#Everyone seems to be forgetting these are people

[writingxfootballl]

and after all this time (i’m still into you) (alexia putellas x reader)

when arsenal plays barcelona in the champions league final, you finally get to see the girl who broke your heart years ago.

word count: 3105 ish

rating: C cheesy ending but i ran out of ideas. A for kind of angsty but not really. 

title- still into you by paramore

a/n: this is unedited. clearing out my computer. don’t come at me for spelling mistakes and plot holes >:( 

----

you don’t get nervous.

you’re always confident and composed before every game, and you knew that.

jonas knew that.

everyone knew that.

which is why you’ve been the captain at (almost) every team you’ve played for.

it only took half a season in london after your transfer from bayern for you to gain the title of vice captain.

now, two seasons after that, you’re sitting comfortably on your title as captain.

you’re confident and you knew it.

which is why you’re struggling to figure out why your heart is pounding as you put on your captain’s armband.

viv just blamed it on the nerves of the game.

after all, it is the champion’s league final.

who wouldn’t be nervous?

you that’s who.

you knew you wouldn’t be nervous.

you should be there to pep talk your team and get the kids like maanum excited for what was about to happen.

but you were a mess.

“snap out of it. people are beginning to notice.”

viv’s low hiss in dutch brought you out of it temporarily.

you felt a soft tap on the shoulder and turned to see malin’s nerve ridden face.

you briefly forget about your own troubles in place of comforting the younger players.

still, some people are beginning to notice.

lisa whispers to viv:

“is everything okay with y/n?”

viv just shrugs.

~~

your hands don’t get clammy.

like being nervous, having clammy hands was out of the ordinary for you.

which is why you’re confused when you find yourself constantly having to wipe your hands on your shorts to keep them from persperating.

when the game is about to begin, you adjust your captains armband and make your way up front, making sure to wipe your hands again in order to save torrejón the misery of shaking hands with your hot and sweaty ones.

as you’re looking down and adjusting, you don’t notice barca’s new captain walking up towards you.

you don’t notice that it’s in fact not torrejón.

you don’t notice until she walks up right in front of you, and you’re hit with the smell of perfume, one that you were so enamored with many years ago.

and almost immediately, the memories you had suppressed come flooding back.

there’s a sharp intake of air.

and then you look up.

~~

10 years ago

this was your last season with levante.

you knew that.

you had started talks with the staff at wolfsburg and barca, no longer wanting to stay in buñol anymore.

you had signed at the sweet age of 15, and two years later, you weren’t happy with where you were at.

now, 17, you’re more than happy to leave.

aside from being levante’s captain and star midfielder, the club didn’t offer you much.

regardless if you were leaving or not, you still were going to make sure you had one hell of a season.

making your way onto the pitch on the first day of training, you’re surprised to hear the swish of the ball hitting the back of the net.

you’re usually the first to arrive, so someone else being there was unusual to say the least.

you make your way behind the brunette girl, who doesn’t quite seem to register your presence.

you watch her take a few free kicks from behind.

the 11 on her jersey flows as the ball hits the back of the net each and every time.

putellas.

the name doesn’t ring a bell.

must be a new signing.

you clear your throat a little and the girl in front of you spins around so quickly she trips over the ball behind her.

her cheeks flush a little in embarrassment when her back hits the turf.

your cheeks flush too when you see her face.

she was… exactly your type.

high cheekbones… brown hair pulled up into a messy ponytail… arched eyebrows and-

you clear your throat quickly again to shake yourself out of your thoughts.

the girl is still looking up at you expectantly, and you blush before realizing she wanted you to help her up.

you stick an arm out and she grabs it without hesitation, smiling the whole time.

you smile back at her softly, desperately trying to ignore the sparks flying up your arm from the contact.

now infront of you, she was even more breathtaking up close.

“hola. soy alexia, mucho gusto.” (hi, i’m alexia, nice to meet you)

you grimaced slightly.

though you’ve played in spain for the past two years, your spanish was… subpar to say the least.

even then, you manage to get out a choppy, and heavily accented sentence.

“h-hola, uhh soy y/n?” (h-hi, uhh i’m y/n?)

alexia couldn’t hold in her chuckle.

you glare at her and mumble in dutch.

“hou je mond.” (shut up)

alexia laughs again and a quizzical look passes on her face before she tries again.

she sticks out her hand and this time what follows is spoken in heavily spanish accented english:

“i am alexia, nice to meet you.”

you smile and take her hand, replying with heavily dutch accented english in return:

“and i’m y/n. nice to meet you too.”

~~

you were phasing in and out as your coach droned on and on about training rules and protocols.

“okay and now for the partners…”

your ears perked up.

“rodriguez and garcia, y/ln and putellas…”

you turned and your eyes met alexia’s, both of you grinning widely.

honestly, now in hindsight, putting the two of you together was probably a mistake.

in a good way.

separately, you were forces to be reckoned with.

you had an almost dance like way of getting around defenders, shifting your weight and moving your body in ways they just never quite expect.

you also had almost perfect crosses at this young age, leading to almost every one of your crosses becoming an assist.

alexia on the other hand, scored goals.

her free kicks were always shot with so much power that it’s a miracle the goalies don’t have broken wrists after their pitiful attempts to stop them.

so put the two of you together, and you were unstoppable.

there was no way for you to lose during training.

the two of you were unbeaten 2v2 champions.

some of your teammates even began to complain about it.

but it didn’t really matter.

the two of you worked together before training and after training, so much so that you knew her like the back of your hand.

you knew just by instinct what alexia wanted and alexia knew by instinct what you wanted.

it was for that reason that alexia, just after being with levante for a season, broke the club’s all time goal scoring record.

and in that season, you had the most assists out of any player in the primera division.

but your chemistry didn’t stop there.

the two of you were inseparable off the field too.

from sunrise to sunset, the two of you were together.

the weekdays were full of training, the weekends full of movies and late nights in, watching movies on your apartment couch.

it wasn’t long before you moved in together.

as friends of course.

you invited her one day after practice, since she spent so much time there you basically already lived together, and of course, she agreed.

now you were together literally 24/7, and you wouldn’t have changed it for anything.

~~

present

when your eyes met alexia’s brown ones, you couldn’t think about the game anymore.

you think your brain has stopped working.

but luckily, alexia looks just as surprised as you.

you don’t mean for the breathy whisper that escapes to come out, but it does.

“ale…”

alexia’s breath hitches, and the two of you just stand there, dumbstruck, until the referee cuts in between the two of you.

“you’re supposed to shake hands now.”

alexia snaps out of it first.

“right.”

she sticks her hand out and smiles softly at you.

you try to compose yourself the best you can and take her hand.

you try not to make a fool of yourself on live television, but you think that’s impossible at this point.

you try to avoid it, but your heart is racing at the feeling of the girl’s hands in yours.

you both stand there a second longer than you probably should. 

your hands linger just a bit too long, and even though you're trying to focus on anything but the electricity running between you, it’s hard not to notice how her touch still sends a jolt through you.

you can smell her perfume again, that same scent that used to be so familiar, and for a second, it feels like you’re back in another time, another life. everything around you fades out.

but then, the moment snaps back into place, and you pull your hand away, way too quickly, like it burned you. 

you look down at your feet, just trying to hide the heat creeping up your neck.

“good luck,” you say, voice coming out a little quieter than you’d like.

“yeah,” alexia replies, her smile still there, soft but knowing. 

there’s something in the way she says it, like it means more than just the words. 

"you too."

she turns away then, and even though you should be focusing on the game, you’re just standing there, heart still racing in your chest. 

your feet won’t move, not yet. 

not until she’s far enough away.

you finally tear your eyes away, trying to focus on the pitch again, but it’s like the field’s become smaller, the sounds quieter. 

all you can hear is your own heartbeat thudding in your ears.

you try to shake it off. 

you try to forget about her, but every time you glance over, she’s there—her every movement pulling your eyes like magnets.

you catch a glimpse of her during a break in play. 

she's laughing with her teammates, but when she catches your gaze again, her expression shifts, just for a moment. 

like she’s still feeling the same thing you are.

you swallow thickly, trying to get back in the zone, but it’s like you're running in circles, chasing something you can’t quite catch.

the match drags on, the final minutes creeping by. 

barcelona’s up 2-0. 

the crowd’s starting to lose energy, but you can feel your team pushing, fighting. trying to claw back into this.

then, a miracle. 

a ball comes across to you. you hear viv's voice in your head, urging you to take control, to make something happen. 

but just as you’re about to move, you see her—alexia—closing in, just like you always used to.

old habits die hard.

you move without thinking, instincts kicking in. 

fake one way, then cut left. 

the other defender chasing you trips for half a second, and that’s all the space you need. 

you're in the clear, for a moment, and everything feels like it’s falling into place.

but then—

the ball’s gone.

in a flash, alexia slides in, intercepting just before you can make your pass. 

you barely see her coming, but you feel the hit when she clears the ball away from you.

for one breathless second, time feels like it freezes.

of course. she still knows you just as well. 

her eyes lock with yours—those same brown eyes, sharp and unreadable—and all the noise in your head falls away. 

there’s nothing left between you but that look, the history, everything unsaid.

you stand there, heart racing, just staring. 

she’s still the same alexia—strong, sharp, intense—but there's something more now. something different.

for a second, you forget you’re playing against her. 

you forget everything: the game, the score, the rivalry. all of it.

you forget it all.

but then, the whistle blows. the game is over. 

barcelona wins.

the roar of the crowd brings you back, and you turn, pulling yourself back into the moment. 

you make your way dejectedly off the pitch, but alexia’s face lingers in your thoughts, her every movement replaying in your head.

as you reach the tunnel, you glance over your shoulder. 

she's standing there, her teammates around her, but her eyes are locked on you. softer now. almost like she’s waiting for something.

you don’t know how long you stand there, caught between the moment and reality. 

the world seems to blur around you. 

but then, the noise of the stadium fades, and you find yourself walking toward the locker room, thoughts racing faster than your feet.

~~

10 years ago

you and alexia had always been in sync. 

at levante, it felt like everything just clicked—on the pitch, off the pitch. 

you could read each other’s movements without a second thought. 

passes were seamless, runs were timed perfectly, and the moments you shared after training felt as natural as the game itself. 

it was almost like you’d been playing together forever, the connection so strong it pulled you both closer in ways neither of you had expected.

in the beginning, it was easy to fall into each other.

there were quiet evenings spent talking about everything and nothing, laughing over ridiculous things, or just lying together, not needing words to say how much you meant to each other.

 everything felt like it was falling into place. the world seemed right when you were with her, like it was always meant to be this way.

but then, the phone call came. 

barcelona. 

for alexia, it was the opportunity of a lifetime.

the chance to play for one of the biggest clubs in the world, to push herself to the highest level. 

it was everything she’d ever worked for. 

it was her dream, and she couldn't turn it down. you knew that. 

you knew how much this meant to her, how hard she’d fought for it, but it didn't make it any easier. 

you both knew this was coming. you had known for some time it was your last season together.

but the reality of her being in barcelona, and you… not with her, was a heavy weight.

“i have to do this,” alexia said one night, her eyes filled with determination but something else too, something harder. 

“i can’t let anything distract me. not now. not when everything is finally falling into place.”

you tried to be understanding, but it was hard. 

“i get it, i do. but… what about us?”

she paused, eyes softening for just a moment before she spoke again. 

“this is bigger than us. i can't afford to divide my focus right now. it’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to me either.”

the words hit harder than you expected. 

it’s not fair to you—it was as though she was saying that this relationship, the one you thought was everything, wasn't important enough to fight for.

the weight of her ambition, her desire to reach the pinnacle of her career, was more than you could ever be.

“so that’s it then?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, but she heard it. 

you could see her struggling, torn between what she wanted and the love she had for you. 

but there was no denying it—her focus was shifting, and it wasn’t on you anymore.

“i just… i need to focus on this. i need to focus on me.” 

her words were gentle, but there was no mistaking the finality in them.

it stung, deeply. 

you knew you had your own path, your own career to think about. 

arsenal was calling too, and it felt like the universe was pushing both of you in different directions, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

she didn’t want to do long-distance. 

she didn’t want to divide herself in a way that made her feel less than whole.

and, in the end, she wasn’t willing to make room for you in that vision. "

i can’t afford to keep looking back," she said. "i need to move forward."

you couldn’t hold onto something that wasn’t there anymore. 

her decision was clear, even if you still didn’t understand it fully. 

the love, the chemistry, everything you shared—it felt like it wasn’t enough to bridge the gap that had grown between you.

and so, just like that, you both moved on, but not together. 

her future in barcelona, your future in arsenal—each heading toward something bigger, but no longer with each other.

the weight of it lingered. 

you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe you weren’t as important as you thought you were. 

maybe the love you shared wasn’t enough to keep her tethered, to keep you in her world. 

and you wondered, sometimes, if maybe you were just part of the past she was trying to leave behind.

~~

present

later, after all the celebrations, the interviews, and the spotlight’s moved on to the next story, you find yourself standing outside the stadium. alone.

you need air. you need space to think.

and then, out of nowhere, you hear footsteps behind you.

you don’t turn around, but you don’t need to. 

you already know who it is.

“y/n.” 

it’s the same voice, and it feels like nothing’s changed. 

"can we talk?"

you turn to face her.

for a moment, neither of you says anything. 

it’s like the weight of years is pressing down on both of you, all the things unsaid hanging in the air.

and then the words you’ve been craving to hear. 

“i’m sorry.”

it’s silent for a while. and finally, the question slips out before you can stop it.

“are you still the same person, ale?” once the words leave your lips, you wish you could take them back. 

it sounds dumb. pointless, even.

alexia looks at you, a small, bittersweet smile playing on her lips. 

