placing a final, reverent kiss in the center of her palm.

She’s looks as though she’s not even breathing when Astarion raises his head to stare down at her, her hand still clasped in his own. 

He can hear the beat of her heart, drumming loudly against her ribcage with a rhythm he’s become so very familiar with, and he can smell the ambrosia of her blood as it soars through her veins.

Even in the darkness he can see the pink of her cheeks and the freckles that dust over the tops of them and he’s half-tempted to count them, wishing to brush his fingers over each and every one of them, if only to feel his skin against the sunny warmth of her own.

But it’s too much, and he’s spiraling downdowndown again into the depths of somewhere he’s not yet ready to be, and so he needs to leave. Needs to leave for the same reason he has to leave her every night, despite the weakness that has him indulging in anything and everything else she’ll afford him.

He has no other choice, for when she speaks such innocent words to him, offering him the simple solace of rest so full of a tender, blossoming affection, he’s filled with a want so heavy it threatens to drag him under.

Because if Astarion allows himself to give in—to know what it would be like to be warm, comfortable, safe—he knows he would never be able to go without it again.

Warmth, kisses, attention, kindness—all heaped upon him without wanting anything in return. No money, no favors, no motive other than her pure wish to spend time with him.

It’s a good thing his heart no longer beats, for if it did, Astarion has no doubt that she would be able to hear the rampant sound of it in his chest just as he can hear her own.

He rests her hand back down, letting it settle across her stomach as he swallows down the torrent of things that threaten to break free from him, Rin looking at him with a confused sort of wonder, as though he were a puzzle she was trying desperately to fit the pieces of together in her mind.

“Good night.” He stands to leave, movements as quiet as the night around them thanks to the unnatural grace he possess, before turning toward the tent flap. “Sleep well, my darling.”

He’ll allow himself that much, at least; for what was the harm in letting himself indulge in getting to call her his own just this once, if only to see what it feels like?

“You too, Astarion.” He turns his head briefly at her whispered words and meets her eyes, something molten and unguarded smoldering in her gaze as she watches him leave.

He can’t bear the sight of it a moment more, another utterance from her all it would take for him to succumb to his most secret desires—things he can barely stand to admit to himself—and so he turns his head forward and walks back out into the darkness, letting the honest and true longing that has been slowly burning him from the inside out finally consume him. 

[statementlou]

I am gonna say something crazy so please don’t get angry at me. I think among all of this that is happening right now, people should leave Liam alone and i am not saying this as some crazy ass defender who believes that “boys are innocent 😣”. I am saying this because i agree with people saying that Liam is lost. He is distressed and I believe he reads all this shit that is said about him and goes back to his old addictions, which will lead only to more destruction and we are here talking not even about him, but about people AROUND HIM. Think about it for a second before you try to ease you stress and life anger by keeping on talking about him on social media. If his coping mechanism that he picked up since 1d days (that he talked about) is drinking as an answer to all stress and shit that has been happening, then if goes back to drinking every time he is distress and probably online stuff is part of it, then he will keep on hurting more people around him. And if we are really wanna be on “side of the victims” then Ignoring his person for some time will be a better option than keeping hate on him.

I just don’t want more people to be hurt by him and i am almost 90% sure that Liam lurks on socials to see what people talk about him. And let’s be honest, bad or good, nobody reacts well on online hate and again, i think it’s better for people to not cause Liam to go back to drinking (if he didn’t already) so he would go and hurt more people, because people under influence are unpredictable and completely unaware of their actions which makes them more dangerous. And Liam will become more agressive and more dangerous if he will not sober up completely . He has to stop drinking at ALL to calm down. He needs some proper therapy and have to cut off alcohol and any kind of addiction that he has (god fucking knows) from his life. I felt like Teardrops was a sign of finally taking a good turn, but i guess addictions are way more harder to beat ( never been addicted, thankfully, but had people around me who had been :) )

ok well first of yes, Liam does lurk on socials and check what people are saying about him and take to to heart: he has told us so, his sister has said so, and Maya has said so. Liam's sister has, like you, asked people to take on responsibility for his mental health by doing or not doing certain things online (this was a while back, not just now); Maya on the other hand has asked that people not enable his abusive behaviors by ignoring or excusing them, and has told us that he not only expects fans to do that but uses it as a way of avoiding taking responsibility for his actions and as a threat. No matter what any of those people say, it is neither our job nor possible for us to fix him by posting or not posting certain things! But in a way that feels different to me from any other celebrities or public figures, the relationship between the fans and the 1D guys has always been incredibly two way and reciprocal, and I do think it matters how we use the incredible power of this fandom. We've done great useful things with it in the past, and a lot of pretty silly things, and have also done things that have had profound and lasting impacts on the guys' actual lives that continue to effect them to this day, some good and some... not. We actually do have impact on their lives for better and worse. So while there is nothing we could post or not post that will cure Liam's mental health issues, also I agree, it doesn't NOT matter what we post. If nothing else, it matters because WE spend our time in this fandom and WE are impacted, and acting like the things we've found out are in any way okay (which ignoring them also would be) is unacceptable and as I said here, harms other fans. But on top of that we have been SPECIFICALLY ASKED by a victim of abuse to do something: she has asked that we stop enabling Liam's behavior by posting and not posting certain things online. So will talking about it hurt Liam, and if so should we not do that? It might distress Liam to have people tell him what he's done and is doing is not okay! That's very likely. And obviously I don't like people telling him to kill himself or posting revenge porn because those are NEVER acceptable things to do; but Liam's distress is actually less important in this situation than holding Liam accountable for his actions is. I worry about the possible impacts of that too, I think we have all pictured the worst case scenarios. But the thing is that what you are suggesting is to try to figure out how we can act to prevent an abuser from being abusive or from hurting themselves, how to do things that will keep them calm and fix them; this ISN'T POSSIBLE in any kind of real way, and the idea that is a troubling symptom of clinical codependency. It IS however important and necessary for people who care about them to tell abusers that their behavior is not okay, and that we will not look the other way when they fuck up! tldr: No abuser or addict has ever changed because things simply got easier and so they no longer "needed" to lash out or to medicate; but people have been encouraged to change by people whose good opinion they want telling them their behavior is unacceptable.

[buldakdrama]

5 must watch kdramas if you are in search of something unique

When it comes to Kdramas, you can expect a number of varieties in the plots. Some are plain rom-com, while others focus more on crime and thriller, some are painting ever-existing social issues in front of the audiences, while others are taking them to a trip of fantasia. All in all, you can get whatever you want here. 

However, it can get quite monotonous after a while. Since there are now a lot of rom-coms based on Boss-employee relationships or fantasy dramas based on non-human leads falling in love with the human leads, nothing is hard to predict. In this scenario, you must crave to watch something that has a refreshment to offer. Something that is not so predictable and leaves you hooked on the drama for good. And if you are looking for something just like this, then you are at the right place because I am about to suggest 5 must watch kdramas if you are looking for something unique. So, let’s get into it. 

1. Reborn Rich 

Trust me when I say Reborn Rich is nothing like the dramas we are used to watching even if it has that chaebol backdrop. This Song Joong Ki starrer is based on the revenge of an employee, who gets falsely accused and killed by his employers. Just on the moment he dies, he is reborn as the youngest son of the same employers but this time he goes back in time and starts from the start. Jin Do Jun now carefully plans his revenge as he claims his inheritance over the entire conglomerate. The twists and turns of the drama are really intriguing. In a moment Jin Do Jun is winning in the rat race and the next moment he is being interrogated by his girlfriend herself. But what is even more intriguing, is the ending of the drama! That unpredictable ending will keep you in a chokehold until you can’t comprehend what you have just watched. Additionally, if you have interest in business and finance then this one is a must watch for you. 

2. Celebrity 

Do you crave to have the limelight upon you? If yes, then let me tell you it comes with a caution. You might have to sacrifice more than what you can gain and all of it is pictured perfectly in Celebrity. This drama is the story of Seo A Ri, who accidentally becomes an e-celeb and completely despises what it has to offer. But soon she discovers the brighter side of the glam life she is offered and makes the best out of it, nonetheless, soon she finds herself succumbing to the darkness once she used to hate. This drama shows the downside of having an overly luxurious life and being addicted to social media popularity, which ends up costing A Ri’s life. But there is more to unfold. Celebrity is certainly intriguing but Park Gyu Young’s praise-worthy performance and the high-voltage cameos make it even better. If you want to watch a bad-ass female lead and a lot of unpredictable cliff-hangers then this drama is certainly a must watch for you.   

3. Remarriages and Desires

From the title the drama may sound to be one of the typical kdramas dealing with melodramatic plot but no, it’s not. Remarriages and Desires have a much heavier plot than you might assume. This one again is a revenge drama, but this time more on a domestic level. The drama focuses on a matchmaking agency called Rex, which signs up some of the wealthiest personalities of South Korea in order to match them up with their better halves. Seo Hye Seung’s not-so-simple life gets even more complicated when her mother enrolls her in as one of the members of Rex. However, she takes the chance of remarriage upon her unexpected encounter with Jin Yoo Hee, played by Jung Yoo JIn, there. Jin Yoo Hee is the person with whom Hye Seung’s ex cum late husband cheated her on and opted for a divorce. There begins the petty game of revenge and things get more and more intriguing by the end of the drama. However, only 8 episodes don’t do justice to the intriguing plot that it has. Nevertheless, this is one of the best dramas you can binge watch within a span of 24 hours. 

4. W - Two Worlds 

W is one of the most underrated suspense thrillers to ever be made, you can’t convince me otherwise. The plot of this drama focuses on two parallel words that are going on side by side and integrated by a door through a web novel. While Kang Chul, played by Lee Jong Suk, thinks he is pretty much real, Oh Yeon Joo’s sudden appearance in his life reveals that he is nothing but a character of a manga written by Yeon Joo’s father. Even though the backdrop of the drama hints at a rich guy falling for a random girl trope, it has a lot to offer. Your mind will go numb with all the predictions by the end. With an unexpected ending, an unexpected villain and an unexpected story development it becomes one of the must watches when you look for something unique. 

5. Extraordinary You 

Now this might seem to be an unhinged suggestion but wait, this is different. Extraordinary You is not a typical highschool romance as it seems it be, there are more. The drama is set within a comic novel. Yes, you read it right, within a comic novel, where all the characters are highschoolers and totally unaware of the fact that they are not even real. Until one day Eun Dan Oh, played by Kim Hye Yoon, finds out the truth. She then tries to change her pre-written fate at all cost as she doesn’t want to die at an early age. Changing her fate becomes even easier when she meets Haru, played by Rowoon. But things are not at all easy as it seems. The drama has a very unique plot indeed but it also has massive cringe alerts. So, please proceed with caution if you are not into sweet talks and PDA. Nevertheless, the unpredictable ending of the drama makes it a good addition when you want to watch something unique.

So what are you waiting for, get your spicy chicken ready and start binge watching these dramas if you have not already. I will see you in another post, another day.

-- Admin Nika

[pinkandgoldensoul]

CL#16 || Mine First || tape b

Navigation || Masterlist

: ̗̀➛ tape b of the 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝑒𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹 series If this is your first time here on this blog, please check the Disclaimers here.

pairing: charles leclerc x female!reader x pierre gasly!bestfriend genre: childhood exes (?) to lovers, (fake) love triangle, fluff, a bit of angst tw: swearing, tiny suggestive crumb word count: 10.2k plot: going back to Monaco, you meet him again. Both being Pierre's friends, you're often trapped in the same room: it's inevitable for the past to resurface, through glances, dances, pages filled of ink.

Your walk inside the paddock was followed by gusts of wind throwing strands of hair in every direction, preys of the unpredictable, forcing you to move them out of your face repeatedly. The forecast couldn’t have been clearer: 90% chances of rain. A storm was approaching the track, and so were you.

Looking around, you stared attentively at the frenetic movement pulsating in every corner: mechanics, engineers, journalists and cameras ready to capture any detail, VIPs begging for selfies with bewildered eyes and staring at the screens in awe and confusion. It was all so foreign to you. Despite growing up in Monaco, you had always shied away from the spotlight and tried to live a simple life, therefore moving out in your youth to an unknown town in South France, near the coast, but far enough from the contradiction of luxury. Still, Pierre being a dear old friend of yours, after pleading insistence, you had given up to his invitation to a Grand Prix. You had first agreed to be hosted at his home race, Paul Ricard, then obliged to choose another circuit since the track had disappeared from the 2023 calendar: and so there you were, crossing the streets you had walked countless times, the ones you had run away from.