“i think we both know the answer to that.” 

she takes a step closer, but not too close. giving you space. giving you time.

you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything at all.

there’s tension in the air, so thick you can almost taste it. 

everything you’ve both been holding back for so long hanging there.

and then, without a word, she pull you into a hug. 

it’s not perfect, but it’s something. it's everything you both missed. 

all the silence, the years, the distance—it falls away, like it never even mattered.

when you pull back, you finally manage a shaky smile.

“i guess some things don’t change after all.” 

“no,” alexia replies, her eyes soft, “i guess not.”

and for the first time in years, everything feels calm again.

maybe the game wasn’t the only thing that needed to be won. 

maybe it was you, too.

[jo-speaks]

CROSSING PATHS

— right place, right time AU

summary: quinn meets an unlikely friend, and its owner.

warnings: none! wc: 1.6k

note: hope you guys enjoy this and the concept of this au :)

The captain was feeling incredibly overwhelmed- trying to find out why his team just couldn’t pull through in the end, no matter the amount of work and effort they put in at practice. It took a toll on him the hardest, his confidence going down the drain with every sound of the buzzer that announced their loss to the whole arena. 

While others would congratulate him regardless, giving him the whole, “You’re doing great.” spiel, he- for one- didn’t believe it, and two, he didn’t care for great. He wanted perfection. 

“Hun, get out of your apartment, forget about hockey for a minute.” His mother said over the phone after he had called her after a particularly tough OT loss, “It might clear your head a bit.”

Quinn groaned, his mother saying the impossible, “I don’t need a walk, Ma. We just need to win.”

Ellen’s laughter echoed throughout the apartment, “Q, you’ve got to unwind. I’m scared you’re going to blow up that head of yours.”

On some level, Quinn knew she was right. I mean, it was visibly obvious when his mind was running a million miles per hour. He hesitated before saying, “Fine. But if all I get from this is frostbite, you’re taking care of me.” 

“When am I not?”

Quinn let out a lighthearted laugh, saying his goodbyes before going to put his sneakers on and grab a warmer hoodie than the one he had on. He looked at himself in the mirror when he passed it in his hall, his hair disheveled and the exhaustion becoming more and more prominent every day. 

As he grabbed his door keys to walk out of the apartment, he briefly debated grabbing his hockey bag that sat next to his doorway and going to the rink instead. He quickly talked himself out of that idea, ultimately deciding that it would be counterintuitive to forget about hockey for a bit, whilst playing hockey.

~~~

Quinn made his way to the park nearby, settling on just walking wherever his feet took him instead of following an instructed trail. It was chilly, the Vancouver air surprisingly warmer than it had been in previous winters, but still cold enough to send a sharp shiver through his body. 

His eyes wandered as he let his senses become filled with the sounds of nature and the conversations of people passing by. Everyone looked so relaxed and carefree, giving Quinn a sliver of hope that he, too, would feel that way after a few hours here. 

He had become so entranced by his surroundings that his brain barely registered a voice quickly approaching that yelled, “Watch out!”

Quinn turned around, a sudden pressure coming down onto his lower stomach as a medium-sized golden retriever jumped on him with enough force to have him stumbling a bit, but not enough to knock him down completely. The animal’s tail wagged rapidly, its panting breaths reaching Quinn’s nose as it looked up at him. 

“Hey, bud.” Quinn cooed, petting its head, making the dog even more excited. 

You came up to him, leash around your waist as you panted, catching your breath before speaking up, “I am so sorry, she doesn’t normally do this.” He looked up, his jaw dropping slightly as he took you in. He noticed your hair had fallen out of your updo, now messily draped across your shoulders and back, your mascara running the slightest bit under your eyes due to sweat, but still keeping your lashes up and curled. But most of all, he noticed that gleam in your eyes that was a mix of joy and relaxation. 

The dog had now put her paws down fully on the concrete, beginning to circle around Quinn’s legs and even trying to go in between them before a snap of your fingers brought her back to those simple circles. 

“It’s okay,” Quinn muttered, trying to keep his composure as his heart thrummed rapidly in his chest. “Cute dog.” 

“Thank you.” You smiled, noticing her tail not slowing down in the slightest in his presence. “She seems to really like you, she’s not normally like this with strangers.”

Your words seemed to relax him a little bit, a grin appearing on his face as he squatted down, putting himself on level with the pup and rubbing her head, “What’s her name?” 

“Chilli.” You answered. 

Quinn gave you a look of confusion, “I was actually talking to her."

It took you a minute to realize what he had meant, but when it clicked, you let out a bubbly laugh that had Quinn’s head reeling, “Smooth. I’m Y/N.”

He gave Chilli one last pat before standing up, sticking his hand out like you were some lady in the office, “Quinn.” 

You shook his hand, laughing quietly at the formality before meeting his gaze fully this time, your brain registering his admirable features, which were all of them. 

The curve of his nose, his long lashes, and those eyes that reflected a look of relief. You caught yourself staring a little longer than you intended to, clearing your throat with a smile before looking down at Chilli. You hooked the link of the leash to her harness, ensuring she wouldn’t try this stunt again with another person. 

“Well, Quinn, if you’re not too busy, would you like to join us on the rest of our walk?” You proposed, growing enough courage to ask.

Quinn was sure his heart exploded. 

“Yeah. I’d like that.” He said as smoothly as possible.

The toothy smile that appeared on your face after he agreed had a matching one on his face immediately after. The two of you started walking, letting Chilli lead the way as she walked ahead of you, sniffing the ground as she went.

It was a comfortable silence that fell between you and Quinn, but he wanted to know more about the mystery girl and her dog that walked beside him.

“So,” He began, “Why the harness instead of a collar?”

You turned your head to face him, “I’m not a fan of collars. I know I wouldn’t like it if someone was tugging at my neck. Plus, this gives me a little more control of her without having to pull at her.” Quinn hummed, “Do you work with animals?”

“When I have time, I volunteer with this local animal shelter a few minutes from here.” Your words registered in his mind, the conversation flowing smoothly. Before he could ask you something else, you chimed in first. “What about you? What do you do?”

He hesitated. He knew he couldn’t just say, “I’m actually a professional hockey player.” Unfortunately for him, he did say it out loud instead of keeping it in his head like he had intended. 

When he caught the words spewing out of him before he could stop them, he braced himself, ready for you to grill him about his career, and income, or even pull out your phone to google him to find out yourself. So what you said next shocked him a little bit. 

“Oh, that’s fun. Do you like it?” You asked calmly, keeping your gaze straight ahead.

He let out a breath of relief, “Uh, yeah. I mean, not a whole lot right now.” You tilted your head, facing him again, “What’s that mean?”

“My team’s in a bit of a slump right now and we can’t seem to win anything.” He explained vaguely, not wanting to let himself fall into a deep conversation about hockey with someone he just met.

Luckily for him, you didn’t press. You simply hummed and switched topics that had more to do with him rather than his job. 

The two of you walked and talked about anything and everything, and by the time you returned back to where you had started, Quinn felt as if he’d known you for ten years instead of just two hours. 

And by the end of it, he wasn’t thinking about hockey at all.

“Thanks for joining us, Quinn.” You announced.

Quinn smiled, “Thanks for asking. I really needed that.” 

You stood there a bit awkwardly as Chilli licked at his shoes, her way of saying goodbye before you verbalized it and said, “I’ll see you around.” turning to walk away from him and back to your apartment.

Before you could, Quinn stopped you, walking to your side again so you would stop and face him. He stared at you for a minute before snapping himself out of his daze, pulling out his phone, and asking, “Do you think I could get your number? Maybe we could do this again sometime.”

His pupils nearly shaped hearts when you flashed him another smile, a small giggle coming from your throat as you took his unlocked phone from his hands and typed in your number and name into it. 

“Thanks.” He cheesed, “I’ll text you.” 

You bit your lip innocently, “Can’t wait.’”

He bid you goodbye, relishing in the way you turned around to look at him when you were a good distance away. He smiled to himself before making his way back to the apartment. On his way, he went to his call logs and facetimed his mom yet again. 

“You okay?” She picked up with a look of confusion on her face.

Quinn nodded, the smile on his face indescribably giddy, “Thank you for making me come out here.” 

“You look a lot better now, what happened?” She teased, but there was a hint of relief in her voice as he looked… lighter. 

“I met someone.”

[heejamas]

nicest guy: 14. between two wolves

word count: ~2k words + 9 screenshots

warnings: profanity, sexual jokes, weed consumption, alcohol consumption, jake and hoon hate each other

“You seem kinda off,” Giselle said, glancing at you from the driver’s seat as you sat there, trying not to spiral. She was driving you to Heeseung’s place, and Sunoo was chilling in the backseat, earbuds in, acting like he wasn’t silently judging the entire situation.

Sunoo was your best friend, which meant he already knew exactly what was going on inside your head. You were on your way to some low-key hangout at this football player’s apartment—who, by the way, was tight with the quarterback that every girl on campus wanted to hook up with: Jake. Oh, and let’s not forget the small detail that Jake had a massive crush on you. Also? The last time you saw him, you ended up sleeping in the same bed as him because he was so wasted he practically passed out mid-sentence. Oh, and did I mention the cops showed up that night? Yeah, that too.

And now, here you were, dragging yourself to this thing. The second time in your entire college existence that you decided to stop being a hermit and actually hang out with people. So, were you feeling weird? Uh, yeah. You were full-on panicking.

“I’m not off. I’m super on,” you said, trying (and failing) to convince your friends.

“Come on, Y/N,” Sunoo finally cut in, pulling out one earbud. “Let’s not pretend you’re not freaking out because you’re seeing Jake.”

“It’s not because of that, and you know it,” you shot back, turning to glare at him. “I just wanted Jungwon to come with us. I’d feel way more comfortable. He knows most of the people at this… party or whatever.”

“It’s not a party, babe,” Giselle said, shooting you a quick grin. “And relax. Jungwon’s coming later with Sunghoon.”

You gulped. And there it was—the real reason for your anxiety. Sunghoon. Your brother’s best friend. Sunghoon, who you’d somehow developed a crush on in the last week. And yeah, he was going to be there too. But the kicker? You were only going to this get-together because Jake invited you. Jake, who had some weird beef with Sunghoon for reasons no one wanted to explain to you.

Sunoo knew, though. That’s why he reached over from the backseat and tapped your shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Slut era, remember?”

“Maybe I liked my vamp era better,” you muttered. Sunoo and Giselle burst out laughing while she parked her car outside Heeseung's condo. You all made your way down the dim hallway, stopping in front of Heeseung’s apartment door. You took a deep breath as Sunoo reached out to ring the doorbell.

It barely took a second before Jake swung the door open, his puppy-dog eyes lighting up like he’d been waiting there all night. If he were an actual dog, his tail would be wagging so hard it’d knock something over.

“You came!” Jake said, his gaze locking onto you like you were the only person in the room. For a moment, it was just you and him, his smile stretching from ear to ear. Then, almost like he remembered there were other people present, he broke the spell, nodding at Sunoo and Giselle with a quick, “Hey, guys,” to make it look like he wasn’t completely obvious.

“Come on in,” Jake added, stepping aside to let you and your friends walk in.

The apartment was exactly what you’d expect from a college football player who was also a certified nerd. The walls were painted a dark gray, making the space feel a little moody, but the posters—classic Pokémon artwork, a few Marvel movie posters, and one suspiciously artsy shot of Pikachu—gave it some personality. Heeseung's personality, you guess.

There were about ten people at Heeseung’s place. You didn’t know most of their names—just vague faces you recognized from the football team. The only person you actually knew, besides Jake and Heeseung, was Niki, your brother’s goofy friend.

Jake introduced you to everyone like he was showing off his shiny new girlfriend, and the way they all glanced at each other only made it more obvious. The only problem was that you barely knew the guy.

Still, you found yourself enjoying their banter. Heeseung was going off about how his phone keyboard was stuck in Greek, which turned out to be a prank by Niki. It totally checked out—your brother and Niki were equally chaotic. Beomgyu was loud but hilariously so, cracking jokes that had you laughing way too hard. Soobin, on the other hand, was chill and introverted, kind of like you. They weren’t at all like the stereotypical football team jerks you’d imagined. They were actually… nice.

And then there was Jake. He was glued to you all night, constantly checking in to make sure you were comfortable. You had to admit, he was fun to be around. What really got to you, though, was how much effort he put into including your friends. That meant everything to you—your friends were your world, and anyone who cared about them instantly earned points.

As more people trickled into the hangout, Jake made it his mission to introduce you to every single one of them. It was kind of sweet how hard he was trying.

“What about we play Uno?” Beomgyu shouted, already hyped.

Everyone agreed, though Heeseung immediately groaned. “You’re so annoying when we play Uno. Please don’t cheat this time!”

“Bro, relax,” Beomgyu shot back, grinning. “If you lose, just blame it on your Greek cards.”

The whole room burst out laughing as Heeseung flipped him off, and they all started gathering around the table to play.

“You wanna join?” Jake asked, turning to you. He was being the perfect gentleman, always checking if you were okay. At first, you’d thought he was kind of a loser, but now… well, the banter between you two was growing on you.

“Actually, I think I’m good,” you replied, smiling. Uno with five people? Fun. Uno with fourteen? A chaotic nightmare.

You were both sitting at Heeseung’s couch, he was not too close to you, but close enough for him to speak in a low tone. Jake leaned in slightly, his voice low but still casual. “We could go outside if you want. The balcony’s got a great view. Plus… we could smoke a joint. You down?”

“Why not?” you said with a small shrug, playing it cool.

Truth was, you weren’t a huge weed person—your brother was, so you’d picked up the basics by association. But the idea of being alone with Jake, on a random balcony, in the middle of this chaotic hangout? That wasn’t something you’d ever pictured in your social life bingo. And honestly? You were kind of into it.

You and Jake stepped out into the hallway, leaning against the balcony railing, taking in the view. You’d had two, maybe three beers. Jake? Probably a few more. He casually pulled a pre-rolled out of his pocket, lit it with practiced ease, and passed it to you without a word. You took a slow drag, letting the smoke linger before glancing at him. He was standing right beside you, watching you intently, like you were the most interesting thing he’d seen all night.

“What?” you asked, holding in the smoke as you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Didn’t think you smoked,” he admitted, his voice soft and a little shy. He was clearly trying to be flirtatious, but the way he kept stealing glances made it obvious he was just happy to be this close to you.

“I don’t. My brother does, so I join him sometimes.” You replied casually after exhaling. “Were you thinking about me, though?” You shot him a sly grin, the kind that had Jake blinking like you’d just flipped his world upside down.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice a little more serious than usual, his eyes wide with surprise.

“You said you didn’t think I smoked,” you teased, turning fully towards him and passing the joint back. “So… were you thinking about me?”

You blew out the smoke slowly, letting it drift between the two of you. You were a convicted introvert, but you weren’t shy—not even a little. And that seemed to catch Jake completely off guard.

“I was just…” He paused, clearly struggling to string together a sentence. “Maybe I did think about… you.”

He stopped mid-thought, though, his gaze shifting behind you.

A tall figure was walking down the hallway toward Heeseung’s apartment. Sunghoon. And of course, Jungwon was with him.

Jake’s expression faltered for a split second, frustration flickering in his eyes. Why now? He’d just been getting somewhere with you, and now he had to show up.

As Sunghoon got closer, his eyes briefly flicked between you and Jake. His expression didn’t give much away, but the energy? Oh, it was crystal clear.

Jake needed to get out of your orbit—and fast.

“Yoi!” Jungwon greeted, walking up to you and Jake with his usual energy. “You guys smoking? I’m in!” He slid in right next to you, already reaching for the joint. You shot him a look, silently asking if he really had to interrupt right now. But then your eyes shifted, catching sight of someone else. Sunghoon.

And damn, he looked good.

It was the first time you’d seen him since that party, the one where you decided to let yourself fall into the pit of an unreciprocated crush on your brother’s best friend. He stood there, glancing between you and Jake, his expression unreadable but focused.

You tried to play it cool, but your thoughts were a mess. Sunghoon didn’t seem to care about you the way you’d hoped—so why did he look like someone had just told him he lost ten grand?

You couldn’t help but second-guess everything. Since you realized that probably Sunghoon didn’t give a shit about you, you thought that maybe it was for the better giving Jake a chance. But then, Sunghoon’s eyes lingered on you a moment too long, and suddenly, giving Jake a chance felt a lot harder to commit to.

“Hey,” Sunghoon greeted, his voice quiet but steady. His gaze met yours briefly before shifting to Jake.

“Hey,�� you replied, trying not to let your voice betray you. Jake, on the other hand, only nodded.

You weren’t surprised. You’d already figured out they didn’t get along, and now you were smack in the middle of their passive-aggressive standoff. Jungwon, sensing the tension immediately, decided to act.

“You know what? We’re heading inside. I’ll be back later,” Jungwon said, spinning on his heels and steering Sunghoon toward the door with a hand on his shoulder.

Sunghoon hesitated, though. His gaze lingered on you and Jake for a moment longer, clearly debating whether to stay. His jaw tightened slightly. “I think I’ll take a puff,” he said, his voice low but firm. It was a far cry from the Sunghoon you’d seen at that party, where he’d been loose and carefree. Sober Sunghoon had a serious edge to him, and it was kind of intimidating.

Jake’s reaction was instant. His posture stiffened, and his jaw tightened ever so slightly, though he quickly tried to cover it up. He couldn’t let you see him lose his cool—not now. Not with Sunghoon standing there like he owned the place.

Jake’s mind raced, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Sunghoon always had this way of showing up and ruining everything. It was like Wonyoung situation all over again. In Jake’s head, Sunghoon wasn’t just a rival—he was a thief.

But Jake knew better than to let you see his irritation. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t blow this, so he plastered on his best fake smile and shifted his tone.

“Sure, man,” Jake said, holding out the joint with forced politeness. “Go ahead.”

You didn’t miss the tension in his voice, but you appreciated the effort. Jake, for all his flaws, was trying. Even if his “nice guy” act was so obviously fake it was almost funny.