«Do you think it’s going to rain hard?» «How do you expect me to know?» You snorted, arms crossed. Pierre simply shrugged, zipping up his suit. «I don’t know, you’ve lived here enough to recognize Monaco’s clouds.» he half-joked. «Maybe you’re the Monegasque Mazepin.» «Who’s that?» you asked, frowning. «No one, forget it. I just thought you, standing there doing nothing, had more time than I do to check the forecast.» «Uhm, if you want, I can take a look.» you offered, searching for your phone. Pierre quickly made it over to you, crossing the garage, and put his hands on your shoulders with a smile. «Y/n, I’m just messing around. Why are you taking everything so seriously? You always get my jokes, what’s up with you today?» «Uhm… maybe… It’s Monaco’s clouds.» Pierre couldn’t help but grin bigger and shake his head, leaving you standing on your own while he got near his helmet to clean it. «If you’re worried about tonight’s dinner, there’s no need to.» You sighed. To your annoyance, Pierre had stricken home yet another time. He was too good at reading you like an open book, your expressions and reactions too plain for him to interpret after years of sincere friendship. «I just don’t understand why you want to introduce me to this one friend… It’s a bit intimidating, like, the three of us…» «Oh, but we won’t be completely alone!» Pierre said, amending his partial explanation. «We’ll be hanging out in group, it’s going to be fun! I just wanted to introduce you to my best mate, that’s all.» «Fine, but… why can’t I even know his name? Why are you acting like I’m going to be surprised about who he is?» «Because I think you will.» «You’re such a drama queen.» He laughed at your arms-crossed and roll-eye as he finished cleaning the helmet, placing back on a counter. «Of course I am.»

To Pierre’s amusement, you hadn’t followed free practices with a lot of attention, which is a euphemism to say that you basically didn’t watch the screens installed for the guests inside the garage at all: instead, you had nestled in a small empty spot right next to his engineer and you had silently followed Pierre’s action and data, without really understanding much, more so as the second sessions had been red flagged before being half-way through it.

Pierre was dying of laughter onto the small, leathered couch of the club you had chosen for the beginning of the night, waiting for all his friends to show up, as he listened to your unforgettably miserable experience in the Alpine box. «So you didn’t see any other driver?» he asked, still chuckling. «No, I mean… I was also getting a bit car sick, with all those walls left and right. You drive way too fast, you guys are crazy…» Loud as a freight train crashing the rails with its speed, a group of youngsters entered the club with a thunderous burst of laughter, which made you flinch in your seat. «Oh, here they are!» Pierre immediately flailed around and whistled in order to be heard by les gars, who soon walked towards your table. Without you noticing, he stood up and waited them to hug and give friendly back pats. Composed in your awkward silence, you felt even more uneasy as one of the newcomers stopped and looked down at you sitting, staring with an uncomfortable persistence, a smile fading from his lips. «Who are you?» he asked, curiosity and perplexity mixed in his tone. Reciprocating with the same depth his stare, you realized you had just fallen inside a dangerous and unexpected sand trap, wishing the dark-lit room would suddenly turn the lights on so that you could make out his features clearer, or completely drown them out together with the anxiety in the pit of your stomach. «Finally I can introduce you both!» Pierre clapped his hands, breaking the moment and inviting you to get up. «Y/n, this is my best friend: Charles.» «Charles…» you muttered under your breath, trying to make sense of it. «Yes, Charles Leclerc.» he repeated in confirmation, smiling, shaking and holding your cold and still hand. «And this is y/n, one of my dearest friends.» «Nice to meet you.» The flickering sparkle in his eyes, the dimples making their painful appearance and his sweet, fond smile struck you all at once, the freight train now hitting you as you simply stood by the platform of time, uncapable of anything but playing reruns of distant and long forgotten memories in the back of your mind. He let go of your hand and you slowly slipped down in your seat, heart beating uncontrollably. But everyone was just too absorbed into the conversation to notice, too playful and happy to be in joined company. Drinking from your glass full of insecurities, your gaze was always searching for his, carefully studying his heavenly face, then immediately straying away, consumed by indecision and inner turmoil.

You all got up a couple of hours after to have a nice walk through the harbor; the cool breeze sweeping the dump asphalt made your skin shiver, and you felt forced to bring your hands upon your forearms to soothe the coldness. Pierre had noticed for a while the way you hadn’t engaged in the conversations a lot, had seen you full of thoughts back in the club and, of course, immediately read your body language; in a few strides, he was next to you, placing his jacket onto your shoulders, matching your steps. «Thank you.» you smiled. You both slowly walked alongside, letting silence fill the gaps, until the Frenchman couldn’t bear it anymore, as he gazed at the stars. «I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy yourself that much tonight… I thought you would get along just fine, since you’re all friends of mine.» «They’re nice, in fact!» you tried to reply. Pierre gave you a knowing look. «Y/n, there’s no need to cover it up, I’ve got two eyes to see you have been running away from everyone tonight… Especially from Charles.» «What?» You stood still, watching him stop as you did. Had he noticed? Did he… know? «Are you… are you, like, jealous of him?» Pierre asked, reticent. «What?! N-no, of course not, why would I-» «Sorry, I was just wondering why you gave him strange looks all night, that’s it.» «No, it’s just… I think I’ve seen him somewhere else, before.» you swallowed hard, hoping he’d buy into your lie. Pierre first looked at you, then started laughing contagiously, to the point you had to giggle as well with a frown. «Why are you laughing?» you asked. «Are you kidding me? Of course you’ve seen him before!» «And… where?» you hesitated, now even scarier than earlier. «On track, y/n! He races for Ferrari, putain!» His laugh didn’t complement your heart drop. «You didn’t watch any race for real, uh? I thought you were joking. Now, that hurts!» The attempt at matching his laugh was almost miserable; the clench grinding your poor heart felt unbearable, feelings gushing and bleeding out beneath your skin.

Nothing had prepared you to see him once again face to face, nor you had anticipated talking to him, spending time together. For sure, no one had warned you about the way he would’ve changed so much growing up. A childish mischief still lingered in his expression, but you could clearly see he had matured, his perfectly crafted jawline and his beard giving it away; his athletic body resembled nothing of the young, agile and slim figure you remembered. You recalled witnessing Pierre’s transformation. Looking at them now, they didn’t seem like guys in their mid-twenties and, compared to them, you felt like a child, whereas they had already achieved a lifestyle you would never even dream of. Despite the obvious differences in the physique, something about Charles’ demeanor had unexpectedly softened: you were so accustomed to his impulsive, black-or-white younger self that you almost couldn’t recognize him under the charming and elegant masquerade. It can’t be him, you thought.

An awkward tension made every gesture clumsy, intrinsically wrong: throughout the weekend, anytime you’d cross each other’s way, you both moved cautiously around each other, studying the new person you had in front, as if you were trying to read a book you once knew by heart, word by word, now translated into an unknown language. And even though you struggled recognizing the Charles you used to know, he could clearly tell it was the same old you beneath the embarrassment: he always found you lightheartedly making jokes and having fun, smiling kindly, or thinking deep in silence. When you were with Pierre. Because as soon as Charles entered your vision, he would see you stiffening, stuttering, fighting insecurities in every sentence and gesture. And as much as he felt discomfort in making you all flustered, a thorn of pride stung his heart. He still had an effect on you. He wouldn’t makeyou laugh uncontrollably as Pierre did, but he was still able to stir some deep feelings inside of you, and it fueled him like gasoline on fire, for some reason. # Charles genuinely thought seeing you in Monaco was a karmic debt’s payment, enduring the comfort and the palpable chemistry between you and his best friend: apart from the small talk he had tried to initiate with you, Charles had kept away from you, purposely avoiding your presence. Undeniably, you still had an effect on him too.

When he entered the paddock on Wednesday, welcomed by the Spanish heat, crossing the lane with the hospitalities already brimming of life, he definitely didn’t expect to see you again, let alone to find you sat on a white wicker couch next to Pierre. Right as he witnessed the scene, the Frenchman swiftly placing your bare legs on his lap, his fingers drawing circles upon your skin, both spread out and chilling, enjoying the nice weather, Charles couldn’t help himself from chewing his inner cheek and pacing quickly towards Ferrari’s hospitality. What made him even more furious was knowing that Pierre was well aware of the cameras pointing towards you and taking pictures with no disturb, implicitly giving them permission, being so physical with you in public. Pierre wasn’t stupid. He knew what he was doing. And Charles didn’t like it. Because you seemed so innocent, always caring, smiley, kind and considerate of others, hanging off Pierre’s lips; and Charles hated, oh, he hated it as much as immediately spotting the flash of fear and tension crossing your irises as soon as he tried to approach you. Charles would’ve gladly done without hovering around you, or stop caring about you and Pierre’s affair, but he simply couldn’t: after seeing you amidst the crowd, he was drawn to you, by far the quickest in reaching you swiftly dodging everybody else, ready to find stupid excuses to chat with you and get your attention away from Pierre at least for a couple of minutes. The painful truth was that Charles desperately wanted to catch up with you, spend an entire night just the two of you and be your listener, hearing your enchanting voice narrate the life you had led so far and staring into your mesmerizing eyes full of dreams. He wanted to amend for the past. He felt guilty for what he had said, yet he acknowledged he wouldn’t know any better back at the time.

Instead, he was attending yet another night out with Pierre and mutual friends, throwing deadly glances over your dancing silhouettes, painfully reminded of what it could’ve been. Charles had so many apologetic words stuck in his throat, but an overwhelming wave of unlabeled feelings impeded him to talk the matter out with you. Only a question, the same one, all over again. Why Pierre? He unfortunately knew why you two had broken up, he couldn’t blame you in any way: but Charles couldn’t accept being discarded in place of Pierre. He loved him like a brother, he was one of his best buddies, and exactly because he knew him that well and had met you before, he was sure you two, as a couple, could never work out. Or, at least, that’s what he believed. There was also another annoyance cutting Charles’ skin: the fact that Pierre hadn’t been honest while introducing you. A friend? Sharing jackets and hoodies, letting each other be touchy and clingy, always hanging out together? Yeah, of course. Charles was having none of it. His drink tasted bitter, with you two in his vision; he couldn’t bear it any longer. So he simply decided to get the work done by himself.

Pierre had been talking and cracking jokes non-stop since the beginning of the night, getting his mouth dry quite rapidly; right as he left you dancing by yourself to grab another drink, Charles took the chance and crossed the dance floor fueled by liquid bravery, stopping right behind you, placing his hands on your waist carefully, so that you’d acknowledge his presence too late to run away from him. «Having fun with Pierre? Hasn’t he run out of words yet?» Charles teased you. «When he’s drunk, he gets quite talkative.» you explained. «And so do you.» At your raised brow, Charles took a sip of his drink with a smirk. «Just checking up on someone who seemed to be getting bored.» he leaned in a bit closer upon your shoulder. «Oh, and when did you start being concerned about me?» When I realized I was still in love with you, he thought. Charles wetted his lips. «Y/n, I’d really like to talk about everything that happened between us, if you just gave me the chance to-» «Charles, I suffered enough, trust me.» «And I’m suffering because of it now.» «Not my business. It’s your time to get over it.» «If you got over it, then why do you keep avoiding me like you’re still affected?» Charles knew he had hit home once he saw your eyes dart towards his, defenseless, uncapable of putting up shields of indifference. «Woah, Charles, stop bothering my girl!» Pierre loudly approached the two of you, drunkenly placing his arm around you, which Charles clearly interpreted as a “private property” sign. You were his girl, after all. Of course you wouldn’t give him a chance. Everything was already settled, nothing else left to be discussed. Still, if there was something Charles couldn’t do, it was losing without trying with all his might to grab the win. «Can I borrow her? Just wanted to dance with her.» Pierre chuckled and nodded. «Bien sur, go ahead!» You hated being treated like a parcel without thoughts and feelings, as if you not being willing to dance with Charles wasn’t even an option; indeed, you definitely didn’t refuse his gentle hand guiding you towards a quieter space on the dance floor, and didn’t sway the times Charles would place his face near yours, leaning against your ear, almost about to whisper something but never giving you the satisfaction to drop a single word.