Even Sunghoon looked taken aback. Jake—his nemesis—being friendly? That could only mean one thing: he was putting on a show. And for you, obviously. Sunghoon wasn’t about to let Jake one-up him. If Jake wanted to act nice, Sunghoon would be the nicest guy you’d ever met.

“So, is it too crowded inside?” Sunghoon asked casually, taking a hit off the joint and turning to admire the view behind you. At this point, you were literally standing between them, caught in what felt like a testosterone-fueled showdown. You couldn’t help but wonder how your life had gotten to this point—two guys you might be into, silently battling it out in front of you.

“Not really,” you replied, trying to keep the mood light. “There’s about, what, 14 or 15 people inside?” You glanced at Jake, hoping for some confirmation.

“Yeah,” Jake muttered, keeping it short. He was laser-focused on not letting Sunghoon win this unspoken competition. Jake knew exactly what Sunghoon was doing, and it only fueled his determination. He knew that this was a game, and he couldn’t fumble. Which was ironic, because Sunghoon and Jake played for the same football team. But with you? It was a battlefield.

The silence that followed felt heavy. You and Sunghoon didn’t mind quiet moments, but Jake? Jake was like a restless golden retriever—he needed to fill the void. Otherwise, he’d explode. So, naturally, he reached for the joint the second Sunghoon was done with it, deciding to finish it himself.

“We should save some for your brother,” Jake said suddenly, his tone overly casual. “He was excited about this. I’ll invite him out later to smoke one with me.” With that, Jake gently guided you back toward Heeseung’s apartment, his hand lingering on your shoulder just long enough to make a point.

Sunghoon watched the interaction, and it hit him in the gut. The sight of Jake touching you? That wasn’t in his “I don’t care” playbook.

Which was funny, because Sunghoon couldn’t like you. It was an unspoken rule—Jungwon would absolutely lose it if his best friend had feelings for his sister. That’s why Sunghoon told himself he didn’t. He didn’t like you; he just hated that Jake was around you. Yeah, that was it.

Or at least, that’s what Sunghoon kept telling himself to feel better.

The next moments at Heeseung’s apartment played out like this: everywhere you went, Jake and Sunghoon were right there, trailing behind you like overly attentive shadows. Both of them were being way too nice for your liking, and honestly it was starting to get on your nerves. You felt like a lamb stuck between two wolves, both of them silently battling for your attention.

Annoying? Absolutely. But you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a tiny part of you that was kind of enjoying it. Guilty pleasure much?

Still, it was getting to be too much. You needed an escape plan, and there was only one person you could turn to: your ever-reliable confidant, Sunoo.

When Jake and Sunghoon got momentarily distracted—probably by glaring at each other—you seized the opportunity to bolt. Ducking into the bathroom, you locked the door, leaned against it for good measure, and pulled out your phone and fired off a text to your best friend.

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author's note: literally me when i wrote "nicest guy":

taglist: @jayparked @jungwonsstrawberriesnchocolate @kixri @soobnuuy @dreamiestay @somuchdard @nyyoryyu @atinyrosedoor @enhaverse713586 @miszes @wildtigerlili @hoonkishoe @wilonevys @m1dn1ghtv1olet @who-tf-soddhi @ilovewonyo @nickiminajleftasscheek @ikeulove @payformycoffeeandleave @jvngw0nlvr @qtke @nikirangs @rairaiblog @tinyteezer @catecita @aespaqq @cyberstephzz @jakesimfromstatefarm @maniluvzyou @stormy1408 @missychief1404 @heevrs @shuichi-sama

[theothersarshi]

Personally, I think what's going on with the "respectfully, I want you to [sex thing here] to me" is that at some point people forget everyone on the internet is, well, real. Social media doesn't only abstract interaction, it abstracts people.

I've always said that it's a lot safer to express a celebrity crush than a real person crush, because the celebrity won't come out of the poster on the wall and take advantage of the fact that you just said "I want Clark Gable to tie me to the bed and fuck me", whereas "I want my classmate Clark to tie me to the bed and fuck me" can cause a lot of issues if Clark hears about it. (Clark Gable chosen as a random example because he's been dead for a while.)

But now a lot of people seem to forget that people on the internet aren't all Clark Gables, many of them are just Clarks, and they can hear you, and it's awkward as hell for them, while also opening you up to harrassment from individuals who might take you seriously in a bad way.

Also, what the fuck is that rant about BDSM? I'd normally say "that's... not how submissives and doms work", which would be absolutely true, but today I'm in a fey mood, so I'd like to point out that you can absolutely abuse and control people through praise and beautiful words, while pretending to defend them from the eeeeevil people who don't view sex as beautiful and spiritual and full of love.

i'm begging you people to be normal in the notes of my selfies. please stop calling me daddy. please stop asking me to hit you and fuck you. what the fuck is wrong with you people?

[lmaowhatt]

utterly obsessed? - six

summary: actress y/n I/n has recently skyrocketed into stardom after her breakout film 'castaways' alongside sarah cameron, kevin hart, chris evans and chris hemsworth. weeks after the movies premiere, she drops her debut single, further cementing her place in the spotlight. as millions of people around the world begin to idolize her, and as she struggles with her own demons, she catches the attention of rafe cameron, who doesnt shy away from becoming utterly obsessed in what seems to be the cutest way possible.

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five - six - seven

your phone

youruser

liked by jjmay, rafecameron and 986k others

youruser my life and my friends🤍 pic creds to @/jjmay for half of these i guess..

jjmay you guess?? js say u hate me atp

➯ youruser i hate u

➯ jjmay oh wow

jjmay everyone be quiet i got a whole slide to myself🙂‍↕️

➯ jjmay also those are MY guitars just to lyk

➯ youruser this screams "🤓☝🏽"

➯ jjmay im blocking you.

user the weeknd?? marry me😫

kiekie muah muah

user she got a lil weigth on her💀

➯ user learn how to spell 'weight' before judging💀

sarahcam lets just elope pls

*liked by creator*

cleopatty how are u aesthetic

➯ youruser genetics😔

➯ jjmay i chose the pics for her

➯ youruser #hater energy will not be accepted

popeh lets not forget her almost falling out the window

➯ rafecameron i had a pic she made me delete it

➯ youruser for good reason too

user HELLO??? he was at her apartment?

➯ user OMG!! so was pope!! literally shut up.

user guys the rafe comment😫

➯ user oh.. this is an online COMMENT (reply) btw..

user oh she getting passed around for suree😭

➯ kiekie yeah thats... NOT.

rafecameron

liked by popeh, sofiapalomo and 837k others

rafecameron my weekend

sofiapalomo 🤍

*liked by creator*

user notice how this got almost 200k less likes than normal?💀

sarahcam huh.

➯ user what type of 'huh' is this supposed to BE!

user yeah.. its concerning when not even SARAH likes..

user yeah.. this is not..💀

➯ user its his life regardless??

popeh omg!! a rafe feat!!

➯ rafecameron had to😘

user yo whats going AWNN!?!!?

jbr so thats why you left early.. huh.

➯ user why are sarah and him SO similar LMAO

user why are NONE of them commenting??!

➯ user y/n probably told them not to😭

➯ user they have minds of their own?

user HE replied to popes comment but not whoever she is??

➯ user i feel bad for her tbh

his phone

your phone

taglist: @xoxo-ada, @jjmaybankmylovee, @f4irywor1d, @babykhloutofthisworld, @grapejuice32

psa: anyone else who wants to be added to the taglist, let me know!

prefereably by commenting so it pops up on my notifs!

a/n: i had to guys..

[bapeach]

My nerd

I'm still new to writing so if this is bad then I'm sorry, lol. English isn't my first language so I'm sorry for any possible grammar mistakes :). Let me know what you guys think!

Pairing(s): Nika Mühl x female!reader Word count: 2.3k+ Summary: Turns out the intimidating giant is actually a big nerd. Something Nika will never let Y/N forget. ------------

When you first got to Uconn, everyone was pretty intimidated by you. Not entirely surprising, you supposed. Even in a gym full of basketball players, you rose above them, standing at a whopping 6'7". It didn't help that you had dark eyes that seemed to always peer into the soul of the person you were looking at. Nor did it help that both of your arms were fully tatted up and that you had a resting frown on your face. You couldn't help it, your face always looked like you were trying to solve a hard math question or trying to figure out everyone's biggest secret. You didn't exactly mind being intimidating though, often standing with your arms crossed, slightly flexing your muscles. And God did you have muscles. When Paige first saw you, the first thing going through her mind was how you could easily snap her in two.

To everyone's surprise you weren't that scary once they got to know you. Sure, you still had the ability to make anyone shut up with a single well-aimed look that seemed to say “knock it off”. And yeah, you were still able to halt everyone's conversation, eyes focused only on you, when you had something important to say. But the team also got to know the real you. When needed, you could match KK's high energy, being able to hype up the entire team with a few witty jokes, cocky smirks, and well-timed speeches. The team needed a calmer presence? Then there you were, matching Azzi's comforting calmness, being a rock to lean on and a shoulder to cry on. 

The team knew you almost inside and out, just like you knew all of them. From KK's favorite ice cream flavor to Nika's favorite Croatian show. You guys didn't feel the need to keep secrets. You suppose that's why you all work so well together, both on the court and off. Except the team didn't fully know you, did they? 

You were known for your fierce protectiveness of the team, always ready to defend them, no matter what. You exuded an intense aura that scared off anyone trying to mess with you or your family and friends. But below all of that…? You were a nerd. 

You know there's nothing wrong with being a nerd, but still, you prefer to be known for your strength and resilience. So no, the team doesn't know you can solve a Rubik's cube with your eyes closed (It's not that hard once you know the patterns, you swear), they don't know you like playing chess (What? It's calming...) or that you're secretly a huge sci-fi fan (C'mon, Star Wars and Doctor Who are classics!). Hell, they didn't even know you wore glasses... 

You knew there was nothing wrong with glasses either, you personally even found them quite attractive on other people, but you chose to only wear them in the comfort of your own dorm. You were lucky to have scored a single dorm, not having to deal with any annoying roommates doing god knows what. The team hadn't even seen the inside of the apartment, all of you always hanging out in one of the bigger dorms, having to be able to comfortably fit an entire basketball team in there. Some teammates had caught small glimpses into the living area of your home away from home, but there wasn't much to note about it. It was your room that had all your geek stuff. 

An entire wall lined with books, ranging from the classics to the newest YA sapphic novels. Your  Rubik’s cubes in different shapes and sizes scattered amongst them. A couple of Lego sets standing proudly on the few available surfaces. And amidst it, there you were, sitting on your bed at 2 AM, wearing an old Doctor Who shirt, glasses perched on your nose as you watched your favorite doctor on his latest adventure. The Hedwig the owl plushie that you got as a birthday present years ago (which you swore you only still kept to keep your mom happy) sitting next to you, tucked in but still in view of the screen (she wanted to watch as well, okay?). 

When the team had suggested going to a bar after an intense practice, you’d hesitated. On one hand you wanted to go. You weren’t really the party and drinking type, but you always felt better knowing you were with the girls, being able to keep an eye on them. On the other hand your bones felt heavy from practice and your bed was calling your name. Declining their invitation, you figured you wouldn’t be hearing from the girls until late the next day, having them complain about being hungover in the group chat. Turns out you were wrong.

Hearing a knock on your door, you paused your show, listening intently to see if you were just imagining things. Hearing another knock and loud giggles outside, followed by someone shushing, you walked over to your door. Not paying any mind to what you were wearing, you opened the door, confusion clear on your face as well as worry. Because the only people who’d be knocking on your door in the middle of the night would be the girls, and that meant they needed something that couldn’t wait until the morning.

Looking down slightly, you see an apologetic-looking Azzi holding a giggling Nika under one arm while trying to make sure Paige (who was mumbling some type of nonsense about flying snakes playing basketball?) didn’t fall over beside her. “Hey, I’m really sorry to be knocking on your door, Y/N, but these two idiots-” ”HEY!” “-decided to drink too much, and I can’t handle both of them, especially not together.” Azzi apologizes, sending Paige a stern look when she interrupts her. Azzi looks at you, guilt clear in her eyes, knowing that you’re gonna be dealing with a drunk Nika who will undoubtedly tease the hell out of you once she realizes what you’re wearing. 

Nika, who only just seems to have realized she’s standing in front of your door (the girl she might or might not have a huge tiny crush on), grins widely, slipping out from underneath Azzi’s arm, right into yours. Squeezing the taller girl tightly, she mumbles (though it feels more like a shout in your ear), “Hey Y/N/N!”. Wincing slightly at the loudness, you hold Nika in your arms, mumbling a “Hi” before focusing back on Azzi. “Don’t worry about it, Azz, I’ve got her.” you say smiling at her, trying to make sure she knows you’re not upset. “Have a good night and good luck with…” you trail off, looking at Paige in confusion as she stumbles away from Azzi to go talk to the wall about… crocodiles riding skateboards? You give the sober girl one last grin before sending both of them a wave and pulling Nika into your dorm.

Looking down at her, you shake your head slightly. This is gonna be a challenge. Drunk Nika means a lot of cockiness, a lot of teasing, and a lot of flirting… “C’mon, Niks, let’s get you ready for bed.” you say softly, hoping your calming tone will make the Croatian girl relax and comply. Grabbing hold of her hand, you turn to your bedroom, but she doesn’t let you get very far. “Nooo,” she grumbles, her accent coming out slightly as she slurs her words. Pulling you into another hug with a bit more force than expected, she falls right into you, “I missed you tonight.”. 

You hold the shorter girl closer to your chest, knowing things will go easier if you just follow along with what she’s doing. (And okay, maybe you’d missed her too, but how could you not? Nika was smart, funny, fearless, kind, extremely beautiful, and exactly your type. Not that any of that mattered. You were pretty sure she was straight. Sure, she flirted with you and complimented you all the time, but that’s just the kind of friend she is.). Putting your face into the crook of her neck, you can’t help inhaling her scent. She smells like alcohol and sweat from dancing, but there’s also a hint of something else. A scent that’s unique to her. It’s soft and comforting, and it makes you wish you could just hold her close to you forever.

“I missed you too,” you say, pulling back and giving her a kiss on the forehead, “let’s go to my room now, yeah?”. You walk into your bedroom, guiding Nika’s hips as you push her to your bed, before going to close your door. “Wait… are you wearing glasses?” she says, looking at you in shock. You grin at her, shaking your head at how cute she looks. (How did it take her this long to notice?). “Shuddup” you say with a tiny smirk on your face as you walk back over. “No no, you look really hot.” she says leaning in a bit closer to look at your properly. “Like a hot nerd.” she starts laughing to herself. You playfully roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. The movement immediately catches Nika’s eye, her laugh coming to a stop as she stares at your muscular arms. Your smirk grows, seeing the way the brunette can’t stop gawking at you. (And okay, maybe you flexed your muscles a bit more, liking the way she was looking at you, but you were allowed to have a bit of fun, weren’t you?).

As Nika’s eyes roam your figure, her eyes drop to the shirt you’re wearing. “Wait, what are you wearing?” she questioned, her eyes wide as a grin starts forming on her face. Damn it, here we go. Moving towards your closet, you ask, “What do you wanna sleep in? Shorts? Sweats? Do you want a hoodie or just a shirt?”, hoping she’ll be drunk enough to have a shortened attention span. Your wishes, however, don’t get answered. “Oh my god…” she gasps, making you turn around, slightly alarmed at her sudden outburst. “You’re a nerd!” she exclaimed, looking around and seeing all your geeky knick-knacks. 

When Azzi came knocking on your door with a drunk Nika under her arm, you happily took the wasted girl in. Now though? Now you were thinking of all the ways Azzi could make it up to you. 

You throw the smirking girl a pair of shorts and a shirt, successfully managing to have them hit her right in the face. You walk over to her, ready to help her get changed. “You tell anyone about this, Mühl, and you’re dead.” you reply, knowing you’ll be teased relentlessly next practice, Nika not being able to keep something like this quiet. “All this time everyone has seen you as this tough, badass woman,” the brunette starts, her voice sounding muffled as you help her pull off her shirt, “but you’re actually just a dork!”. You can’t find it in yourself to feel annoyed at her teasing. After all, this was Nika, your crush best friend, the girl that could do no harm in your eyes. 

She continues on rambling as you finish getting her ready for bed. Giggling to herself, the still very tipsy girl plops down on your bed, grabbing hold of your Hedwig plush, wiggling it in your face. You sigh softly with a small smile. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” you laugh. “Nope.” she giggled. “But for what it’s worth… it’s pretty cute… you’re pretty cute.” she mumbles, looking down as a blush forms on her cheeks.