There was no way you could deny the effect he still had on you, after all those years spent apart from each other: any moment your eyes flicked to glance at him, his bright eyes were still glistening with youthful innocence, his dimples still dazed you, his enigmatic smile still made you question his and your own feelings. For a moment, standing that close to him without sharing useless words, you imagined Charles had stayed. In fact, that you had stayed. With a little effort, you could almost imagine you two had never broken up: you were dancing, comfortably enjoying his hands on your waist, placing yours around his neck lightweight, scared of lengthening physical touch. He stared down at you with a pleased and peaceful gaze, so sweet it could almost stich up all the scars he had left over your heart, splitting them apart and filling them with love before sealing them forever. But he had made a choice back then, clear-cut. Formula One was his only lover, no room for others. No room for you. The music died around your ears. But it still pumped quick inside your heart. «Are you good?» Charles’ voice caught your attention, as his hands firmly kept you up and yours had fallen back onto his shoulders for support. You simply tripped, you said to yourself; something normal which would happen while dancing drunk, a usual slip of thoughts diving back into the hurt of the past. «Yeah, all good.» you breathed out, looking behind your back. Pierre’s silhouette had completely disappeared from the radar, leaving your clenching stomach lonely in the search of a ride home. «Where’s Pierre?» you slurred. «I don’t know…» Charles’ green eyes scanned the room and trailed off yours, joining them in the search. «Can you bring me back to the hotel?» Charles opened his eyes wide at those words. «What?» Maybe he hadn’t heard right. Maybe it was the voice of someone dancing next to him. «I’m tired, can you give me a ride?» The tip of his tongue slipping out to wet his lips got you stuck on his mouth, a lost soft look into your eyes that Charles had to avoid watching, before his drunk system would act bypassing rationality. «Of course.»

#

«Where are the keys?» Charles waited for your lazy hands to rummage inside your purse, quickly taking the shining, jingling metal out of your fingers. Right as the door cracked open, you aimed towards the king-sized bed, taking your heels off and slowly picking up the sheets in order to slip underneath them. «Don’t you want to change into something comfier?» he asked, dumbfounded. You whined in response, head already resting onto the pearl white pillow. «Y/n?» «Mmh?» «Do you want to sleep with your jeans on?» he almost chuckled. «Jeez, Cha’, I’m tired…» He walked next to the bed, kneeling down in front of you. «Yeah, I know, you said that quite a few times already.» With your eyes shut, you couldn’t see Charles’ enchanted stare; yet, you could feel the warmth of it even through the closed eyelids. «There’s a pair of shorts inside the wardrobe.» you mumbled. Pretty easy to spot, since it was the only piece of furniture Charles felt comfortable enough to name “wardrobe”, he slid the door of wood and sifted through. «They’re not hung… Are they inside a drawer?» «No, they’re on top of the first drawer. Under the hung clothes.» Following your instructions, Charles found the shorts, but pulling them out something fell down to the floor. «What was that?» you asked at the thud. «N-nothing, there you go with your shorts.» he quickly reached over. «Okay, don’t peek.» «Yep!» Charles turned back towards the wardrobe, gulping both at the guilt of dropping something off and at the shuffling denim behind him. He closed his eyes, covered in shame. Then, tugged by curiosity, he looked down before his shoes. A diary, spread open. Charles picked it up, a picture immediately threatening to escape the pages, but his fingers were fast enough to catch it. It was you and him, awkwardly posing for your mom, both wearing matching bracelets. «Cha’, the bed is cold.» «Uh?» he held his breath, caught by surprise. «Can you like… rub me from above the duvet?» Your drunken request didn’t sound weird to his equally drunken mind. He hopped onto the bed, with the back leaning onto the headrest, his right hand brushing you back and forth to soothe the cold, while he held the diary and the picture with the left. «Thank you, Cha’…» He couldn’t restrain himself from smiling, engraving in his mind the tender and natural rolling off of the nickname you had chosen. It was the same sweet tone you would use with him back then, when you still held hands, when your cheeks were tinted rose in his presence, when the only bracelet he would wear were the ones you made yourself. With love.

The shop windows were brimming with lights and Christmasy decorations: the whole city was lit alive by the thrilled atmosphere, and everyone seemed to be strolling by the pavement, making it difficult to catch up with your mother’s steps. «Come on, y/n, we’ll be late!» Winter holidays had started, and you couldn’t help but staring mesmerized at the streets, couples walking hand in hand, the grey sea roaring in the distance. Christmas was only a few days away and your mom had booked an appointment to the hairdresser to adjust your hair a little bit before the new year; you knew, though, that she had insisted also because she enjoyed Pascale’s company and gossiping quite a lot, especially since his son was only a year older than you and had the same middle school teachers you had.

«Ah, y/n, I wish I had a daughter like you. My sons are three devils.» Your mother chuckled at Pascale’s defeated comment, sitting on a couch behind you, holding a magazine. «But they’re talented, at least.» You pouted at your mom’s words, frowning. «Especially Charles. By the way, how is he doing?» your mother added. Pascale sighed, blow-drying your hair. «Very good… But I’m worried he’ll never finish school.» «But he’s in third grade now, how can’t he not?» you asked, with lively eyes. «Middle school isn’t the problem, y/n. I’m afraid he’ll never graduate from high school. I mean, he’s clearly on a league of his own, but… there are no certainties he’ll make it to Formula One, and in case things might not go as planned I don’t want him to struggle finding a job due to a lack of diploma.» «I don’t think you need to worry, Pascale. If Charles can’t succeed, then nobody else will!» Pascale sadly smiled at your mother’s answer, brushing your hair. Still staring at yourself inside the mirror, you caught eye of something quickly storming into the saloon from the backdoor. «Mom, can I go out now?» You had never met him, but it was immediately clear to you that the boy tugging at his mother’s apron was Charles. A lock of hair partly covered his eyes and you were amazed at how large and luminous they were, full of hopes and dreams. «Did you finish your homework?» she asked, still patiently brushing your hair. Hesitating, you saw his eyes trailing off towards Pascale’s movements, pointing towards your hair and ultimately fixed his green pearls onto you. Charles’ lips parted to let out an inaudible gasp, caught by surprise by your gracious and lightful beauty: your hair, perfectly combed, seemed like a crown of silk upon your face, and your blushing cheeks hit an unknow spot of his young, tender, unexperienced heart. «So?» Pascale prompted. «No, I haven’t finished yet.» Charles felt stupid, but he couldn’t stop staring at you, nor could you. He was so scared you would never see each other again he was trying to extend the moment as long as he possibly could. «But I’ll finish them.» he added. Pascale, surprised at the answer, never heard beforehand, watched him pacing fast out the backdoor and reemerging with the notebook in his hand, sitting on the couch nearest to you. Unbeknownst to both of you, your moms had exchanged a knowing look through the mirror; but how could you notice, when all your attention was undividedly offered to each other? He took furtive peeks, as you darted him side-eyed glances, enchanted with his haphazard pose. Needless to say, Charles didn’t get much homework done… But he studied, oh boy, he did: he studied all your features, your behavior, your shy answers to your mother, your graceful red dress as you stood up in order to leave the saloon.

«M-merry Christmas!» he hastily blurted out, before you exited the door. Melting like a candle under a flame, Charles’ chest tightened at your small smile. «Merry Christmas.»

First it was doing homework together, then it was hanging out to eat some ice-cream as a treat, then it was strolling by the sea, and then riding the bike chuckling and giggling, until it was walking to the school gate hand in hand and wearing the matching bracelets you’d gifted him – not making it on purpose – for Valentine’s Day. It had happened so fast you couldn’t give a name to it: you spent all the free time you had in his company – whenever he wasn’t down karting tracks training – and you let yourself be swamped by Charles’ explosiveness, dragging you alongside him down all Monaco, willing to show you anything beautiful he had seen in his life, making memories together.

You had seen other classmates of yours having boyfriends, but they all seemed too morbidly physical to you. Charles would only grab your hand occasionally or give shy and awkward hugs, and that was more than enough for you, more than you would ask him to do: you didn’t feel the need for more; everything was as perfect as he could be. Some of your classmates also mocked you for being his girlfriend, since everybody noticed he often skipped lessons and wasn’t known as an easy character. In fact, Charles, at times, especially at school, treated you a bit coldly, annoyed by all the guys watching him and judging the both of you spending the breaks together. It had never been a problem to you, though, because you had soon realized his heart was full of love and care for you.

«Did they do anything to you?» he asked you, accompanying you back home after school, referring to your classmates. «No, they just talked crap as always.» you shrugged. «Did they touch you?» he asked once again, grabbing your hand a little tighter. «Uh?» «I saw they patted your shoulder, in front of the gate, when you were coming out. Did they do anything before that?» «No, they didn’t.» Charles’ frown was still on display, and you could tell he had been upset by the scene. It was normal, after all: he had witnessed his girlfriend being bullied, liked none of it and wished he would’ve got the chance to intervene. But somehow, seeing him deep in thought and keeping you closer to him made you realize for the first time he genuinely cared about you, more than two good friends, and as your chest filled with an unexplainable excitement, you slowly leaned your head against his shoulder. You waited for him to sway and withdraw from the touch, but he didn’t. You walked back home, fingers intertwined, moving slow steps, both wishing the path was endless.

#

«Are you done?» «Almost.» Charles huffed in impatience, as your fingers knotted the thread tighter. «Done! Give me your wrist.» you said. After attentively securing the bracelet, Charles took the other one you had already completed. «Give me yours.» You pressed your lips together to suppress a smile as he tied the matching bracelet to your wrist. «I like it a lot. Thank you, y/n.» His few words of appreciation warmed your heart, which fluttered and flipped in joy. You had thought it through for weeks, months; you had shyly confided with your mother, who tried to push you in being a little braver; still, you couldn’t bring yourself to admit your love to Charles. Because it was love. As you stared at each other in silence, your heart was about to explode, but he seemed to be unfazed by your flushed cheeks and nervous giggles. “Charles really likes you, y/n. You don’t have to doubt it.”, Pascale had told you. So, without thinking, prompted by the reassurances you had gathered from external feedback, you quickly leaned towards him and gave him the fastest peck on the lips. Pulling back, you kept your eyes shut, too scared to face his reaction; completely still, terrified, heart flinging out of your chest, you were caught by surprise feeling Charles’ lips back onto yours. It wasn’t as rushed as yours; he probably wasn’t as scared as you were. Under the careful touch of his hand upon your arm, you felt all your tension melt like snow under the sun, giving in to the moment, happy you had broken the ice so that you could both enjoy this second kiss without hesitation. As his face moved away, you saw him opening his mouth in order to say something. «I… I love you, y/n.» he gulped. «And thanks for the gift, they’re so well-made.» The way he had immediately changed topic didn’t help making his first words going unnoticed; Charles couldn’t put his heart on the line that openly, after all. But it seemed like you had only heard those three words, getting stuck at them, flinging yourself towards to hug him. «I love you too, Cha’!»

Charles looked over at you, peacefully drifted away, sleeping your hangover off. He had never told you, but you had been his first love too. Charles didn’t stop tenderly rubbing you from above the sheet, shamelessly enamored with that delicate, indirect touch. Caught once again by the diary, he frowned at a wrinkled page.

As soon as he closed the door behind him, you knew bad news were coming. You had never seen him as silent, as closed off and distant before: instead of immediately reaching out to your hand, walking alongside, he had fastened his steps, marching ahead of you, without sparing you a glance. He stopped on the promenade quite abruptly, forcing you to halt to avoid tripping over him. He stared at the raging sea, tinted of green and grey waves, foaming onto the harbor. «Where do you want to go?» you asked, trying to be as quiet as possible. «It doesn’t matter.» His voice was categorical. «We can’t be together.» He didn’t glance over to you nor blinked, as he threw you on the abyss of the sea, in the freezing coldness of his heart. «What?» you said, above a whisper. «I need to win the karting championship, so I must exclusively focus on training. Spending time with you will make me waste time.» A waste of time. That’s what you were to him. «But… We can still see each other, once you’re done with training! There’s no need to-» «I want to be a Formula One driver, y/n. I can’t have distractions.» «I’m not a distraction, Cha’! We… We love each other!» you pleaded. He finally turned around and threw a pity and almost annoyed look at you. «My only love is racing.» Too young and vulnerable to know how to hide the hurt of rejection, weeping like a baby you bumped past him, running back home, completely distraught. Charles’ words had cut you open like a knife, and what made it worse was that he had given no warning sign: those months together had flown by like a fever dream, sweet and carefree, even when he was telling you about his races and training. It made no sense, to you. He had given you up without thinking twice, whenever the choice was presented to him: racing had been and would always be his answer. Your feelings, whatever you two had shared meant nothing to him. Slamming the door of your bedroom, you looked down at your wrist: with a violent grab, you tore your matching bracelet apart, sobbing loudly, desperate at the thought he would soon throw the one you had made for him too.