“Yeah?” you muttered, taking a step closer to her, moving a piece of hair behind her ear. “Yeah.” she replies, looking back up into your eyes. While you and Nika flirt with each other all the time, this time feels different. More real. 

You notice how her eyes flicker down to your lips, and for a second you let yourself daydream about how it would feel to press your lips against hers. When the shorter girl leans in, you take a small step back, feeling your heart break a little as a frown forms on her face. “We can’t, Niks” you whisper, taking a step closer again as you grab her hand and give it a light squeeze. “Why not?” she pouts. “Because you’re drunk, and I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.” you answer with a small smile, hoping to soothe her. “I wouldn’t regret it!” she shakes her head with her brows furrowed, “I’ve liked you for ages now, but you’re such an oblivious idiot sometimes!”. 

You open your mouth to reply but close it again, thinking back on your whole friendship with the girl. Maybe all that flirting wasn’t just a joke… Okay yeah, maybe you were an idiot. You grab her face between your hands, leaning in a little to kiss her forehead. “I’m sorry.” you mutter, lips still pressed against the Croatian’s skin. You pull back slightly, seeing her start smiling again, cheeks a beautiful rose color. “Tomorrow,” you promise her, “if you still want this tomorrow, then I swear I will take you on the best date of your life.”. She smiles a big, toothy grin, “Deal Y/L.” You grin back, pulling her over to your bed, already thinking about where you’re gonna be taking her. 

As you both lay face to face, you can’t help but admire her. Her long, beautiful lashes, her pink lips, her cute nose… You think you might be the luckiest girl in the world. 

Nika sighs contently, closing her eyes as she slides one hand over to hold yours while the other slides underneath the pillow. She furrows her brows, opening her eyes again as her hand touches paper. Grabbing the item from underneath the pillow, she lets out a loud laugh. A sudoku. “God, you’re a nerd,” she says with a wide grin. You let out a little laugh, looking at her sheepishly. “but you’re my nerd.” she finishes with a twinkle in her eyes.

Maybe you should thank Azzi for tonight after all.

[magical-reid]

The Mark of Us

Paring: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count: 900

Prompt: 20: I could see the worst parts of you and still think you are the most beautiful person I’ve met.”

Summary: In the cold, shadowed Room of Requirement, Draco Malfoy confronts his darkest self, tormented by his past and the weight of the Dark Mark. Despite his self-loathing, the reader refuses to abandon him, offering unconditional support, and declaring that even in his worst moments, he is still the most beautiful person they've ever met.

The Room of Requirement had conjured itself into a cold, dimly lit space tonight, its walls echoing the weight of the secrets it had witnessed. The usual warm, inviting glow was gone, replaced by shadows that flickered faintly with the low fire burning in a corner. You stood near the doorway, watching as Draco paced with restless energy, his back hunched under the invisible weight he carried.

He hadn’t said much when he’d dragged you here, his hand gripping yours with enough force to make your fingers ache. His silence, normally icy and calculating, was now fractured and sharp, like he was holding something inside that might rip him apart.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said suddenly, his voice rough and flat, the words slicing through the tense quiet.

“Then why did you bring me?” you asked, your tone steady despite the storm building in your chest.

He stopped pacing but didn’t turn to face you. Instead, his head tilted forward, blond hair falling over his eyes. His hands hung at his sides, fingers twitching as if they couldn’t decide whether to curl into fists or stay open.

“Because I’m selfish,” he said after a long pause, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because I wanted—” He cut himself off, shaking his head violently. “Forget it. You shouldn’t have come.”

“Draco.” You stepped closer, heart pounding as you tried to decipher the emotions rolling off him like crashing waves. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. You don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he barked, spinning around. The sheer anger and desperation in his eyes made you take a step back. “You don’t understand, alright? You think I’m someone I’m not. You look at me like—like I’m still worth something. But I’m not. I’m nothing. Worse than nothing.”

You blinked, stunned by the venom in his voice, but even more by the tears that threatened to spill over. “You’re not nothing, Draco. Why would you—”

“Because I’ve done things,” he hissed, his voice breaking, “things that you can’t fix with kind words and blind loyalty.” His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling as if he’d run a marathon. “You don’t know what it’s like to—to hate yourself so much that you can’t even look in the mirror. To know every choice you’ve made has only made things worse for the people you care about.”

“Then tell me,” you urged, stepping closer again. “Let me help you—”

“You can’t!” he exploded, yanking up his sleeve.

The Dark Mark was stark against his pale skin, black and malevolent, twisting like a brand that refused to let him go. It seemed alive in the dim light, a cruel reminder of what he’d been forced to become.

Your breath caught, not in fear, but in heartbreak. Draco’s arm fell to his side, his sleeve still bunched around his elbow as he looked away, jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might crack.

“There,” he said bitterly. “That’s who I am. A coward. A Death Eater. My father’s son.”

He turned his back on you again, his hands trembling. “Do you still think I’m worth saving now? Or do you finally see what everyone else sees?” His voice dropped, hollow and cold. “A monster.”

Your heart shattered at the raw pain in his words. You could see the way his shoulders shook, how he was trying so hard to hold himself together even as he unraveled. The boy who always prided himself on control was breaking right in front of you, and you refused to let him fall apart alone.

You stepped forward, gently placing your hand on his arm. He flinched at the touch but didn’t pull away. Slowly, you turned him to face you. His face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with a kind of despair that made your throat tighten.

“Draco,” you said softly, your voice steady even though your own tears threatened to spill. “I could see the worst parts of you and still think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

He froze, his breath hitching. “You don’t mean that,” he whispered, his tone almost pleading, as if he couldn’t bear the weight of your words.

“I do.” You cupped his cheek, forcing him to look at you even as his eyes darted away, ashamed. “You think this Mark defines you, but it doesn’t. I see you, Draco. Not the choices you regret, not the mistakes you’ve made. You.”

His lips parted, but no words came out. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the walls he’d built so carefully over the years crumbling with every moment you held his gaze.

“I don’t deserve you,” he croaked, his voice breaking completely.

“Maybe not,” you said, your lips quirking into the smallest, softest smile. “But you have me anyway.”

That was all it took. He let out a choked sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh as he reached for you, his arms pulling you close like you were the only solid thing keeping him from drowning. His face buried in your shoulder, and for a long time, the only sound in the room was his quiet, broken cries and the soothing words you whispered in his ear.

“I’ve got you,” you murmured, your hand threading gently through his hair. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His grip on you tightened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself believe it might be true.

[velvetvexations]

Whenever people bring up egg discourse they're often like, "you are acting like we're harassing the poor defenseless men by suggesting they could be a trans woman... Why are you so defensive, it's not bad to be a trans woman, even if the person is really a man they can handle being called an egg" and like, sure... But I feel like they never take into account that it's actually not that unlikely to be a trans guy trying to be stealth (or just minding you own business and not wanting to come out to everyone around you) and have trans-friendly people in your circle look at you, assume they clocked a transfem egg, and decide to comment on it. What happens then when they start making little comments or jokes about how you must secretly be a woman because they "noticed" your alleged feminine vibes, or how you seem to be "suspiciously" interested or knowledgeable about trans topics ? You're put in a shitty position, and if they insist, you might even be forced to out yourself to make them stop because they're convinced they're being soooo woke and helpful. Even if you managed to shut them down early on, you still have to deal with the fact that they really implied they could confidently sense some sort of inner female essence or whatever in you and actually brought it up out loud (even worse if they straight up mention the "signs" they see in you)... Not dysphoria inducing at all ! And it's not some sort of "what if" hypothetical scenario that could never realistically happen (while I haven't witnessed it IRL or anything, I've heard some people mention like, queer acquaintances in a new friend group doing that). Granted it shouldn't be extremely common either but like... The fact that it's a possible scenario should be enough to make people more mindful of their words. Sometimes the "cis" guy with "trans vibes" is indeed trans. In the other direction. That's where you got the trans vibes come from. You can't always tell. It's not about "protecting the poor little cis guys from the mean egg jokes"... Some of y'all are just convinced that someone you assumed was a cis guy could never be a trans guy.

It is also not great to ignore that cis people can also experience gender dysphoria and it's generally not great to hurl around "you must a girl because you're such a girly guy with girly interests" shit for multiple reasons, but unsurprisingly these people also completely forget trans men exist.

[getaandlucius]

A brief taste of honey (Geta love story)

Summary: Lucius has to go to war, Geta waits for him. Lots of angst and fluff and smut.

Previous parts: part 1, part 2, part 3, Part 4, Part 5, part 6, part 7

"You have been distracted, Lucius."

It was early morning, and they were on their way to Aequilum to witness the remnants of devastation left by the Phytians, who had since moved north. Lucius and Marcus rode at the back of the column, while general Mantius led the army ahead.

Lucius frowned. "What do you mean?"

Marcus was silent for a long moment before speaking again. "Listen. You are like family to me, and because of that, I will be honest with you—you're making dangerous choices." He slowed his horse. Lucius raised an eyebrow. Marcus had not spoken to him in such a manner ever and it took him by surprise.

"You know exactly what I’m talking about. I saw what happened back there." Marcus added.

"I’m not following, sir."

"Infatuation, Lucius."

"Are you referring to me and Geta?"

"I am."

Lucius shook his head in confusion. "I did what we agreed was best—keep him alive and present him as an olive branch to the empire."

"Precisely. But that’s not what you’re doing now, is it?"

Lucius grew increasingly frustrated. "I did what I had to do to keep him alive!"

"Yes! Keep him alive, not fall in love with him!" Marcus raised his voice, causing the soldiers ahead to glance back. He immediately lowered it. "Not only have you made yourself an easy target, but now you’ve ensured they have two."

"What are you talking about?" Lucius ordered his horse to a halt. "And who is 'they'?"

"Don’t play ignorant with me." Marcus ground out, his tone sharp. "Look at how they treated your mother and Acasius, knowing how they felt about each other. In the end, both were killed."

Lucius was taken aback by the coldness in Marcus's words, who was clearly not done with whatever he had on his heart.

"Affection is a liability. You simply cannot afford it."

Lucius didn’t know what to say. Pretending he didn’t care for Geta seemed foolish now. Everyone had seen them together. He knew Marcus was right—he had always known, deep down. But he didn’t want to admit it to himself. He had started to care for Geta to a point where there was no turning back.

"And don’t forget," Marcus added, "you yourself mentioned the power vacuum we’re facing now that the twins are off the throne. You’ve read the reports—at least some of them."

The distance between them and the column of soldiers was growing rapidly now they were both standing still. Marcus’s face grew harder, the lines between his brows deepening. "There are rumors of a growing group of supporters from Caracalla and Geta’s realm, people unhappy with the choices you’ve been making. You need to take this seriously, Lucius. You must."

To Lucius, the past weeks had been consumed by preparations for the battle against the Phytians, securing the trade routes—and, admittedly, worrying about Geta. Any additional threat had seemed distant, insignificant. The reports that mentioned such threats appeared to be little more than rebellious murmurs.

Now, Lucius feared Marcus might be right. His concern for Geta had clouded his judgment, causing him to overlook a growing danger.

"In politics, especially in your position, there is no place for adolescent infatuations." Marcus concluded.

Lucius opened his mouth to defend himself, feeling like a child being scolded by his father. But Marcus raised a hand to silence him. "I know you’re not solely to blame. I should have intervened much sooner."

Lucius swallowed hard. His throat felt dry. "Who’s leading this group of the opposition?" He asked, feeling like he should already know the answer.

"We don’t know yet. Most likely someone from the previous Senate," Marcus said. "There doesn’t seem to be a clear motive, which makes it difficult to assess the threat."

Lucius nodded, deep in thought now. "When we return, I’ll ensure a thorough investigation is conducted."

Marcus didn’t respond, clearly still unconvinced. They rode in silence for the rest of the morning. Then Marcus spoke again.

"I have one last question."

Lucius looked up, pulled from his thoughts. "Yes?"

"You must promise to be honest with me."

Lucius nodded.

"To what extent do you trust Geta? How much do you share with him?"

Lucius paused. Physically and emotionally, he was starting to trust Geta with his life. Politically, however, he kept his distance. Perhaps it was the delicate nature of their positions and the way they obtained them, or his doubts about Geta’s political judgment.

"He can be trusted. But I don’t share political matters with him."

"And he doesn’t mind?"

"No."

That was a lie. Geta did mind—especially the lack of freedom in his current position. He hated being treated like a puppet.

"Don’t you think it’s a bit naive to assume that he does not care much, considering he was an emperor of Rome less than half a year ago?"

Lucius sighed, not liking the condescending tone of his advisor. "He does mind. But it’s not what you think. He cares more about his autonomy than power."

Marcus gave him a long, searching look, clearly unconvinced. Lucius, growing frustrated and tired, asked, "Can we drop this for now and focus on the battle ahead?"

Marcus gave a curt nod. "Alright."

They camped that night in Silvanus, a small town nestled beside a dense forest. Soldiers and townsfolk mingled, sharing stories of Phytian raids and the hardships they had endured.

Lucius’s mind remained distracted.

Over the next three weeks, Lucius and Mantius led their troops through a grueling series of campaigns, steadily driving the Phytian forces out of the region. Marcus stayed behind most of the time but joined the strategic meetings every night, helping plan their next moves.

At night, Lucius often lay awake, thinking about Marcus's words—and about home. He missed the comfort of his bed, the luxury of good food, but mostly, he missed Geta’s scent and wakeful pressence. He thought about the softness of Geta’s lips, using those thoughts to smooth away the horrors of battle he’d witnessed that day.

The victories came at a cost—supply lines were stretched thin, and the soldiers endured harsh conditions and relentless skirmishes. But Roman discipline and strategy ultimately prevailed. The Phytians were decisively defeated, their forces scattered. The trade routes were secured, though the cost of victory weighed heavily on the army. It was time to return home and rest.

----

When Lucius finally returned and entered the main hall he noted delighted Geta looked much better. His cheeks were rosy, his skin regained a healthy glow, and the gauntness had almost entirely vanished. He wore a spring-green tunic that dipped low, revealing the top of his midriff still wrapped in white cloth. His movements were more agile now, fluid—closer to the grace he once possessed.

As soon as he saw Lucius, he immediately dropped his breakfast and rushed to him, flinging his arms around his neck.

He pressed his lips to Lucius’s cheek, then dropped his face against his shoulder. "I missed you," he murmured into the fabric.

"I missed you too." Lucius replied, lips against his hair. He was aware of the people around them, not having forgotten the words of Marcus at the start of their journey. Any displays of affection should be limited from now on.

After a long moment he broke the embrace and held Geta by his shoulders.

"You look good," Lucius said, then grinned. "But you definitely need a haircut."

Geta grinned back. "I know." Then his expression faltered as he stared at the bruise on Lucius’s forehead, mostly hidden by his hair.

"You’re hurt," Geta said, concern evident in his voice.

Lucius reached up and gently touched the bruise. "It’s nothing."

Geta pushed his curls back to get a better look at it and shook his head. Then his eyes scanned the entirety of Lucius's body. "And the rest? All intact?"

Lucius smiled. "No broken bones, just some scratches and bruises."

Geta narrowed his eyes, clearly not convinced. Lucius couldn’t help but laugh. He wasn’t used to seeing Geta fret over him. Lucius's absence must have weighed heavily on his mind.

"I’ll see Ravi now. Join me before dinner for the preparations?" Lucius asked.

Geta nodded. "I had some new outfits made for the both of us."

"Made friends with the seamstress, I see?" Lucius said, though not surprised. Geta had always had a knack for surrounding himself with beauty.

"Of course. It’s the most valuable of friendships to make at court." Geta replied, smoothing a hand over the lush fabric of his gown.

After being stitched up by Ravi and cleaned in the bathhouse, Lucius made his way to his private quarters.

Geta was standing in front of the bed, a few gowns spread out on the linen. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and when he turned around, Lucius’s gaze immediately fixed on the scars. They were dark pink but didn’t look bad at all.

Lucius approached him. "They’re healing well," he said.

Geta nodded. "Pius says it’s quite remarkable how well my body is responding so far."

The words melted Lucius’s simmering worry, and he felt instantly lighter. "I’m glad to hear it," he said softly and reached out to trace the skin around the scars with his thumb. Geta’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.

Lucius’s eyes drifted to the gowns displayed on the bed. "So, do tell me, what did you have in mind for tonight?"

Geta pointed. "Gold and white embroidery on ocean blue. It’ll match your eyes."

"And you?"

"The same."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. Geta looked up at him. "It will match with you. That’s enough."

Lucius knew this was the moment to protest, to suggest something practical and unremarkable. But when he looked into Geta’s eyes, the warmth pouring out, he could only nod. He licked his bottom lip. "It’s beautiful."

When they were both dressed—with the help of two servants—Geta sat down on the bed.

"Come here," he said.

Lucius frowned and slowly walked over to the bed.

"Come lie here, lay your head in my lap," Geta ordered gently.

Lucius removed his sandals and climbed onto the bed, then lowered his head onto Geta’s thighs. He sighed deeply. Suddenly, he felt impossibly tired. The ride home had been long, and the emotional weight of the past month—the battles, the mind-games, the stress—came crashing down, pulling him into the bed. He closed his eyes.

Geta’s fingers skimmed over his features, almost as if mapping them. He brushed the pad of his index finger lightly over the bridge of Lucius’s nose, then under his closed eyes, skimming his eyelashes. Finally, he reached Lucius’s mouth. Geta dragged his finger over the seam of his lips, which parted slightly on their own.

"Open wider," Geta demanded.

Lucius briefly complied, allowing Geta’s ring finger to slip inside, making contact with the wetness of his tongue.

Heat pooled in his stomach, but Lucius gently shook his head, his eyes fluttering open. "Not now," he said, his voice thick with desire. "We’re already late."

Geta frowned, clearly disappointed, but he nodded. "Okay, let’s go."

----

The celebrations were lavish, a reflection of the victory that had secured the region. The hall was a blend of gold and rich jewel tones, with candlelight flickering across the marble floors.

The food was plentiful, a feast of roasted meats, fresh fruits, honeyed cakes, and wine that flowed freely from golden goblets. Laughter and conversation filled the air as the nobles and soldiers mingled, exchanging stories and toasts.

Lucius and Geta, both wearing their matching gold and blue garments, stood out amongst the crowd. Geta’s gaze never strayed far from Lucius, his movements synchronized with his every step. It was as if they were tethered together, a quiet understanding passing between them.

"Let’s go outside," Lucius whispered when he noticed the sun beginning to set.

Geta looked up at him, searching his eyes. Lucius kept his gaze on the crowd.

"Wait five minutes, then meet me in the garden by the sculptures," Lucius said.

Geta nodded quickly.

Lucius made his way through the people, politely declining invitations to converse. He exited the hall and entered the garden, the cool June air tinged with the scent of cypress and myrtle. He breathed in deeply as he made his way toward the statues of Venus and Diana, where the last light of the day cast everything in soft hues of honey, yellow, and gold.

It didn’t take long for Geta to appear, slightly out of breath. Though his health was improving, he still wasn’t fully recovered. When he reached Lucius, Lucius immediately took his arm and pulled him into his embrace. He groaned softly, the sensation of having him close feeling more right than anything - anything. His hand slid from Geta’s back up into his hair, pulling his head back to expose the column of his throat. Geta’s eyes closed.

Lucius leaned in, his tongue following a path from his collarbone all the way up to Geta’s jaw, making him moan softly. Geta’s body turned heavier in his arms, weight dropping backward, and Lucius held him tighter. He found Geta’s open mouth and kissed him deeply, exploring with his tongue, swallowing his gasp. Geta pulled back, not to breathe, but to flick Lucius's upper lip with his tongue before sinking his teeth into Lucius’s lower lip. Lucius groaned, letting him continue, his hands slipping under Geta’s fabric, tracing his spine up to his shoulder blades. He arched into him, wanting him closer, skin to skin, the desire nearly overwhelming.

Just as Lucius was about to drop to his knees, voices from behind the cypresses broke his focus.

He straightened instinctively, pulling Geta against his chest, and stepped behind the statues into the dense greenery. They waited there, the air thick with the sound of their breaths. Geta’s heart pounded against Lucius’s chest, his cheek pressed into Lucius’s.

When the voices grew quieter, Lucius loosened his grip and looked at Geta, whose cheeks were flushed, eyes bright and hazy. He licked his lips.

"Let’s go inside before anyone notices we’re gone," Lucius said with a sigh.

---

Lucius let Geta enter the room first while he lingered in the halls, avoiding suspicion. But when he joined the crowd and walked over to their table, Geta was nowhere to be found. Lucius scanned the room, then decided it best to sit down. Minutes passed, then half an hour, but Geta didn’t show up.

Lucius grew concerned. He got up and checked the other tables before moving toward the halls on the east wing. But Geta was not there either.

As the party-goers began to leave, Lucius couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. Ravi hadn’t seen him. Neither had Pius. Even Marcus didn’t know where he had gone.

"Just get some sleep, Lucius," Pius reassured him. "He’ll undoubtedly turn up in the morning."

But Lucius couldn’t sleep. He wandered back to the garden, unable to understand where Geta could have gone in the few minutes between their departure and his return to the room. The garden was dark and empty.

Frustrated, Lucius went to his private chambers and sat on the bed, going over every possible explanation in his mind. He sank into his pillows, exhaustion creeping over him, unaware that Geta was tiptoeing in moments later, careful not to wake him.

Please let me know what you think and if you have any requests! Love to hear your voices. <3

Taglist: @potato1d-blog1, @joan2914

[rechorites]

ao3

The first promise Hermione ever makes to Draco is an innocuous one.

He’s been annoying her all morning: drumming his fingers against his desk; fussing at the tea trolley about being out of cauldron cakes; tapping his quill against parchment in a way that is both highly irritating and also bad for the quill, by the way. They’ve only been working at the Ministry together for three months, still both considered fresh new employees, not yet worthy of any serious projects.

It’s—Well, Hermione’s bored too. If she’s honest.

“Malfoy, I swear, if you just stop making noise for ten minutes, I’ll take you up to the cafe and get you a bloody cauldron cake.”

He shuts up after that, so quiet it’s almost eerie. Hermione finishes reading the report she’s working on (23 mistakes! She’s not sure how any of these so-called ‘managers’ got hired in the first place, truth be told) and puts down her quill.

She tries to forget about Malfoy’s presence, as she always does.

It’s very hard when he’s suddenly looming over her.

“Can I help you, Malfoy?” she asks, not looking up at him. He’s very tall, she’s noticed lately.

“I believe I was promised a cauldron cake.”

Hermione huffs. She was rather hoping he’d forgotten.

“Fine. But we’ve got only got 15 minutes before the meeting with Transportation, so you’d better not dawdle.”

“I don’t dawdle, Granger.” He gives her a smirk.

She gives him a look that she hopes comes off as scathing, and not at all charmed.

They are, in fact, late to the meeting with Transportation.

“Granger, if you send this one owl for me, please…”

The please is tacked on as an afterthought, the sound of it from Malfoy’s mouth unfamiliar in the extreme.

“If I send this owl for you, Malfoy, everyone’s going to get in touch with me about this bloody… shindig.”

“Exactly, Granger.”

She frowns at him. Malfoy had been much less irritating lately, in general, and sometimes she found they actually got along.

“What do I get in return, then?” she asks reluctantly, halfway ready to just send the owl to stop his wheedling.

Malfoy smiles devilishly at her. “What would you like, Granger?”

There are quite a few inappropriate responses she can think of to that question, the way he’s been brushing his hand on her shoulder when he walks past her desk the past few weeks, the figure he cuts in his well-tailored robes. She blushes, and his smile seems to get wider.

“You’ll take Percy’s reports for the next… three weeks,” she says, scrambling for something politic.

“My pleasure.” Not enough of an ask, then.

“…and you can answer every stupid request that gets sent to me for the next week.”

He gives her a confused look. “Do you get many of those?”

She laughs. “Are you serious? Malfoy, I get about five a day. Don’t you?”

“Not a one.” He swings his feet up to the desk, looking at her amused. “You’re not scary enough, Granger. That’s why. I promise that after this week, you’ll never get another stupid request again.”

Hermione purses her lips in disbelief. That’s a big promise.

“I’ll hold you to it, Malfoy.”

---

“For fuck’s sake, Boot, if you come and bother Granger again I’m going to turn you into a Blast-Ended Skrewt and shove you down the lift shaft.”

Hermione smiles behind her cup of tea. Malfoy’s threats had become much more amusing throughout the week, escalating as the array of people who thought she knew everything about everything—which, to be fair, she often did—sent owls, were disappointed, sent more owls, and finally came to visit her when Malfoy’s hastily (and rudely) penned notes weren’t enough.

She’s grown to quite like him, actually.

“Cauldron cake, Malfoy?” she asks, pulling one out of the drawer that she’d brought down earlier from the cafe. The tea trolley on their floor always runs out by nine, and Malfoy was fastidiously on time, never a minute early.

He plucks it out of her hands and sits down heavily on his chair. It squeaks alarmingly.

“Bloody hell, Granger. What is wrong with these people? These—” He narrows his eyes. “These men.”

Hermione sighs. “You tell me, Malfoy. Ever since I started here they’ve sent owls.” She frowns. “I try to be helpful, I mean, it’s good that they’re asking about the Muggle world. But Terry’s dad’s a Muggle, so I’m not sure how he doesn’t know what a helicopter is.”

Malfoy looks at her suspiciously. “Are you—Do you seriously not know?”

“Know what?”

“Granger—” He gives her an odd look, disbelief clouding his handsome features. “They fancy you.”

Hermione snorts, running her quill under a particularly poorly worded statement. “You’re having a laugh, Malfoy.”

“I’m having a—” Malfoy’s eyebrows raised high in vexation. “I’m very much not laughing, actually. All these poor bloody wizards fancy you and you don’t even know it. Salazar, we’ll have to put a note on the door.”

“A note? Saying what? All those wizards trying to woo me, please form an orderly line?” She scoffs. “You’re off your trolley, Malfoy.”

“So you’d be interested, then? If one of them asked you out?” he presses.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Malfoy.” She stops writing. “I mean, I’d probably consider it. No one’s asked me out since Ron, not properly.”

He stares at her again, looking dumbfounded, his blond hair falling perfectly—as usual—and those bloody unfairly long eyelashes wide. He’s got nice lips. Not that she’s been looking.

“Go out with me.” He says it so quickly she almost misses it, her quill scratching to a stop and leaving a big blotch on the page.

“Shit.” She reaches for her wand, wanting to get rid of the mark before it settles through the page. Her brain processes the ink faster than his question, the words only beginning to penetrate once her wand is in her hand.

“Good grief, Granger, it’s not that serious. If you want to say no, just say no, you don’t need to hex me.”

“Hex—Go out—What?” She blinks at him, the page clean once again. Did he seriously just ask—

“Go out with me. Tonight, even.”

Hermione gapes at him rather unattractively for several seconds before shutting her mouth with a click. _“_Malfoy, if this is some kind of joke…”

“It’s not a joke. And even if it was, those tossers will stop owling you if they think you’re dating me, and I did promise, so…” He looks remarkably earnest, all of a sudden, as though he really hopes she might go out with him. Hermione feels something strange happen in her stomach, like she’s swallowed too much butterbeer all at once.

“I—Alright, then.” He grins, this wide, self-satisfied smile that makes Hermione feel—Well. She feels a bit giddy, actually. Lightheaded. She can’t help but smile back, a nervous little thing that feels out of place on her face.

Maybe someone’s poisoned their cauldron cakes.

---

“Hermione! Long time, no see!” calls out Cormac McLaggen from across the Quidditch stand.

Shit. Fuck. Hermione looks around desperately for someone to talk to that might save her from this interaction, but Draco, Ginny and Harry are all playing in the interdepartmental match, and Ron’s off canoodling with Lavender in some dark corner.

She sighs. “Hi, Cormac. How are you?” The players are gathering on the field below, Draco’s blond head talking animatedly to Ginny, presumably in their usual snark. He glances up in her direction, quick, and then looks back. She can’t see from here, but if she had to guess, she’d say he was glowering at Cormac.

They’ve been dating for two months, now. It’s going quite well, she thinks. The thought of it makes cheeks hurt from the want of a smile. They haven’t told anyone officially, yet, and certainly Cormac McLaggen is not going to be the first to know.

He sits down next to her, too close for comfort. She scowls down at his leg.

“You look lovely, Hermione, really nice.” He turns down to the pitch. “Supporting anyone in particular today? Last I heard you’d broken up with Weasley.” Hermione rolls her eyes to the sky.

True to Malfoy’s word, the influx of stupid questions, inquiries, and bother from the wizards of the Ministry had stopped rather abruptly after that week. There were several… rumours (truths, in fact, but that was their business and no one else’s,) circulating about her and Draco that stopped most of them, and the others were quickly dealt with by an Incineration Charm.

She let Draco burn them. He seemed to enjoy it.

“I—I’m here with Ginny, and Harry, and Draco. Why are you here?”

“I’ve just joined the League Headquarters. Would have played, of course, but they said it wouldn’t be fair for the other departments. You know, having a former professional on the team.” Godric, he was such a twat.

Below, they release the balls, the Snitch hovering up into the sky, the players all kicking off to scattered applause. Draco starts circling immediately, eyes scanning. He looks at her every few seconds, and each time he does it sends a shiver down her spine.

“Ginny’s a professional, and they let her play."

“Right. Well, next match, then.”

“Right,” she says doubtfully. Hermione lets the awkwardness linger for a minute, hopeful that it might spur Cormac to piss off. She’s never particularly liked Quidditch, but it’s certainly more enjoyable when you have someone to watch. Draco looks good in his Quidditch robes, truth be told.

He stayed over for the first time last night, and well—She’d rather like a repeat performance.

Cormac clears his throat, and Hermione feels her face twitch in irritation. Suddenly Draco is hovering several feet away, back to them like he’s looking for the Snitch, definitely within earshot.

“Listen, Hermione. If you’re not seeing anyone—”

“I am,” she says abruptly. “Seeing someone.” Draco’s broom tilts up in the air, floating. She can practically see his grin through his perfect hair. She can’t help but smile.

“Oh? Who is it?”

Hermione bites her lip. She should tell her friends first, surely.

But she’s also certain Cormac will absolutely go away right now if she tells him.

“Draco, actually.”

The look on Cormac’s face is so, so worth it.

---

Her left leg is tangled in Draco’s sheets (green, predictably, which she’s teased him about several times already and has no intention of stopping) and his arm is slung across her waist, warm and comforting. She can feel sleep dragging at the corners of her mind.

“Hermione,” he murmurs, low enough that it wouldn’t have woken her.

“Mm?” she replies, eyes still closed.

“Promise me something?” he asks quietly. She tilts her head up so she can look at him through one eye, his hair all mussed and out-of-place, mouth pink.

“You’ll tell me, won’t you? When you get sick of me?” Hermione lets out a huff of air and moves closer to him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Draco.” She opens her eyes fully now, brushing her eyelash against his cheek, a butterfly kiss. “I won’t get sick of you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

[h3r4life]

✧ THINGS TO SCRIPT: TOO PERFECT TO TOUCH, THE LACY EFFECT

“LACY, OH, LACY, SKIN LIKE PUFF PASTRY”

— Your skin doesn’t just glow, it radiates. It’s as though the sun itself has taken a personal interest in caressing your every curve. Eyes stop mid-conversation when you enter a room, their words stumbling and faltering because they’re too busy trying to comprehend how one human being could possibly possess such an otherworldly level of perfection.

— Beautiful and delicate, your skin shimmers like it was made from the finest silk and softest clouds, so impossibly flawless that it almost seems unreal. It’s the kind of beauty that feels too pristine to exist in the same world as the rest of us, yet here you are. And it makes anyone near you feel small, not because you want them to, but because your presence demands it.

— You don’t scream for attention, yet it’s impossible not to notice you, like the moon in the night sky that effortlessly pulls gazes. In the face of such perfection, others can’t help but feel as though they’re standing in the presence of something far more extraordinary than themselves. You don’t have to try. Just by existing, you make the world pause.