Charles’ chest clenched. He had forgotten about the words he had used with you back at the time, but he hadn’t been able to rub off his memory the tears you shed before him. He was sure to be making the right choice, despite not knowing the cost of blindly pursuing his dream without taking others into consideration. He heard you heaving peaceful under his hand, still placed upon the duvet, and he felt a deep regret assaulting him: how could he ask you to stay near him, to bear his presence after what he had done to you? But most importantly: why did he have to lose you only to discover, years later, that if he had kept you by his side, you would’ve been the most supporting and understanding person, given the honey-laced words Pierre always had rolling off his tongue whenever he talked about your presence during race weekends?

Charles sighed and flipped the pages over and got stuck onto another entry, enchanted by a matured handwriting.

Pierre has always been a friend. Every time he would invite you down karting tracks, he would do anything to make you laugh with his stupid jokes, telling you about all the places he had been able to see throughout his first racing weekends around France, dreaming together of his future and reassuring you he would bring you along with him once he would reach F1. No matter how convincing he could sound, his talks always managed to trigger a deep fear in you: you thought you would soon lose him as well, the only real friend you had made since moving out. But Pierre didn’t reject you as Charles had done. Instead of excluding you, he tried to involve you in his world made of races and revving engines, sharing every bit of energy and passion with you. So you grew up together, as close as time and space allowed. The ease and comfort you felt around him and that developed over time was a novelty, more so as you got to know each other since you were fourteen; if you really had to carefully think your relationship through, being there for each other during teenage ha certainly cemented your connection. Because Pierre has always been a good friend; but there had been times, occasions, small moments in which raveled feelings coursed beneath the seemingly smooth surface.

#

It was no mystery Pierre enjoyed partying, more so if he could drag you with him down the hell of heat, sweat, shots and loud blasting music pumping his blood stronger than ever. That night, though, he had overdone it a bit. Embarrassingly enough, for the first time in his nineteen-years-old existence, he was locked in a bathroom, hands on his stomach, nausea all over his head. And, most importantly, you all over his thoughts. He had downed drinks all night with the intent of celebrating his F1 debut, but completely forgetting about your intoxicating presence, your breathtaking smiles, the little temptations that had begun tormenting him subtly after you had both abandoned innocence and had inevitably grown older. Pierre had completely underestimated the power you had on him, and losing control with drinking loosened his nerves: throughout the night, his hands had unexpectedly lingered on your waist longer, betraying the intentions of removing them in a painstaking delay; his glance had flickered down to your lips too many times, despite him checking in with himself and correct it; the crowded club being accomplice, he had danced way closer to you than he should’ve had, closer than friends would do, and he had mischievously invited you to throw your arms behind his neck. Pierre had never felt so next to completely letting go of any restraint and kissing you then and there, freeing years of pent-up desires. And at that exact moment, nausea had hit him, throwing water upon his fire: he had excused himself to you with incoherent mumbles and ran, scattered, in search of the first restroom he could see. Of course, he should’ve imagined you would follow him and enter the bathroom with him, locking the door behind you.

«Do you… do you need help?» you asked, moving an unsure step towards him. Pierre’s thoughts were running wild: he closed his eyes, fighting the sickness and avoiding engraving in his memory your sweet, worried eyes. «No, I just need to calm down, I think.» You got closer to him after seeing him frustratedly passing a hand through his hair, and affectionately cupped his cheek, pained to see his skin pale under the yellowish light of the bathroom. «Do you want me to bring you some water? I’ll come back in a second.» But Pierre, who was melting into your palm pressed against his face, enjoying the touch with eyes still shut, opened them wide with a frown the second the contact was lost: he grabbed your wrist, which was willing to flee from him, and brought it close so that your fingers would linger back upon his cheek, not ready at all to let you go now that he had you so tantalizingly near. «Please, stay here.» he breathed out. The swift hand pulling your waist closer to him almost went unnoticed, since dizziness was beginning to get you as well; however, not a single hint thrown at you that night, and not even the ones he had left in the last three years or so, had ever led you to believe Pierre yearned for something more. After all, he was a highly popular guy, always hanging out with different girls every night, never trying to hide it from you, in fact. Chicks came and went, but you always stayed. And you also stayed as Pierre spitted a strained and husky putain before rapidly closing the gap between you and trapping your parted lips in a kiss. He didn’t leave much room for you to think nor react: Pierre’s tongue had already met yours in a sloppy and fast-paced dance, and your hand, previously brushing the lightest veil of his beard, had already made his way up to his hair, tugging at it, before you could realize what was happening. Pierre’s stare was completely drowned in dark lust and he couldn’t think straight anymore, taken over by the fog of alcohol and your addictive presence. He kept your lips glued to yours, too scared your words would break what Pierre reckoned to be a fantasy, too good to be true; still, even when he was quickly interrupting the kiss to catch breaths or change side and tilt his head the other way round, no protests were raised. Thirsty and urged by drought, he drank his fill from your lips with such an avidity he would take away any resistance hovering in your mind: Pierre’s desire to see your face under the poorly lit restroom won against the feral need of tasting you, failing to take into consideration how the trail of glistening saliva connecting your swollen lips would turn him on even more, combined with your drunk, dazed eyes and your flushed cheeks. His hands couldn’t stop roaming all over your back, gripping your neck to keep you close, then finally finding rest onto your hips. It didn’t take long before they became daring: still placed upon your waist, they slowly slid up, meeting the cotton of your top and slightly rolling it up-

Charles closed the diary with an abrupt thud. Breathing heavily, eyes filled with rage and fear, he stared straight into the void. He had no intention to keep reading that entry. He wouldn’t read other two pages of you and Pierre’s first hookup. First of how many? He had introduced you as one of his dearest friends… But Charles knew Pierre better than anybody else, and it was a fact he had never befriend that deeply any girl. Unless she was his girlfriend. The idea Charles had had you before and lost you, then found you again and now lost you once more, and to his best friend, stirred unknown feelings inside of him he’d rather bury deep.

A buzz broke his trail of thoughts. Caught by surprise, Charles realized you had dropped your phone onto the bed before slipping under the covers and it had sat near his thigh all along without him noticing. Until it started buzzing, of course. Unconsciously, he took the phone in his hand and saw the notifications pop-ups coming from Pierre. “where aare youuu? I can’t find you And Charles is gone as well ? Please text me back” Charles rested his head again the wall, just above the headrest, and sighed. He should answer Pierre’s texts in order for him not to panic about you two disappearing without warning… or ignore him and pretend he had never read anything? In that moment, Charles realized he had overstepped plenty of the boundaries of your privacy, reading through both your diary and your phone. So… why not going all the way in and earn full damnation? Once he was asked to put a passcode, he stared at the number pad waiting for his drunk brain gears to move; digiting his attempt, he hoped you still kept the same passcode you had back in middle school. It’ll never work, he thought. But to Charles’ amazement, it did. Pressing his lips together mentally mocking your laziness and lack of clever choices (overlooking the fact that he was the only one to possibly know your code from middle school times), he quickly tapped the notification and got ready to type an answer. “I brought her back to the hotel and we’ve just fucked, so that’s why she didn’t answer back :) " No, Charles, for freak’s sake. No resentment. No jealousy. No throwing it back in his face. He’s your best mate, after all. “Charles brought me back to the hotel cause I didn’t feel good We wanted to warn you but couldn’t find you” Quite satisfied, Charles reckoned that would be something you’d say. He didn’t even bother checking for Pierre’s replay, definitely willing to miss out on him being love-sickly worried about you, eye rolling at the mere thought. You were still there sleeping quietly, unaware of the emotional mess you had stirred in Charles’ poor heart. He glanced over at you for the last time, then slowly got up, put the diary back in the wardrobe and sneaked out, closing the door as delicate and silent as he could, not to wake the love he had put to sleep.

Charles sat to the small table, his lower calf resting on his other knee, the pointer finger brushing against his lower lip, in wait. He had been asked by the waiter to order a couple of times already, but Charles, as politely as his upset heart could allow him to, had dismissed him and sent him away. Pierre’s lean silhouette casually strolled towards him with that usual, smug smirk adorning his face with an aura that Charles, for the first time after years of hanging out together, behind his Ray Bans, found terribly unsufferable. He tried to study his best friend in search of whatever detail could’ve ever caught you trapped into his arms, and how the man now taking a seat right in front of him could’ve lied to him straight to the face keeping his new relationship away from him.

«So… I’m all ears.» Pierre stated, smiling. «Alright.» Charles didn’t move, watching his every movement. «Can I ask you something first?» the Frenchman interrupted him as he was about to speak up. «Sure.» Charles sighed, tilting his head in a slow, controlled back and forth motion. «You didn’t tell me anything about y/n since you met her. What do you think of her?» The Monegasque couldn’t restrain a snort, looking away and removing his glasses only to fidget them close, before enigmatically staring at Pierre. It wouldn’t take as long as Charles had predicted to get to the main point of the conversation. «Why does my opinion on her matter so much to you?» «Because you’re my best bro?» Pierre nervously chuckled, scratching his nape. He can’t be lying straight to my face so openly, Charles thought. «You know, you could’ve told me right away you wanted me to meet your new girlfriend. You didn’t have to put all this shit up and call her “one of my dearest friends”.»

Charles, still glancing at him, expected to savor Pierre’s astonished reaction, ready to catch him red-handed: so it was only natural for him to be left confused as the Frenchman frankly laughed, hand on his belly. «Mate, I don’t know how you made it up, but this is the most stupid crap I’ve heard in a while.» «Well, the way you two look at each other and are so comfortable with touching and being close gives it off. You aren’t subtle at all.» Pierre frowned, squinting his eyes to read into Charles’ expression. «Well, that’s a pity, because there’s nothing between me and her. And if you really want to know, she also rejected me long time ago.» «If she rejected you, something must’ve happened.» he stated, raising a brow. «We just made out once. I was celebrating for my F1 debut, I drank way too much and I kissed her. But she refused me quite badly.» he smiled at the thought. «What?» Charles stared at him conflicted, not knowing whether to trust Pierre’s version of the story. «She almost pushed me against the wall. I don’t even think she remembers, we were both completely hangover next day and we never talked about it anymore… Because there was no need to.» Charles would’ve liked to say that, in fact, you clearly remembered it, since he had found it in your diary; but knowing that he had skipped the pages which probably contained the rejection made him feel somewhat relieved. Yet, the undeniable closeness he had witnessed with his own eyes still put him in guard. «Still, you’re always PDA… and you also called her your girl.» «Did I? When?» «Literally last time we went out.» «Oh, I don’t remember. Too drunk to know.» Pierre smiled again. «But at this point, I guess there’s something you really would like to tell me about her.» Charles frowned, waiting for him to speak up again. «You act sus the entire night I introduced you both and dodge every conversation I try to have about her, but you still search for her any hour of the day just to give me second-hand embarrassment with you two’s awkward tension…» Pierre smirked to himself, shaking his head in the smallest movements and scrolling through his phone. «Then you use y/n’s phone to send me a drunk text she questions me about, stating it certainly isn’t hers, which kind of hints at the fact you stayed over to her room until…» he paused, then snorted loudly, «3 a.m. Wow.» Pierre put his phone on the table, screen facing downward. «Lastly, you invite me here, act all classy and cold with your Ray Bans, ready to confront me and make me confess my undying love for y/n with this pissed off face,» he pointed at his friend’s expression, «‘cause you’re jealous as fuck and you’re the one in love with her, uh? Good move, Charles. You’re the one who’s not being subtle at all, here.»

The waiter jumped right in at the worst possible moment, but this time Charles thanked his presence and let him interrupt the conversation: he felt spent, let down, somehow sorry for acting childishly. But, most of all, for being put in front of the harsh true: he still loved you. «Do you know all the story already?» Charles asked him, looking down, dejected. «Which story?» Pierre stared at him bamboozled, as Charles did in return. «But- you said I’m in love with her, so you know, right?» «Know what? What are you talking about?» Charles gulped. «That me and y/n have been together.» Charles saw Pierre’s eyes flick wide open, then him covering his mouth, in disbelief; once again staring back at him, completely sucked in by the news, willing to get at the bottom of it. «When she lived in Monaco…» «Yep.»

A short pause was offered by the drinks opportunely served, just in time for processing the information. «Now I understand why she acts weird when you’re around.» the Frenchman hummed, taking a sip. «Why did you breakup though?» «Guess I was too young to be in a serious relationship while also competing in karting.» Pierre glanced at his best friend, almost uncapable of recognizing him: he’d rarely seen him heartbroken and let down as he was, brushing his fingertip against the edge of his glass. «You should’ve invited y/n here instead of me.» Charles sadly smiled. «To say what?» «Exactly what you told me. You should’ve shown her you’re jealous of me and her, so that she knew you still love her. She should’ve seen you care for her as you probably did back then.» «So that she could rip my heart in two saying she doesn’t feel the same anymore?» «So that she could realize she never dated anybody else after you because she still feels something for you.» Charles bore his helpless eyes into Pierre’s, hope and surprise dancing in his irises. «C’mon, Charles, she even rejected me. Nobody has ever turned me down!» «Oh, please, I know that already.» Charles waited a couple of seconds to let the playful comment set before speaking up again. «Anyway, I tried to talk to her. But of course, she doesn’t want to listen, rightfully, and I can’t force her to.» Pierre loudly put down on the table his glass, spitting out a “tsk” of disapproval and disgust. «Where’s the Charles I know? The one who fights his battles until the end without giving up?»

In love, Charles had never had many problems. After you, that is. Loving came easy to him, as much as being loved: Pierre was popular due to his damned-cool boy reputation, but Charles wasn’t less of a dream for girls. He’d see the astonished stares, cheeks burning bright for him only, the small gasps and whispers shared between friends, the trembling voices and shaking fingers handing him the phone, a picture, a felted tip. A power he never used, let alone overused, to his own advantage. Still, he wished he would work with you. He always searched for any positive sign or reaction to his presence, but he never had the chance to spot them clearly. Every time some fans would hand him a bracelet, an instant stab of sorrow and regret seeped through his heart, overlaying memories of your delicate, small hands offering your handmade sign of love. Pierre was right. He couldn’t let you slip away, once again. «You must hurry up, though.» Pierre stood up, one hand stuffed in his jeans’ pocket. «Why?» «She leaves tomorrow. She… she goes back home.» he trailed off his stare. «What?! Why didn’t you tell me?» Charles abruptly stood up to face him, screeching his chair on the floor. «’Cause I didn’t know you cared?» Charles ran a hand through his hair, sighing in frustration. «Oh, fuck me…» Pierre took his phone out of the pocket and sent a text, under the desperate stare of his best friend. «Okay, she’s in her room now. Go to her.» «W-where?» «She’s staying at my same hotel, room 214. But you know that already from last night.» Charles gaped, uncapable of letting words out. Pierre smiled, patting his shoulder. «You’re welcome. But get to work, okay?»

You knew since the beginning that Pierre’s newly gifted sweatshirts wouldn’t fit your suitcase, so you had warned him not to shower you with merch as he always did: in vain, of course. Hence, you were completely bent over the suitcase, desperately trying to squeeze it with your body weight, in order to close the zip. Huffing and grumbling, about to break the zip due to the excessive might, you halted every movement as a confident knocking on your door startled you. You weren’t expecting anyone; so typical of Pierre to forget stuff in your room and casually pass by… But his knocks would be usually followed by a string of embarrassing pet names, forcing you to open the door immediately. It was unusual for silence to drop right after the knocks.

You got closer to the door, only to jump back hearing insistent thuds against it. Okay, this is more like Pierre. You didn’t wonder further and simply got ready to welcome the sight of your best friend. Apart from the fact that the guy swiftly sneaking inside your room wasn’t him. «W-what are you doing?!» First rage, then fluster hit you: but Charles’ stormy eyes made you weak and helplessly condescending to anything he’d come by to say, as they had always done. «Why are you here?» you asked, your tone softened. Wetted his lips, irises scattered around, purposely avoiding yours, then a firm, determined yet resigned stare. «I read your diary.» «W-wha-» «When I brought you back here from the party, you were drunk. I made it drop by mistake and… and it was right open. I read it. And I also used your phone to answer Pierre’s texts, but you already know this.»

You couldn’t even get mad. As much as you tried to gather fury within you, something about him being vulnerable and fragile before you, frankly confessing the wrongdoings, seemingly heartbroken, couldn’t stir up blame on him. The only thing which made your ears ring and blurred your eyes was black fear. «What… what did you read?» Charles swallowed hard; you followed the movement with your eyes, you almost heard it loud and clear. «Everything.» With a single word, your pride tore apart. You could feel the void it left right beneath your sternum, and you could perceive the prickling tears stinging your eyes. Charles’ brows trembled in sorrow as he watched shame flash through your body, enhancing the shaking of your fingers, the twitching of your lips. «Why did you come here to embarrass me?» Not bearing being that far away from you while simultaneously being the reason you were crying, Charles closed the gap with a step, cupping your cheek with unknown tenderness. «Can you forgive me?» he whispered. You deeply wished he didn’t sound that fragile and loving; you couldn’t bear the pity look he was giving you, not after the brutal ways he had used with you in the past. He was being unnecessarily unfair. Because he probably knew, as you did deep down, that there was no way on earth you could avoid forgiving him.

Charles waited for your answer with his heart on the line, ready to crash in the abyss of despair or hopefully swim in relief, his fingers brushing the dust of time off your precious self, like a rediscovered chest of memories. He shouldn’t have never let you go. «You’re so stupid…» you shook your head and drop it low. «Charles, reading a diary isn’t as bad as-» «No, y/n, that’s not what I meant.» You raised your head up at his words. «Can you forgive me for… leaving you?» Beyond your inner walls, water fell and crashed the dam with its violent flow. He let you hide your face in the crook of his neck, hugging you closer, placing a kiss on your hair, tightening the embrace as your sobs tightened his chest. «Would you trust my love?» he spoke again. A loud sigh erupted from your lips. «I hate you so much…» Charles affectionately leaned his cheek upon your head, rubbing your back in hope to soothe your cries. «I was so naïve and stupid, y/n. I’m so sorry.» he whispered. «You don’t even know how much pain you put me through… I fucking left my hometown, Charles! I moved out…» «I know.» Charles acknowledged, resigned. «No, you don’t! You don’t…» «I never forgave myself for this. You know that?» His honesty showed through the hoarse tone of his voice, which obliged you to look at him, fast enough to see the veils of tears adorning his mesmerizing green, now saddened, eyes. «When my mom told me you had moved out, I thought it couldn’t be real. I waited for you out of school, to bring you back home as we always did, but you were never there.»

You cried harder against his skin, devastated by his shaking voice, and you encircled his neck with your arms to nestle closer. «I kept wearing your bracelet, I couldn’t take it off. It was the only thing I still had of you.» Charles trailed off his gaze and strayed away from the fixed spot he had been staring at, willing to interrupt the unraveling of his raw, way too powerful feelings; then he gently pushed you away the bit he needed to look inside your eyes. «Even if you don’t believe me, I won’t be able to forgive myself until you do. And I might not be able to forgive myself anyway,» he wiped off one of your tears with his thumb, «but I couldn’t add another regret, letting you go without telling you that I still love you.»

Charles felt a weight lifting off his shoulder, relaxing his tensed muscles all at once: he had said the words he had kept stuck in his heart for way too long. He let the hug loosen and moved backwards, now ready to see you leave. «But… if you’re in love with Pierre… I mean, I won’t interfere with you guys. You’re free to love whoever and I honestly can’t blame you, after all I’ve done.» You sadly smiled at his antics, diverging gaze as soon as he had broken the embrace and distancing from you. He had just told you he loved you, but had thrown another topic onto the table so that it would go unnoticed, so that he wouldn’t be hurt in case you didn’t reciprocate. He hadn’t changed, not even a bit. Under the cool and elegant demeanor, you could still see the shy, impulsive and passionate boy you had fallen in love with. «Cha’… You know I can’t choose who to love, right?» Charles’ eyes widened as soon as he saw you stepping towards him, closing the gap once again, lacing your hands around his neck while he held your waist in disbelief, scared you would fade away leaving him with splinters of a dream. «And the proof is that… I can’t help loving you.» «I’d like to say that I’m sorry for you, but…» You both inched over each other’s head, hearts twisting with the renewed novelty of what love felt like. «But there’s no need to be.» you breathed on his lips. The tension pent up through your muscles released all at once, right as you both fell caught inside a kiss: the lock which had sealed you heart for years cracked open at Charles’ key, unleashing the old, affectionate and immature feelings so that you could dress them with the newer and shinier clothes of reconciliation.

Charles couldn’t help a soft moan of frustration while deepening the kiss, his hands failing to keep you as close as he needed, touch-starved. You let him take control, overwhelmed by bliss to the point you simply gave in and relied completely on him; as he worshipped every corner of your beauty, your heart overflowed of unexperienced joy and love. You weren’t in a rush for taking the flight anymore: time was a senseless number uncapable of measuring the moment. Charles delicately laid you on the newly made bed, leaving a trail of feather-like kisses on your collarbones and down to your stomach, lips brushing against your summer dress and eyes desperately sticking onto yours all along. «Tell me you want this as much as I do.» His eyelids shut and his hopeful, breathless voice invited your fingers to pass through his hair, pulling his lips back above yours. «I promise I do.» Scared of opening his eyes and discovering he was having a feverish, heart-rending yet delightful dream, Charles helplessly smiled after resting his forehead upon yours. «Let me love you, then.»

I'm dead sure it's full of mistakes but I'm too tired and happy to be posting that I don't care! Thanks for bearing through everything! And thanks a ton to who leaves notes of feedback, they're so precious and dear to me! ♥ ✧ ˚ · .  Wish you a wonderful day . · ˚✧

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[ash-and-books]

Rating: 4.5/5

Book Blurb: A dangerous alliance between a Vampyre bride and an Alpha Werewolf becomes a love deep enough to sink your teeth into in this new paranormal romance from the #1 New York Times bestselling author of Love, Theoretically and The Love Hypothesis.

Misery Lark, the only daughter of the most powerful Vampyre councilman of the Southwest, is an outcast—again. Her days of living in anonymity among the Humans are over: she has been called upon to uphold a historic peacekeeping alliance between the Vampyres and their mortal enemies, the Weres, and she sees little choice but to surrender herself in the exchange—again...

Weres are ruthless and unpredictable, and their Alpha, Lowe Moreland, is no exception. He rules his pack with absolute authority, but not without justice. And, unlike the Vampyre Council, not without feeling. It’s clear from the way he tracks Misery’s every movement that he doesn’t trust her. If only he knew how right he was….

Because Misery has her own reasons to agree to this marriage of convenience, reasons that have nothing to do with politics or alliances, and everything to do with the only thing she's ever cared about. And she is willing to do whatever it takes to get back what’s hers, even if it means a life alone in Were territory…alone with the wolf.

Review:

A Vampire in an arranged marriage with the ruthless Werewolf Alpha...nothing could possibly go wrong right? Misery Lark is the daughter of the most powerful Vampyre councilman and has been an outcast her entire life, shunned by her own kind, hated by humans and werewolves, her only true friend is her childhood companion/sister, Serena who has mysteriously disappeared leaving behind a cryptic journal with only one phrase in it as a clue : L.E. Moreland. When her father request she enter into an arranged marriage with the newly appointed Alpha of the Werewolves she wants to say no... except when she learns its none other than Lowe Moreland, she knows she has to say yes. He is the only clue to what could have happened to Serena and Misery will do anything to find her sister. Yet this marriage is meant to ensure a peace treaty between the vampyres and the werewolves, essentially forcing Misery into being a hostage living in Lowe's home for a year. Misery knows Lowe has a mate despite agreeing to marry her, yet the closer the grow the more confusing their feelings become. It doesn't help that their marriage has it's own politics to deal with, from werewolves and vampires wanting to assassinate either one of them and Lowe being hot and cold with his feelings. Misery just wants to find her sister, yet the longer she stays with Lowe the more she finds herself opening her heart to the very wolf she never expected to fall for... but can she be with him when he has a mate... or is he keeping another secret from her? This was a really fun vampire/werewolf and fated mates romance. I loved Misery, she's fun and cute, I love how caring she is and how she's willing to give everyone a chance, despite being hurt by so many people in her life. Lowe is a great love interest and I wanted to shake him at times and tell him " JUST TELL HER " but overall I could see what his mentality was and how he cared for her so much that he wanted to put her needs and feelings above his. They really had a sweet romance. I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE NEXT ONE, I AM LOOKING AT YOU KOEN AND SERENA. The book was a bit slow to get into and the romance itself was really slow burn ( not picking up at all until the 50% mark) but once it gets going, it gets going and I loved it. I really enjoyed the world that Ali created and am excited to see where she goes next with these werewolves and vampyres! if you enjoy paranormal romances with fun protagonists and swoony love interests, definitely give this a go, this was such a fun read!