“AREN’T YOU THE SWEETEST THING ON THIS SIDE OF HELL?”

— There’s an innocence to you, a sweetness that catches everyone off guard. Most would expect someone as breathtakingly beautiful as you to have an edge, a flaw, something that makes you seem more attainable. But you don’t. It’s like you’re some celestial being, untouched by the world’s cruelty. And that stings the most.

— Others crave to be near you, but something about your energy makes them feel like they’ve entered a world they can never fully belong to. You don’t even try to make them feel this way. You don’t need to. Just by existing in your flawless form, you make them feel like they’re in the presence of something far more extraordinary than they could ever hope to be. They can’t quite figure you out.

— You seem too perfect, too angelic, and in the presence of your sweetness, they can’t help but feel as though they’re fighting a losing battle with their own envy. It’s not that they dislike you. They just wish they could be like you, pure, untouchable.

“DEAR ANGEL LACY, EYES WHITE AS DAISIES”

— Your eyes are like portals to another realm, striking and bright, as if they’ve never known a day of sorrow or doubt. They hold an innocence that feels almost cruel, like the entire world could collapse around you, and you’d still gaze out with that same serene expression.

— When someone looks into your eyes, they don’t just see a reflection of themselves, they see a reminder of everything they’ll never have. Your gaze is gentle, but it’s suffocating in its beauty. It’s the kind of look that makes one feel as though they’re standing at the edge of a cliff, wondering if they’ll ever have the courage to leap.

— The look you give is both vulnerable and yet impenetrable, as if you’ve been crafted from something far more delicate than they could ever hope to understand. In that moment of connection, they feel small, insignificant, as if their very being will never measure up to the clarity you hold inside.

“OOH, I CARE, I CARE, I CARE / LIKE PERFUME THAT YOU WEAR”

— Your presence lingers in the air long after you’ve left, like a fragrance that you can’t quite place but can never forget. The way you move through the world, so effortlessly graceful, yet leaving an emotional trace in your wake, is something that captivates all who cross your path.

— People remember the way you made them feel, like they mattered, like they were seen in a way that most others miss. Your beauty is not just physical, it is spiritual, emotional, a presence that wraps itself around people’s hearts. They can’t help but care about you, care about what you represent. It’s like you’ve tapped into something deeper. An essence that resonates with everyone you meet.

— Your beauty is intoxicating because it makes people feel understood, seen, and valued in a way they’ve never felt before. But it’s not a beauty that asks for validation or attention (thought it attracts it regardless). It’s a quiet, understated power that humbles others. They can’t quite place why they’re drawn to you, but they know that it’s more than just surface-level allure. It’s because you carry yourself with a grace that feels like a gift to the world, and people can’t help but revere that.

“SMART SEXY LACY, I’M LOSING IT LATELY”

— People lose themselves in you, not because you’re trying to make them feel this way, but because you’re so impossibly alluring. It’s the way you carry yourself, the way you combine intellect and sensuality into a presence that’s utterly captivating. Your beauty isn’t just in the way you look, it’s in the way you think, the way your mind works.

— You leave everyone in awe not just of your appearance but of the depth you carry inside you. People get lost in your gaze, your words, your laughter, not because they want to escape, but because they’re so deeply fascinated by everything you are. There’s something almost maddening about being in your presence. The way you make others feel as though they’re not quite measuring up, yet simultaneously making them want to do everything they can to earn your attention, your approval.

— You’re not just a pretty face, you’re an intellectual powerhouse, and people are drawn to you because of the complexity that exists beneath your flawless exterior. You’re the embodiment of the kind of beauty that not only captivates the eyes and soul but stimulates the mind, and that’s a combination that leaves people utterly entranced.

“WELL, AREN’T YOU THE GREATEST THING TO EVER EXIST?”

— You are the epitome of perfection in the eyes of those around you. It’s not something that you ask for or expect. It’s just the reality of your existence. Your beauty is so effortlessly radiant that it leaves everyone around you in awe, and they find themselves comparing themselves to you, questioning how they can ever live up to the standard you’ve set without even trying.

— You don’t flaunt your beauty, you don’t demand admiration, it comes to you naturally, because you embody everything that is pure and untouched by the world’s chaos. People marvel at how effortlessly you glide through life, how everything about you (your physical appearance, your mind, your personality, your spirit) seems like the perfect combination of grace and power.

— Your presence fills every room with a sense of reverence, as if you are a being from another time, another world, and they can only marvel at the way you make the impossible seem so easy. It’s as though you are too perfect to exist in the way the rest of us do, and yet, there you are, living and breathing, walking through the world with an elegance that humbles everyone in your wake.

“LACY, OH, LACY, I JUST LOATHE YOU LATELY”

— Your beauty is a double-edged sword, it’s both a blessing and a curse. People adore you, but they also resent you. The admiration they feel for you is tangled with a jealousy they can’t shake, a jealousy that eats away at them every time they see you.

— You didn’t ask for this effect you have on people, but it’s undeniable. It’s like your beauty intoxicates them, leaving them unable to think straight. They loathe how they feel when they look at you, how their hearts race, how their minds spiral out of control. You don’t even have to try, you’re simply being yourself, and that’s what makes you so impossible to ignore.

— The truth is, they can’t stand the way you make them feel, yet they can’t look away. They despise their own jealousy, but it’s a part of them they can’t control, and it makes them want to be close to you, even if it tortures them. You are the sweetest form of torment, and they’ll never stop yearning for what they can’t have.

“PEOPLE ARE PEOPLE BUT IT’S LIKE YOU’RE MADE OF ANGEL DUST”

— Your beauty is both familiar and otherworldly. There’s something ethereal about you, a quality that makes you feel both of this world and not quite of it at the same time. People try to understand you, try to figure out what makes you so captivating, but they never quite can.

— It’s as if you were made from something beyond human comprehension, like angel dust sprinkled upon the earth to remind us of something purer, something more transcendent. You are, in a sense, untouchable. A divine presence that walks among mortals.

— People see you, and they can’t help but feel a sense of longing, but it’s a longing tempered by the recognition that they will never truly touch what makes you so extraordinary. You exist in a realm of your own, one that others can only glimpse but never fully enter, and that is the beauty that humbles them.

↓ BASED OFF THE SONG LACY BY OLIVIA RODRIGO.

[whereispearlescentmoon]

Drabble about Tango, Pearl, and redstone PPE while I try to be creative again. In which I make up facts about redstone because I love nothing more than over explaining Minecraft mechanics.

——————————————————————————

You would think that working with redstone dust as much as Tango did would make him more lax on the rules but if anything it was the opposite. The stuff was a fine powder that both created and transported electrical signals, and was mildly corrosive on the skin. Redstoner’s Lung was something no one wanted to deal with, and it could cause permanent damage if it got in your eyes. It was his favorite thing in the world and he respected it the same way a sailor can love the sea and know to fear it. When working with any amount of redstone dust, Tango kitted himself out with goggles, a respirator, and gloves. He covered as much skin as possible, pushed the flames that constituted his hair out of the way with a headband, and wore closed toed shoes (not that he really owned much in the way of open toed). And all of this, he felt, was completely necessary.

Not everyone was as cautious as he was. Doc, for one, insisted he didn’t need goggles because of his eyes was bionic, which Tango thought was silly but Doc was too stubborn to convince. X claimed his helmet functioned as a respirator on its own, which to be fair it might. He’d never actually allowed Tango to study its mechanisms despite years of begging. And Etho said his mask did enough filtering that a real respirator wasn’t necessary, which Tango often poked him about. Impulse and Mumbo, at least, shared his same level of care.

Of course, every Hermit needed to do a bit of redstone sometimes. But when they did, they had heard Tango lecturing enough that they knew to gear up lest they face his wrath. Skizz had learned that lesson with a swift “Don’t be that guy” in his first week.

And so, Tango was confused about how this had happened. When guiding Pearl through some basic redstone, a few months ago, he had not thought to ask about whether she had PPE. He gave every Hermit a kit at the start of each season, at least to prevent himself from having to scold people about it. He had seen her using it during his tutorials.

Tango also knew Pearl had worked with redstone a little last season, and most people had seen redstoners work before, Pearl included. She had based right next to Mumbo a couple of servers ago, she had spent tons of time in Decked Out 2 and seen him do maintenance, surely she knew she was meant to be wearing protection when working with redstone dust, right?

So imagine his surprise when he met up with her for a few rounds at Hungry Hermits after she had been “busy” for a few days and noticed that her hands were stained red. A familiar bright red that seemed to glow on skin and was currently coating her fingers and speckled all the way up to her elbows and on her face. To top it all off, she kept coughing into her elbow, a cough he knew wasn’t from a cold.

“Pearl, you haven’t been working on anything recently have you?” She flushed at the question. Ever a poor liar, she stuttered through a response.

“Wha- no! Definitely not!” She began fidgeting with her hair (which he just noticed was also stained red at the ends) in a way that definitely wasn’t suspicious, “No secret projects here!”

Tango tilted his head and sent her a disapproving glare. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked pointedly at her hands.

“Uh huh, but if you were you would be wearing the PPE I gave you, right?” He felt a mix of concern and annoyance at the way she hung her head a little at the question.

“Well, I just,” Pearl was cut off by a cough that made Tango wince. It sounded like it hurt. “I get so caught up sometimes when I realize something is going to work, I just forget!”

“Pearl! That’s super dangerous! You could do real damage if you’re not careful!” All thoughts of playing Hungry Hermits were gone at this point. Did she not realize how serious this could be?

“It’s not that bad! It came off after a few days when I finished Dye-Duction, and the burns healed pretty quickly. I’m sure it’ll be fine this time too,” She sounded defensive, almost offended.

And she had spent weeks in and out of the wires for Dye-Duction, if she had been skimping on the PPE during it then he would have noticed it. Sure, she kept weird hours, but he thought he had run into her while she was working on it at least once. Right? Apparently not.

“That is so not okay, dude. You can do permanent damage if you’re not careful! And don’t think I haven’t noticed your coughing,” As if on cue, Pearl once again let out the kind of painful, throat tearing cough that came with breathing in a mildly corrosive dust. Tango had the passing thought that he should really grab her a water bottle. Her voice was raspier when she spoke next.

“I know that, it’s just that when inspiration strikes you have to chase it, yeah? And sometimes when inspiration strikes, my PPE kit happens to be put away in my farm house when I’m working on the other side of the base. So I just… didn’t wear it,”

Her eyes were shining in the way they did when she got ultra invested in something, the way he had seen her do with both Decked Out 2 and now Hungry Hermits. That made it click for him. It wasn’t that she was being reckless, just that she had probably genuinely forgotten. Pearl, he had learned in the years he’d known her, had a tendency to get obsessed with whatever she was working on. It wasn’t enough for her to casually work on a project. When she got really into something, whether it be a game or a build, she would drop everything to perfect it. Sleep, food, and even other projects tended to fall to the side. He had had to walk her back to her base himself sometimes when she ran Decked Out 2 too many times in a row. Apparently whatever this was had captured that same fervor.

He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated.

“You are so sitting through my power point. This is not okay, Pearl,”

She looked up finally and crossed her arms.

“Fine,” She agreed reluctantly, before titling her head to the side slightly and smiling at him, “but can we at least play one round of Hungry Hermits first?”

[desultory-suggestions]

"It gets better for everyone!" is a insultingly naïve mindset born from luck and having correct circumstances. It factually does not magically ""get better"" for everyone, but people like you get LUCKY and deem that its that way for everyone else, without reflecting that in another life it could have just as easily been different. Are you really going to tell people who have no support system, are in poverty "don't worry because it's JUST your depression making you sad silly!!!". I work with people everyday who have no family, no friends, and can't even begin to dig themselves out of that hole, but I'll make sure to pass on that a 20 year old tumblr user said to "decorate their bedroom" and it'd set them on the fast track to getting better :).

Hello,

I hear what you are saying, and it is clear from your words that you like so many of us have and continue to deal with the incredibly real systemic, chronic, or inherent issues that can make like so exhausting. Most mail like this is sent in the heat of emotional pressure and pain, and I hope whatever it is you are feeling now can be addressed in a meaningful way that supports you.

I thought about giving an answer to this, but it seems obvious to me (and I'd hope to anyone who follows me) that this just doesn't make sense to argue. This blog has never advocated that mental illness or suffering are "silly" or easily fixable, and I have talked candidly and often about how systemic oppression is causing so much of the suffering we are told is all in our heads. I have even talked candidly about how my upbringing, adverse experiences, and struggles with discrimination have effected me.

While many can benefit from the kind of content I share (which is less dense than it used to be, fair!) many will not. Even those who do benefit will still need meaningful help addressing real issues like housing, food, safety, community, etc. Those of us who are able to stop and enjoy a simpler positive post are privileged to do so, and we shouldn't forget that. It doesn't mean we cannot enjoy, support, create, or rely on this kind of content. We all respond to different things, and I know first hand this blog has helped many people. However, we must be conscious of how we can take action to support those around us who need it the most, who are struggling with being unhoused, unfed, unwelcome, unloved.

I am sorry that whatever post you saw sparked so much frustration for you, but I think you already know that not everything is for everyone. Some people are helped by the "little things" and that is wonderful. Of course it never has and never will mean we should ignore the big ones.

Best,

Evan

[hrizantemy]

Her name was Taryn.

Nesta had learned that much, though she hadn’t bothered to ask at first. It had just come to her one night, somewhere between the second drink and the steady hum of the music in the background. Taryn had introduced herself easily, but that was about all she gave. There were no stories, no explanations, just a quiet presence that seemed to stretch out into the space around them.

And Nesta hadn’t pressed. Not for details, not for more than what was offered. She wasn’t one to pry, especially into someone who had mastered the art of silence the way Taryn had. They didn’t need words to fill the gaps. The tavern’s music spoke enough for both of them, and in the stillness between their conversations, Nesta found an unspoken understanding.

Taryn didn’t talk much about herself either, and in that silence, Nesta had come to appreciate it. They both had their walls, their secrets. Neither of them seemed inclined to tear them down. Sometimes, when Nesta would glance over at Taryn, she would catch that glint of something behind her eyes—something old and knowing. But Taryn didn’t press either. She had her own past, a quiet one that Nesta had no interest in unraveling.

It was an odd sort of companionship, the two of them sharing the space without the need for constant conversation. Neither of them asked questions they weren’t prepared to answer, and in that, there was a strange comfort. They shared the same unspoken understanding: there were things you didn’t need to explain, not when you were already carrying so much.

So, they sat in silence often, watching the night unfold with the music as the only conversation between them. Neither of them bothered to ask why the other was there. Neither of them needed to.

Nesta had long since assumed that Taryn came to the tavern for one of two reasons: to drink or to go home with someone. It was what most people did, after all. The tavern was full of people seeking fleeting comfort, whether it came in the form of a drink or a companion for the night. Yet, Taryn didn’t fit into either of those molds.