*Thanks Netgalley and Berkley Publishing Group, Berkley for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[mystargirl-interlude]

heyyyyyyyyy, thx for following me I was wondering if you could do a request where Xavier meets the reader as Wednesday’s sister and they date behind her back before she finds out and Enid has to convince her to be okay with it.

hiii thank you so much for your request I hope this if fulfills your expectations!!

I was listening to thunder while writing this so if you want the full experience listen to thunder

Requested: yes

Warning: none I don’t think?

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x fem!reader

Word count: 941

Proofread: no

Thunder

completely moving schools because your twin decided it would be fun to try and kill a group of jocks isn't all that fun.

I was completely fine staying at the school we were at but when Wednesday got expelled I got expelled with her for not doing anything to stop her.

We ended up getting thrown in the same school mother and father went to Nevermore boarding .

Me and Wednesday are fraternal twins hence why we look nothing alike despite us not looking anything alike doesn't mean we are complete opposites I just tend to show more emotions which is why switching to Nevermore had such an impact on me.

Once we pulled into the driveway to the castle like school my I could feel my stomach twist with nerves while my parents looked ecstatic about us living the life they once lived

After zoning out most of the car ride I finally came back to my senses

"This looks like a hell hole" were the first words to come out of my mouth

"I would have to agree sister" says Wednesday with a deathly look in her eyes

"Come on girls you can continue on the Addams name" mother says

"And live in your shadow?" Me and Wednesday say in sync as a rhetorical question

I tend to disassociate quite often and didn't start paying attention until we were with some blonde girl named Enid

"That over there is Bianca the closest thing nevermore has to royalty, but lately her crowns been slipping, she used to date Nevermore's tortured artist Xavier Thorpe" she says pointing over to his direction

I see a long haired male painting what it looks like crows I can't seem to look away as he turn around as we make eye contact and unfortunately as Enid continues her tour I have to be the first to break it.

That leads us to where we are now

*two months later*

“Do you think if Wednesday caught us she would be mad?”

“It’s unpredictable when it comes to Wednesday”

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Me and Xavier entered the weathervane making our presence known with the little bell above the door

“Go sit down I’ll order” he says

This was a weekly ritual for us, since we can’t be public about our relationship yet this was the only way we had alone time

I look up to see Xavier come my way

“Okay here’s your drink”

“Thank you” I smile

“Do you ever wish that we didn’t have to sneak off every time we want to be together?” He asks

“Yeah.. all the time, but I don’t know what would happen if we didn’t. Like I know the world won’t blow up, but I just don’t want my sister to hate me.”

“Let’s talk about something else”

I replied

“Did you hear that Eugene has a crush on Enid???”

I say

“No fucking way”

I nod

“That’s actually hilarious, isn’t he like 13?”

He says

“Yeah! I kinda feel bad but it’s too funny”

He chuckled as he reached over to softly kiss me.

We stay like that for a while paying no mind to the bell ring announcing someone walking in

“Does someone want to explain what is going on or am I going to have to bring out my ropes”

I hear a familiar voice say

“WEDNESDAY”

Xavier says breaking apart from my lips clearly shocked

I look over to see Wednesday standing in front of our table tense with her eye twitching next to a very confused enid

“Uhm Wednesday I promise I can explain-“

“Can you?” She cuts me off

“I’ll wait”

“Wednesday maybe we should just leave them be they looked like they were happy” Enid says trying to grab Wednesday

“Touch me again and I will make sure your hand never gets to touch anything again”

Wednesday say

“Mm” Enid squeals

“Wednesday I know you don’t like this school or anyone in it but I do, I really do and I enjoy hanging out with everyone and I enjoy the classes and I enjoy the people and quite frankly I really like Xavier.”

You say

“I am going to go back to the dorms. I do not want to see either one of you.” Wednesday says as she walks out

“Im so sorry, I’ll talk to her” Enid cringes as she quickly catches us to Wednesday

“Oh god oh god” I rub my hands over my face

“Hey shes your sister she’s not going to be mad forever” Xavier says

“ you clearly don’t know Wednesday, she holds grudges for forever” I sigh

A few hours later

We were all in Wednesday and Enid shared dorm room

“ Wednesday whether you like it or not your sister is going to find someone she loves and someone who loves her back and even if you don’t want that to happen it’s going to be the same for you” Enid says

Wednesday slowly looks up and this is the most emotion I’ve seen her have other than when her scorpion died but it quickly goes away as her face hardens and she quickly walks towards Xavier

She gets really close to him as she quietly says

“If you ever hurt her I will tie you up and make sure you have a slow excruciating death” she says just loud enough for Xavier to hear.

Xavier quickly nods as Wednesday gives him a side eye and nods towards me.

I smile as I see her walk out

“Well, personally I think that went well” I said as Enid nods in agreement

“Uh yeah sure” Xavier says, scratching the back of his head.

[tarot-by-e11e]

Hii sissy may I participate in your game

Cocoon game

Initials: g

Fav song : I guess I'm in love by Clinton

Fav movie : well it's a bl series ' cutie pie ' I can't get over the ep 14,15 lol I watched it 2 years ago and I specifically go and watch these 2 eps again n again whenever I'm feeling single lmao

Fav fictional character : kwon min ju from a time called you k drama . She expects a lot from world and she's doesn't get it and lastly kill herself but then Han Jun hee travels back in time and save her from dying and then she is in relationship with the 2nd lead male in drama . I don't know what to explain in this part , I hope this is okay 🤍

Thank you so much for organising such beautiful games for us 😊💗

(reminder: this is for entertainment purposes only) Hi G,

Thank you so much for participating in

my "COCOON" ask game.

I have yet to listen to that song! And a BL series, ooooohhhhh~ I'll try to watch this! I haven't watched that k-drama yet, so yeah for more watch list!

(Quick warning: This reading ended up being longer than I'd expected. Don't read this when you don't feel mentally prepared for a bit of potential call out, okay?)

The cards I pulled for you are:

King of Swords, Judgement, 6 of Swords

So one of the beliefs/patterns/habits you need to let go of to face the new chapters in your life by 2025 has to do with this "head over heart" rigid mindset. Now this can be self-imposed or brought about as a coping mechanism, pick and choose which interpretation resonates with you the most.

Now it doesn't mean that you should abandon all forms of discipline, it's more of a suggestion to learn to flow with the unexpected flow of life. You, of all people, know that you can't control everything and everyone according to exactly how you want your life to operate, thank free will and the possibility of the unknown for that.

So that means, you know that the only thing in your life that you truly have control over is yourself and how you respond to whatever life throws at you. You are also aware that you, like every human being alive, have bouts of unpredictable happenstances. So, shouldn't you allow yourself some grace and compassion when things don't follow through your life by your design?

There's nothing wrong with having rules and discipline my dear. But being too strict with things and people outside your control is borderline concerning, don't you think so too?

You are aware that every human being alive is living by varying belief systems and values, potentially differing from yours. It doesn't mean that the other person is wrong, it also doesn't mean that you're always right. It's just that, in this world, two different truths can both exist at the same time.

This concept might be new to you so let me give a bit of example.

Let's say you were dating someone you absolutely love and want to spend the rest of your life with. You do everything you can to encourage them to work hard and be ambitious to achieve their dreams. So you kept pushing and encouraging them, supporting them in any way you could. You just want to be the best supportive partner for them. You're so excited for them to fulfill their childhood dream!

But, down the road, one day, they opened up to you and said that they can't take it anymore and were adamant in breaking up with you. They'd say that you're not really listening to what they really feel and you're acting more of a parent than a partner and they just couldn't take it anymore.

Whiplashed by the turn of events, you couldn't understand what happened. What pushed them to reach this decision? Where did they stray off to? What did they realize along the way that made them think that?

Then you'd start overthinking: What did you do wrong?

Now this is almost an all too familiar scenario, so let's get into the other person's POV.

I opened up about my silly childhood dreams but I know it's too far-fetched to become reality, and I'm content as I am right now with my partner (YOU). I don't have the skills to make it in this industry and yeah, it comes with perks but I'm happy where I am. But it seems that they(YOU) mistook it as a goal in my life, so they(YOU) started to push me to do it. It's so sweet that they(YOU) are so encouraging with my silly dreams until they're(YOU) taking it too far. Now they(YOU) keep nagging me to sign up for this class and do those things, and keep berating me about my current progress. Why can't they(YOU) see that it's just one of those silly kid dreams that seems fun at the time, but I don't really wanna pursue this as a goal in life? Now they(YOU) get mad for me not showing up to do anything to this "kid dream", it's getting out of hand. They're(YOU) assuming that this silly fantasy is what I wanted in life, but they're not actually listening to what I have to say. This is seriously getting out of hand now. I though opening up about this kid fantasy would just be like those small talks that kids do in preschool when asked what do they wanna do when they go up and some kid in class would say they wanna be an astronaut because their costume looks cool. But it seems that partner(YOU) kept assuming that I'm serious about it. No, I'm not. But every time I opened up about what I really feel, they(YOU) always dismiss my feelings by saying "Ooohh you're just saying this because you're tired/ you haven't made much progress yet. You'll get over it." No, I'm not just tired of putting efforts on a silly fantasy, I'm tired of them(YOU) not listening to me and smothering me like a child. I'm their(YOU) partner, not their child/project. I seriously can't take it anymore. I've reached my limit. I can't take it anymore. I'm breaking up with them.

So you see, both of you mean well, but what both of you lacked were mutual comprehension and open communication.

This is what I meant when I mentioned that you are called to let go of control because let's face it, you have a tendency to behave like someone's parent, rather than be their friend.

And doing right by those you love and showing up for them in your own love language is great for you. But you also need to be aware of this crucial thing:

No matter how genuine and intense your love is for someone, people tend to appreciate that effort and sincerity in their own preferred love language.

So imposing YOUR love language on someone else will likely be misunderstood and unappreciated because you showed love in a way that YOU wanted it to be expressed. But you might have the tendency to forget that other people might prefer various love languages different from yours.

It doesn't mean that you loved them less, there was just a bit of... mistranslation in the form of love given. So, with the first card, you are called to let go of this mindset that "Everything thinks and has the same values as me" because let's face it, they don't.

I'm sorry with how harsh the first card reading is but as always, I'm just a interpreter and messenger in readings like that. Feel free to not claim it if you don't resonate. Just like everyone, you too have free will, never forget that. Okay?

So the next card is suggesting that you let go of this hyper awareness and over-analyzing habits. This includes reading between the lines and hiding meaning in every little thing that inconvenienced you.

It's giving, making "everything into a sign that ..(insert worst case scenario) is gonna happen." My dear, please, for your own sanity, stop catastrophizing everything.

You are not in danger. No one is out to get you. Not everyone is an enemy. You are not the villain in everyone's eyes. You are safe to exist as you are. No one is judging you. Okay? Give yourself some grace and compassion please. Stop worrying about things you can't control. Stop maladaptive daydreaming of worst case scenarios when something goes out of your plan. I repeat, YOU ARE NOT IN DANGER. Calm down and take it easy, okay?

Even if things fall apart, you will make it out alive and it will be in your favor. It's because the more you catastrophize, the more you tend to hyper-focus on everything going wrong, while you disregard everything that's going right. So please, for the sake of your sanity, chill the fudge down... Go take a solo trip for your sanity. You need a freaking vacation from your overthinking. Do yourself some good and treat yourself. You deserve it.

Last thing you are called to let go off is your cut-off game. TBH this was the loudest message from your last card.

Just because they've inconvenience you because they don't know exactly how you wanted things to turn out without you giving them clear instructions, it doesn't give you the right to berate them.

It seems that you're quick to lose your temper and refuse all logic beyond your comprehension. So with the last card, it seems that you're called to learn to see things in different perspectives and to learn to speak and communicate with compassion.

Now they are multiple videos on YouTube about it, so just pick and choose which one you feel called to watch and take notes of.

Channeled song for you is:

8th random shuffle from my dice throw

Last Intuitive Message to end this reading:

Now this song, I found it quite interesting because it seems that this is your Future Self saying good bye to the old you. It's like a revenge glow-up theme song for you.

I doesn't feel like it someone you've been lowkey controlling over that's sending this song. Though some lines tend to suggest it does. But overall, the song is like a glow-up villain era theme song for you~

It's like your Future Self is at that time of your life where you've matured and evolved in a way that makes you happy and proud of your own character development.

Thank you for taking the time to participate in my new ask game.

Feel free to head back into my ask inbox to send your feedback.

If you want an in-depth extended version of your reading, please head into my Paid Readings and purchase a reading with me.

Want to show me a bit of appreciation other than your feedback, I accept tips in my Buy-Me-A-Coffee link.

[gossippool]

✅️, 💕, 🤔 for the ask game :)

HELLO!!! thank u for the ask hehe

✅ list one or two favorite lines you’ve written and explain why they’re your favorite.

oh god okay this was hard but i managed to narrow them down from like five LMAO

And that's who Wade is, Logan realises, pulling him in even tighter: a man who fights like it makes him feel alive, and loves like he's dying. sunday morning synesthetics

i don't necessarily think this is the best line from this fic, but i love it so much. this one is a callback to an earlier scene where logan just Looks at wade while he fights ("...Even his red herrings are beautifully predictable in their unpredictability. Wade fights like it makes him feel alive."), except now he's not watching from afar but actually WITH wade. idk i just love callbacks. recurring themes. opposites. especially for wade, because this fic was honestly just a love letter to him LMAOO and he is so so complex and all-encompassing and i just love him and i love this line. someone left a comment that i will think about forever that said they felt like they fell in real love with wade the way logan did in this fic and idk fuck that got me. and i think this particular line kinda shows that in that logan sees wade and knows him (in the literal and also biblical sense lmfao)

He was like them, once. He was just lucky enough to be graced with a healthier love. the angry house

so i actually was not expecting this one but it stood out to me as i was skimming through this fic again to look for lines. maybe it's the sociologist in me that just loves exploring how society and people work and how nothing can ever exist alone, but it was really interesting for me to have wade relate (his past) to the deadbeat, neglectful cokehead couple he was assigned for his mercenary job. sometimes there are just some people fortunate enough to be pulled out of the lowest points of their life, and some aren't. it's fucking depressing but alas it's reality

💕 whats your favourite part of your writing process?

getting ideas LMAOO. i don't particularly like the part where i sit down and fully write a fic in my google docs a lot of the time. i love when i'm just in the car or listening to music or about to sleep and i get an idea and write it down in my notes app. or if i am actually writing the full fic and think of a line i really like or something that links back to an earlier part. it makes my brain very happy lol (and also my notes app is my sacred place and i would genuinely fall into a life of crime if my notes somehow all disappeared)

🤔 why do you write fic?

...because i get ideas i guess 😭 surprisingly even though i've always loved literature and english classes in school i NEVER wrote in my spare time. my first ever fic was written 2 years ago (for sandman) and was less than a thousand words just because this one scene impacted me so much that i felt so compelled to write something. and then there's a one year gap between this and my next fic (six of crows, unfinished), and i only started writing fics regularly when i got into good omens last october. i really only write when i feel the urge to, and i only do that if i am really in love with a piece of media's characters, so much so that i want to explore them more on my own

fic asks

[mapoyaj]

fear is a good thing (nine years after)

Hello everyone, I want to share a story from nine years ago, on my #RoadtoRPm. It’s been nine years since the board exam results were released (though I remember finding out on July 31).

Everything that happened with the boards was so unexpected. I remember clearly in March 2015, right before graduation, I told myself I’d take the boards in 2016 because I was so scared. At that time, I knew I would graduate as a Magna Cum Laude, which I was proud of, but with that came immense pressure. Being a Latin honor meant I had to pass the board exam.

I was terrified of disappointing my school's faculty and myself. I had often failed to meet my own expectations, and the fear of failing again weighed heavily on me. It’s so hard to expect so much of yourself, but the expectations were sky-high, and the pressure was unbearable. Yet, I decided to take the board exam because my professor told me, "Fear is a good thing." It makes you more careful and increases your chances of passing compared to being complacent.

After graduation, I began my review, but for the first few months, it was utterly useless. I was enrolled in a distance learning program, which meant I controlled my schedule. Unfortunately, this led to me reviewing only about 3 hours a day, sometimes even less. I was distracted by computer games (Need for Speed, GTA, etc.) and other requirements, adding nothing to my knowledge.

A month before the exam, the pressure hit hard. I cried from sheer fear because so many people expected me to pass, including my family, who believed I could be in the top 10. The stress was overwhelming. I felt so unprepared, having barely touched my review modules. I cried for days, feeling worthless, stupid, and lazy. I doubted I could ever pass.

After my "existential crisis," I rushed to Recto to buy reference books, spending nearly 3k. From that day on, my 3-hour review sessions turned into 8 hours, with breaks only for lunch and sleep. I didn’t want to overwork myself, so I read the books like John Green novels, absorbing as much as I could.

A week before the boards, I realized I hadn’t finished my modules and had only gotten halfway through my books. I felt doomed, especially after hearing from a review center professor that those who pass usually read entire books for each subject. I had barely reached chapter 5 in four books. During the final coaching session, I sat in front with my friends, trying to appear confident, but I was terrified every time the professor mentioned something I didn’t know. My grades in mock exams were decent but never outstanding. Despite my friends' belief that I might top the exam, I had lost hope.

On the exam day, the first subject went well (I was thrilled, thinking I might top), but after the second subject (psych assessment), I prayed desperately to St. Jude at La Consolacion, asking just to pass, not even to top. By the last subject on the second day (I/O Psych), I was almost in tears, having left four questions blank. I feared that this meant I would fail. I texted my mentor, who reassured me that it wouldn’t affect my score, but I remained unconvinced.

The ten-day wait for the results was agonizing. Every single day felt like an eternity. Then, around 7:00 am one morning, while I was showering, I received a text saying I was a topnotcher. I thought it was a cruel joke until I checked the PRC website and saw my name in the Top 10. I nearly collapsed with joy, realizing all my sacrifices were worth it. All my self-doubt vanished in an instant. It was the most unexpected and beautiful moment of my life.

It’s incredible how the person who doubted their abilities ended up in the Top 10. Life is unpredictable, and sometimes, just when you’re about to give up, God shows you why you shouldn’t. It taught me to take risks. As my mentor said, "Always remember that you are greater than the 450 questions." Whether you top, pass, or fail, it’s not the ultimate measure of your worth. The journey itself is what truly matters, at least to me.

[razorblade180]

OC Test: Pokémon final

Part 2 <-

Carmine:Alright, are you done shaking before Pokémon god?

The group: Yeah….

Carmine:Cool. Yujin, choose your Pokémon.

Yujin:You want me to go next?

Carmine:For better or for worse I’m curious. Let it rip!

Yujin:Wrong franchise but I like your attitude!

Yujin runs towards the dwindling pile and picks up a Pokéball, throwing it like curveball that opens up to reveal Combusken! The rowdy little fella runs to her to give an enthusiastic high-five.

Yujin:Hell yeah! We’re gonna be best friends!

Tenzen:Fitting you’d get something in the middle of evolution line. Much like you, it will grow up to be a beast.

Yujin:I know that’s a compliment but maybe let’s not call me a beast? Just call me badass or awesome! Like my new buddy!

Combusken:*puffs chest out*

Tenzen:Alright, time to get me a Medicham.

Lucas:You seem confident.

Tenzen:*grabs pokéball* Just manifesting. I could also see Greninja or Mienfoo.

Yujin:I don’t know, I think you’re selling yourself short.

Tenzen:What are you talking about? Those Pokémon are awesome!

He throws the ball up high and watches the light arc downward by his feet to reveal a kneeling Lucario.

Tenzen:….

Yujin:See? The world agrees with me.

Tenzen:I’m not even mad. Just shocked.

Peach:My turn! *holding pokéball*

Levi:When did you-

Peach:Noivern, I choose you!

The upbeat girl turns her cap backwards and throws the pokéball just like she’s seen on tv. Out from the ball and soaring into the air, a Noivern appears. As it lands, Peach puts her hands on her hips and smiles smugly.

Peach:Ha!

Everyone:HOW!?

Peach:Ha! Guess I know myself all too well. *nods proudly*

Carmine:Can you do that?

Levi:Pfft, of course.

Carmine:Then call it right now; what’s your Pokémon?

Levi:….Fine, I don’t know. It would be weird if it wasn’t Greninja or ar martial arts Pokémon. Then again, half my family is unpredictable.

He grabs the shadow of a pokéball which pulls the real deal closer to him before chucking it. Much like Tenzen, the beam of light shoots back in his direction and by his feet appears a shiny Litwick.

Levi:Huh…honestly…*picks her up* This is great. I can always need a little light. You’re also pretty adorable.

Tenzen:I think that Pokémon can drain life force.

Levi:Why am I not surprised?

Lucas:Serenity, do you wanna go next, or I?

Serenity:You go ahead. I have no problem being last. It’s actually a little exciting!

Lucas:Suit yourself. Guess I’m going.

Kovu:You haven’t used your semblance to see what it is?

Lucas:Where’s the fun in that? *grabs pokéball*

With nothing to lose, Lucas tossed his pokéball out in front of him. He quickly learned he should’ve given it a bit more force as the light went towards a pond. He quickly ran over then backed up as a huge Melotic appeared. It knelt down and greeted him with a wonderful smile he couldn’t help but love.

Lucas:We’ll aren’t you a beauty? *pats head* Hello there.

Serenity:Look at you, always a heartthrob. Gotta learn to control that.

Peach:She’s right ya know.

Lucas:I’m literally just here.

Serenity:Whatever you say casanova. Welp, guess it’s my turn.

Lucas:What will win out? Your sunny disposition, or your rotten luck?

Serenity:Luck has nothing to do with it.

She gives every a huge smile and a wink before tapping the top of the pokéball for it open. The light doesn’t go far and fades rather fast as the clouds partly block the sun. While everyone quickly became silent, Serenity chuckled quietly; things went about how she expected. The sunny girl extended her hand and rubbed the cheek of Giratina.

Serenity:So scary yet so many vulnerabilities. Yep, sounds about right. *hugs it*

Everyone: (What the hell…)

xxxxx

Later on, after everyone cleared out and night fell, Dustin came skulking by. The young man grabbed a pokéball that was far removed from where the others had been and tossed it towards the moon. Out of it came a Darkrai. The two them looked at one another then proceeded to walk away together in comfortable silence.

[federicosproperty]

you were always a sympathy for the devil in my eyes you know

i've met you in cold snow and i'd thought, in the end, that's where i'd end up, somewhere far away from your grasp

it petrified me that i might be in love with you forever

you always used to say how you wanted to be the most powerful man on this planet earth, but love was always the most powerful force you could ever have, or, in your cases, not have

your borderline always kept you going, but your narcissism was a barrier

so was mine

we both wanted too much but we couldn't get enough, so we wished for so little in the end

i usually am not so stupid

i never noticed how you slowly lured me into your hands that looked like they were made of death grip, and they were

they always had a death grip, a chokehold, the one you still have on me

in slovenia, it was different

now, as we both lay in our beds, sleeping like adults that'll wake up as teenagers, with one eye open, i think of just how much you've turned my life upside down

you've made me mature

you've made me grown, but always crave for your arms that held my whole childhood in them and that's to be my curse for the rest of my life, i'm sure and yes,

i recognise a monster when i see one

and i saw your cold, expected you to turn it into warmth as soon as you met me and

you did

lies always come in most beautiful shapes, so charming, so loving, oh, ever the dreamy gentleman that's ready to give up everything for you

that was your horror

because one horror that's truly most terrifying, is the one you shiver of, the horror in which you expect something to happen, but nothing ever happens

ever since that winter of '23, i've always expected you to scare me

this show me your monster, to show me why women ran to you and then ran away after meeting you but

you never did

i've seen it in others' eyes, heard it in her voice, but i've never seen it for myself and

that was why you were my beautiful nightmare ..-. . -.. . .-. .. -.-. ---

because you were lurking in the shadows with a knife behind my back and instead of stabbing it, you have kissed me so tenderly, so lovingly, like you were afraid of yourself

i don't think you've ever been afraid of yourself, my dearest

and then you've met me and

then you've fallen in love

then i've fallen in love

i've hated myself because i thought victory was yours, you did it, you made me fall for you so hard, so filled of bruises but it was never a competition

it was only love

i failed to see it was, but then again i don't see many things

i see though, the way you think

the way you “force” yourself to write to me because you always know what i want

you, my sweet, are one dangerous weapon to posses

that slyness, that cunning brilliance, that fox-like manner... i have never met a man so magnificent

so difficult, so observant, complex

what a phenomenon you've remained in my eyes, my, my ..-. . -.. . .-. .. -.-. ---, so...

and to think

i thought i had you on a least this whole time like a dog

your mind expands limitlessly as your handsomeness does my lock, this game you're playing... it's not even a game and you're still winning

not alone this time, no

you have never shared your first place with anyone else, did you?

oh no, your precious first place was only yours to have and keep, but me

i always saw you as that kind of man, you know

the kind of man that has a queen just because of his heart, not because of his head

it was very, very much different with me,

you let me sit on your throne, let me own it, which is, for someone so ambitiously, hellishly, ah... leading me towards your snare, right the warmth i, by now, know so, so well

thank you

for sharing your crown with me out of all people, my

it's been heavy, but i knew your head was tough enough not to be cracked

too kind

too unpredictable

and you let me sleep with you,

you trusted me, forgave me, followed me, even though before, people would only follow the you and

it was just another day, for you with me my

and it meant a lifetime to me you'd stay with me after i've left you alone on that night, 18th of december, it really did

and i really, really seriously love you ..-. . -.. . .-. .. -.-. ---

i thought you were different

there's just something in the way you hold me, that makes me sob of joy

every time i remember this life has given me such a man

a man

boys would've left long ago my love

really would

[cirqosmos]

I am thinking of posting a fan fiction but I don't really know how can I continue to finish it.. I once posted one but the account got deleted for some reasons.. I really wanna post that fan fiction because I personally think the idea is quite unique but I don't think anyone would actually be interested as it would be my first work on this account.. I have noticed you are a slow updater (no offense) how do you keep yourself motivated to finish your work for such long time period... BTW LOVE YOUR WORK AND HOLY MOLY LOVE SCAM PART 1 WAS SO UNPREDICTABLE when I was reading that I was like OMG OMG for whole time.. Can't wait for the next part :')

Hi anonnie ^^ THANK YOU SO MUCH IM SO SO GLAD TO HEAR U LOVE IT :(( and to answer your question, It would be quite a lengthy paragraph but I hope you'll bear with it!

It's totally normal to have doubts and overthink whether or not people will like your story or just in any other form of art. But if you don't take the first step, then nothing will happen. If you don't believe in yourself first then no one will. If you want it then you should go for it, I'm a firm believer in chasing after a chance than just letting it pass by like the fleeting clouds or butterfly just bcs you were afraid it might not work the way you want it to be.

And truly, it might not really work out for the first try and that people might not like your story but isn't that how everything and life in general works out? You gotta try again, again and again till you succeed. You won't always get everything in the first try and that's totally fine. But you don't always have to dwell on that on the negative side, just go ahead and try! Don't let it hold you back.

But in terms of being a writer, just reminding bcs just in case if it hits you someday—here's one thing you have to remember: it's quite complicated really but it's actually simple. Write it because you want it, not because people want you to write it (unless you accept requests obv) and not because they want it (for example, smut.) Yes of course, we write for people—in fact the final drafts is for the readers themselves—however, you write for you and because you love what you write, you'll keep writing even when no one does. That's the pros and cons of being a writer. Just do it.

And yes lmao, I'm a very slow updater since I would always plan everything and then delete it, the cycle keeps going on so yea 😭✋🏻 and to answer your question for how I can keep myself motivated to write for a long period is a whole lot of reasons..:

1) I wholeheartedly love to write. I love writing that's why I keep doing it. Even when it's so freakin painful bcs of how dry my English becomes sometimes, it's still fun.

2) feedbacks + compliments from readers (compliments aren't always that necessary tho, feedbacks r.) , they're that little doses of motivation fuel that keeps you going. They're necessary, sometimes you won't get them though. If I have to be honest to you, ngl I broke down when LOVE SCAM didn't got the feedback I expected bcs I put a whole lot effort in it and I had so much hope in it. Apparently I was this rlly rlly close to delete that fic but I changed my mind bcs why? Even though I was crying bcs of sadness at that time, I didn't do it bcs why?— I love to write. Even if no one likes that particular story, I still love it. I had this three thoughts in my mind that time:

"maybe it's just that awful, I can improve a whole lot more better next time."

"maybe it's just not their taste, I still love it though."

That's just how it is. Your mind is your greatest friend and enemy after all. But later guess what! There's still feedbacks though, so gratitude and mental resilience in general also plays a big role.

3) read alot! Articles, books, books bout writing, nonfiction, fiction, biography and almost anything. Find every little thing to keep you inspired. For me, I write for enha! So I watch their vids and their mvs, i actually had a writer's block on Nov and that I kinda lose the motivation to write—thats why you'll see there's two months gap from EP 9 and ep 10 ><

4) last but not least, this is my principle that I have been practicing for awhile now—consistency over everything. In writing, quantity is alot more important than quality. You gotta write everyday no matter how small. You can't improve on the quality if you don't first work on your quantity of writing everyday—you gotta make time for it! Write that chapter, writing sprint or just a tiny short draft of 50 word count. It matters alot, atleast you're still moving.

So to conclude everything, being a writer is very fun but also very painful 😤❤️ I WISH YOU ALL THE BEST IN YOUR FIRST WORK AND YOUR FUTURE WORKS, SKSJRKSLAS IM ROOTING FOR U!!! GO FOR IT AND TELL ME TOO BCS I WANNA SUPPORT YOU DUH 😩😩🔥🔥 I APOLOGISE FOR THIS LENGTHY ASS PARAGRAPH BUT IM ROOTING FOR U ANONNIE <3333

[alittlebitoftruthcan]

‘Osho, has anyone ever become enlightened while listening to a joke? Maybe there is hope for me yet!’

Anand Jean, the first thing is: nobody ever becomes enlightened. People become unenlightened, that is true, but nobody ever becomes enlightened. Just when one gets tired of becoming unenlightened again and again, day in, day out, year in, year out, life in, life out, then one day one says, ‘It is enough. I should stop becoming unenlightened.’ And that is the moment one is enlightened. Enlightenment is natural, unenlightenment is something that you are doing. So nobody really ever becomes enlightened. One only discovers that ‘I need not do a few things which I have always been doing and which have been preventing me from seeing who I am.’ And this can happen in any situation. It has happened in strange situations.

Mahavira became enlightened in a very strange posture. Jainas have given it a name… they must have been hiding the truth, because their name says that he was sitting in a GODOHASAN. Godohasan means the posture in which you milk the cow. Now, what was he doing? He was not milking a cow, certainly. He had no cow, so what was he doing in that posture? Strange fellow this Mahavira! You can understand what he was doing—I will not tell you, because if I say it all the Jainas will say I am destroying their culture. But the question is worth asking: What was he doing? One thing is certain, they cannot agree that he was milking a cow because he had dispossessed everything. Sitting naked in a GODOHASAN, what was he doing? And he became enlightened! People have become enlightened in all kinds of situations, because it is only a question of understanding. It can happen any moment. Yes, sitting on your toilet seat… Mahavira was a little old-fashioned. And in fact when you are sitting on the toilet seat, GREAT thoughts arise.

So what is wrong in becoming enlightened while listening to a joke? When you are really in laughter your ego disappears; both together are not possible. That’s why the egoist becomes incapable of laughing. Even if he tries, that is just an exercise of his lips, nothing more than that. How can he do such a worldly thing? so mundane, so ordinary? Laughing?—impossible.

Christians say Jesus never laughed. They cannot believe Jesus laughing, because to laugh means to be human, too human. They can believe Jesus walking on water—that’s perfectly okay; Jesus raising the dead—that is really great; Jesus coming alive after crucifixion—all these stupidities can be believed in… but Jesus never laughed! If it is true, then I will say that is the only miracle he did. But it is not true. I can say from my own experience: it is not true. It cannot be true! Even if Jesus says he never laughed, I’m not going to listen to him. Jesus and not laughing? Then who else will be able to laugh? this beautifully ridiculous existence, this whole absurd, but so beautiful life, and Jesus not laughing? I cannot believe that. Jesus must have laughed, loved, shared jokes. They may not have been compiled—that shows the mind of the compilers—but Jesus was a very earthly man, loved eating, drinking, gossiping, because what was he doing? Every night his disciples and friends would gather and eat and drink for hours, till the late hours; only in the morning would they go to sleep. What was he doing all this time? You cannot just go on eating and drinking. You can see that this man has not eaten so much; you can look at pictures of him. If he was just eating and drinking he would look like an elephant! But he looks so proportionate; he must have been gossiping, sharing jokes, laughing.

In fact, only an enlightened person can have a real sense of humor.

So there is no problem, Anand Jean, you can become enlightened listening to a joke. And I am giving you, every day, opportunities to become enlightened. Listen to these jokes and give it a try. Who knows? Enlightenment is always unpredictable—it may happen today. But don’t expect it. These are the problems with enlightenment: if you expect, you miss. Such strange conditions are attached to enlightenment: if you expect you miss, if you desire you miss. So don’t expect that it is going to happen; just sit relaxed and listen to the joke. It may happen, it may not.

The marriage between the elderly farmer and his young wife was not working out too well, so the farmer consulted his doctor for advice. ‘The next time you are down in the field plowing and feel a yearning for your wife,’ said the doctor, ‘don’t wait until lunchtime or the end of the day, but quit what you are doing and go to the house!’ ‘I tried that,’ said the farmer, ‘but by the time I get to the house, I am so tuckered out it is no use.’ The doctor thought for a minute. ‘Take your shotgun with you when you leave the house in the morning, and if you feel the urge, shoot the gun and she will come down there where you are.’ A few weeks later the two men met on the street. ‘How did it work?’ asked the doctor. ‘Fine… the first three days,’ said the farmer, ‘then the hunting season opened and I haven’t seen her since.’

Giuseppe, an immigrant to the United States works very hard his whole life and finally makes it to his sixty-fifth birthday when he can apply for benefits. He goes down to the Social Security office to apply, but when he gets there the girl behind the desk tells him that he must bring his birth certificate to prove his age. He does not have a birth certificate so, dejected, he goes home. Suddenly, he gets an idea and rushes back to the office. He sees the girl, runs over to her and pulls open his shirt to display his grey hair. ‘You must be sixty-five,’ she says, ‘with all that grey hair on your chest!’ Giuseppe is very pleased and rushes home to tell his wife that he will receive the benefits. ‘How-a did-a you get-ta it?’ asks Maria. ‘I opened my shirt-a like this-a and showed her all-a my grey hair!’ ‘You idiot-a! You blew-a it!’ screams Maria. ‘You should-a have opened your trousers and-a applied-a for the disability pension!’

A man was attending a banquet held in his honor at the local Rotary Club. At the end of the supper he had to give a short speech. He was really nervous because he was not good at public speaking, so he asked his wife to pinch him every time he started bungling his speech. Immediately after he had finished his ice cream, he got up from his chair and began, ‘Ladies and gentleman, I am overwhelmed, I shudder with emotion from top to bottom… ouch!’ his wife pinched him. He stopped talking and thought for a moment, then began again, ‘Sincerely, gentlemen, I feel emotional chills invading my soul… ouch!’ another pinch and a moment’s consideration, then, ‘Seriously, gentlemen, this is the most thrilling time of my life…’ There was another pinch from his wife, but this time he turned to her and asked, ‘What’s wrong, honey? I’m telling the truth… I’m not saying something stupid, am I?’ ‘The problem is,’ said his wife, ‘that your fly is open!’ He turned white and she continued, ‘and your balls are sitting inside your ice cream dish!’

— Osho (Philosophia Ultima)