She barely drank, always nursing her glass instead of downing it, a contrast to the usual faces that crowded the bar. Her movements were measured, calm, as though she had no real need to escape or forget, unlike many of the others who came to drown their troubles. Taryn’s consumption was almost ritualistic—an occasional sip, a slow swirl of the liquid in her glass, but never enough to abandon control. She was deliberate, thoughtful, as though she had no desire to lose herself in the haze that so many others craved.

And when the night ended, when the music faded and the crowd began to thin, Taryn always left alone. Nesta had watched this countless times—the quiet exit, her back straight and her steps sure, as if she was already on her way to something far more important than whatever was happening inside the tavern.

It was strange to Nesta, the way Taryn moved through the world with such purpose, yet seemed so… untethered. She had expected to see her approach someone, to watch her flirt with a stranger or get lost in a conversation that led to a bed. But it never happened. Taryn didn’t leave with anyone. She just went home by herself, night after night, no strings attached, no attempts at distraction.

Nesta didn’t quite understand it, not at first. It felt unnatural—everyone came to places like this for some kind of escape, didn’t they?

Nesta had long since figured out that Taryn preferred the company of women. It wasn’t something that had come to her immediately—it wasn’t like Taryn wore it on her sleeve—but as time passed, certain things became clear. The way her gaze lingered on women more than on men, the subtle shifts in her demeanor when a woman entered the tavern. It wasn’t overt, but Nesta could sense it, a quiet energy that surrounded Taryn when she spoke to them, an ease that never quite appeared with men. It was something that Nesta had noticed, and, after a while, she couldn’t deny it.

One night, after enough drinks had dulled the sharp edges of her thoughts, Nesta found herself asking the question that had been sitting on the tip of her tongue for weeks. Her words slurred a little, but there was a certain curiosity behind them that couldn’t be ignored. She asked, almost without thinking, “You prefer women, don’t you?”

Taryn had raised an eyebrow at the question, but there was no hesitation in her response. She simply nodded, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. “I do,” she said, her voice low and unbothered.

Nesta expected something—an uncomfortable pause, maybe, a feeling of rejection or some sort of judgment, but nothing came. There was no judgment in Taryn’s eyes, no moment of awkwardness that made Nesta feel small. It was just… a fact. Something simple, and Nesta had found herself surprisingly unaffected.

She thought she would be offended, that some part of her would react as if Taryn’s admission was something that needed to be dissected or questioned. But it wasn’t. There was no anger, no surprise, just a strange calmness that settled over her, as though Taryn’s truth didn’t change anything between them. It didn’t matter. Taryn didn’t owe her an explanation, and for once, Nesta didn’t feel the need to dissect every detail of it.

After Nesta had figured it out, something began to stir in her thoughts. Night after night, when the tavern was quiet and the music had faded into the background, her mind would return to Taryn and what she had said. Taryn preferred women.

It wasn’t something that Nesta had ever really thought about before, at least not with any depth. She hadn’t been around women like that, not in the way Taryn was. It wasn’t that she disapproved, or even felt disgusted—it was just… foreign to her. Nesta didn’t really understand how someone could love a woman the way Taryn loved them. She couldn’t grasp the feelings, the pull that must have existed there.

She had known attraction—men, their rough hands and demanding gazes—but women? It wasn’t something she had ever considered. How did it feel to want another woman the way she had wanted men, to feel that same fire, that same need? The question lingered in her mind like a dull ache, but Nesta didn’t know how to answer it. She hadn’t experienced it herself, hadn’t felt that longing for someone of the same sex. It made her wonder if there was something wrong with her, or if she was just missing some piece of the puzzle that Taryn had seemed to find so easily.

The confusion would wash over her in waves, late at night when she was alone with her thoughts and the empty glass in her hand. She didn’t understand it. How could someone fall for someone of the same sex, when everything in her had always told her it was supposed to be a man who sparked that desire?

But still, there was no judgment—just curiosity. She wasn’t offended by Taryn’s preferences, but a strange kind of distance remained. It was as though she were on the outside of something, unable to fully comprehend it, even though she wanted to.

Some part of her, deep inside, was disgusted—not with Taryn, but with herself. It wasn’t something she could admit, not even to herself at first, but it gnawed at her. The confusion, the curiosity, the questions—it all circled back to something darker, something deeper.

There was a part of her that felt a strange shame, not for Taryn’s preferences, but for her own inability to understand them. It made her feel… small, as if there was something wrong with her for not being able to accept this part of the world so easily. She wasn’t repulsed by Taryn, not at all. No, it was the way Taryn’s reality highlighted a flaw in her own. A flaw that she wasn’t ready to face.

Nesta had always prided herself on understanding things—on having a handle on what was right, what was wrong, what made sense. She had always known the rules, the roles, the expectations. But this? This was different. It made her feel as if she were somehow behind, unable to catch up with the rest of the world. There was nothing wrong with Taryn, but there was something wrong with her for not immediately understanding it. She hated that she couldn’t just accept it without questioning everything, without feeling like there was something missing inside her.

It wasn’t just confusion. It was shame, like she wasn’t enough—like she was the one who didn’t fit, who couldn’t keep up with what felt like an endless flow of new realities and experiences. She didn’t know if this was something that was wrong with her, or if she simply didn’t belong in this world where there were so many shades of gray she couldn’t even begin to color in.

And the worst part? She couldn’t bring herself to admit it. Not to anyone. Not even to herself in full honesty. So, she buried it, just as she buried so many other things. But it was there, lurking beneath the surface, and every time she saw Taryn, every time she thought of how easily Taryn moved through the world, it stung a little more.

Nesta found herself at the bar again, seated beside Taryn, a drink in hand. She wasn’t sure what brought her here this time. Maybe it was the music, maybe it was the feeling of drowning in the chaos of her thoughts, or maybe it was something about Taryn that made her feel a bit safer, even when her mind was a tangle of contradictions.

The drink was strong, just like the last time, and as it burned down her throat, something in her cracked open. The questions that had been bubbling inside her for weeks, the confusion, the shame, the disgust—everything that had been building up inside her suddenly felt like too much to keep quiet. She couldn’t stop it. It tumbled out before she could even stop herself.

“How… how do you like women?” The words came out blunt, unrefined, as if she didn’t even care how they sounded. The alcohol had loosened her tongue, and now the question hung in the air between them, raw and uncomfortable.

Taryn turned to her slowly, her gaze steady. There was no judgment in her eyes, just a quiet kind of understanding, something that made Nesta feel exposed. She could feel the heat rising to her face, the vulnerability settling into her bones. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but now that it was out there, she couldn’t take it back.

Taryn didn’t immediately answer. She took a sip of her drink, her expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, she spoke, her voice soft, almost gentle.

“It’s not something that’s easy to explain,” Taryn said, her tone thoughtful. “It’s not about how you like someone, it’s just about who you’re drawn to. It’s not about logic or reason… it just is. And that’s enough.”

Nesta swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Taryn’s words settle deep inside her. It didn’t quite answer her question. It didn’t give her the clarity she had been hoping for. But there was something about the simplicity of it that made her feel… lighter.

Taryn’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, and then she gave a soft, almost imperceptible shrug. “It’s not about having to explain it to anyone else, either. It’s about what feels right for you.”

Nesta took another drink, trying to process the words.

Nesta stared into her glass, swirling the drink as the silence stretched between them. The music in the background seemed to blur into a distant hum, and her thoughts ran wild, chaotic as always, trying to piece together what she couldn’t understand. There was still something gnawing at her, some question that had lingered in her mind ever since she had asked Taryn how she could like women. The question, so simple but so tangled, wouldn’t leave her.

She glanced at Taryn, her lips pressed into a thin line as the words formed in her mind. It wasn’t a question she’d ever thought she’d ask, but the weight of it was too heavy to ignore.

“Have you… ever wanted men?” The words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them. She didn’t know why she was asking. She didn’t know if she was prepared for the answer, but it was there, and she couldn’t push it back down.

Taryn didn’t flinch, didn’t even seem surprised. She just regarded Nesta with those steady green eyes, as if she had been expecting this question all along. Her fingers rested on the edge of her glass, her thumb tracing a pattern absentmindedly.

“Once,” Taryn said quietly, the word soft but lingering in the air. “A long time ago. But it was never the same, never what it should have been. I thought it was, but I was just trying to convince myself.” She paused, the briefest shadow crossing her face before her expression smoothed again. “It wasn’t real. Not for me.”

Nesta didn’t know how to respond to that. Part of her felt relief, but another part of her, the part that had been taught to look for logic, for reason, felt unsettled. How could it have been so clear to Taryn? How could she know so fully? Nesta hadn’t even started to figure herself out, let alone something like that. She couldn’t understand what it felt like to desire something different from the world she knew, from the expectations she had been raised with.

Nesta’s thoughts drifted back to the human lands, to the world she had come from. The world of strict rules, of things expected of her, of the roles she was supposed to fill, the people she was supposed to be. She thought of her mother, of the old traditions, of the whispers that ran through the halls of their estate. The idea of deviating from what was “right” had never really been a possibility for her—until now.

It wasn’t even about wanting to understand it. There was a part of her, deep down, that wanted to push it all away, to close her mind and shut off the curiosity. She couldn’t even explain why. The idea of being with another woman—the thought felt foreign, as if her mind recoiled at it instinctively, as if the concept itself was something wrong, something forbidden. It was so deeply ingrained in her, this fear of being different from what society expected, from what she had grown up knowing.

In the human lands, they had rules—rules that told you who to love, who to marry, who you were allowed to be. Her mother had made sure she understood that. “A woman’s place is with a man,” her mother had said, a reminder as harsh as the walls that had caged Nesta into her place, into the role she was supposed to fit. Her mother had always tried to push her toward the ideal match, toward the right kind of man, the one who would give her a future she didn’t even want. And the thought of anything else—anything different—had always been wrong.

Nesta’s chest tightened as she thought about it. It wasn’t about Taryn. It wasn’t about her at all. It was the world she had come from, the world that had shaped her. The idea that something other than a man could be right, could be enough, felt like betrayal. The weight of that shame pressed on her, and she found herself questioning: Was something wrong with her for even thinking about it?

The very thought made her feel small, like she was doing something dirty, something shameful. She didn’t want to admit it. She didn’t want to acknowledge that there was a part of her—hidden, deeply buried—that felt that way, that recoiled against the idea of being with a woman. Her heart raced as if the very thought would tear apart everything she had ever known about herself.

She swallowed hard, trying to push the feelings away. She could never have said it aloud—not even to Taryn. It was too much. Too foreign, too uncomfortable. It felt like it would unravel her, like it would expose something broken in her, something twisted that shouldn’t exist.

Nesta’s mind spiraled back to her mother—the woman who had molded her, who had carved out her place in the world for her, a place that always involved a man. Her mother’s teachings, her expectations, had been so clear, so concrete. There had never been room for anything else. Nesta had been raised to believe that her worth, her purpose, lay in pleasing the men around her—whether it was her father, the suitors she’d been pushed toward, or, later, Cassian.

She thought of Cassian then. His strong, comforting presence, the way he seemed to always be there, as though he were the anchor to her storm. She’d felt something for him, or maybe it was just the relief of finally having someone who didn’t look at her with disdain. He’d taken her by force, claimed her as his own in every sense of the word, and for a long time, Nesta had convinced herself that that—him, his touch, his dominance—was the only thing that mattered. It wasn’t love, not really, but it was what she had come to expect. It was what she knew.

She thought about her mother’s words, about the unspoken pressure to marry, to produce heirs, to keep the line intact. Men, men, men. It was all men. Every lesson, every expectation. That’s what she had been raised to understand: that women were supposed to belong to men, to be shaped by them, molded by them, loved by them. But when Nesta thought about it now, all she could feel was the tightness in her chest, the frustration, the resentment. She wasn’t sure if it was the men or herself she hated more, because somehow she felt complicit in it all. She let them define her, let them use her, let them claim her, even when it made her feel empty inside.

And now, she sat here, with Taryn, who was the opposite of all those expectations, who didn’t want a man at all. It made Nesta’s mind spin. How could someone—someone like her—be different? How could a woman choose to love another woman? It felt like an intrusion on everything she had been taught, like a rejection of her very existence. The very idea of it, of choosing a woman, felt so foreign and wrong, even if Nesta knew in her heart that Taryn wasn’t broken, wasn’t flawed.

It was her mother’s voice in her head, the disapproving glare she’d have if she knew. It was the legacy of generations of women who had never been given a choice, whose only purpose was to serve men.

As the silence stretched between them, Nesta couldn’t shake the feeling that Taryn might be able to see right through her, to the ugly thoughts lurking beneath the surface. She felt a cold knot twist in her stomach. What if Taryn knew? What if she could somehow read Nesta’s mind, understand the internalized disgust, the way her brain rejected this idea of women loving women?

Would Taryn hate her for it? For the part of her that recoiled at the thought? For the way she had been taught to see things in such narrow, rigid lines—men, women, roles, rules? The part of her that had tried to bury everything she thought she knew about herself, to keep it locked away so no one could see just how deeply confused she was by this new world she was stumbling into.

The thought gnawed at her. Taryn had never pushed, never tried to make Nesta feel anything other than comfortable, but Nesta couldn’t help but wonder if Taryn would look at her differently if she knew what was really running through her mind. Could she still see her as someone worthy of her company, or would she see the disgust, the shame?

The last thing Nesta wanted was to lose the only person who hadn’t looked at her like she was broken—who hadn’t looked at her like she was someone to be fixed, or worse, to be discarded. Taryn had made no judgment, offered no expectations. But now, Nesta felt like a fraud. Was it even possible to be around someone like Taryn without being honest with herself? Would Taryn hate her for thinking she wasn’t even capable of understanding who she truly was?

The weight of it all settled in her chest, the fear and the shame wrapping around her, tightening with each passing moment. She had come here, night after night, trying to numb herself, to forget. But now, she had no choice but to wonder if, deep down, Taryn could see her for what she truly was: a woman who didn’t even know herself enough to trust her own thoughts, a woman scared of everything she felt, of everything she was.

The night she’d run, it had felt like everything had collapsed on her. She had been suffocating under the weight of her own thoughts, the fear, the shame, the uncertainty. The silence that had stretched between her and Taryn had felt suffocating, and for the first time in a long while, Nesta had wanted to scream, to lash out at something, at someone. But instead, she had done what she always did when things felt too much—she ran.

Her feet had carried her out of the tavern before she even knew what she was doing. She hadn’t said a word to Taryn, not a single syllable, even as she saw the confusion in her gaze. She had just turned and fled, not caring where she went, just needing to escape. Escape from herself, from the thoughts she couldn’t stop, from the feelings she couldn’t control.

After that night, she hadn’t returned. Not once. The thought of walking through the door again, of facing Taryn, of facing herself, had felt impossible. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let herself go back there. What if Taryn saw the truth? What if she knew how broken, how lost Nesta really was? What if she saw how much she hated herself, how much she despised everything she had come to believe about herself, her desires, her place in the world? It was easier to just avoid it all, to pretend she had never gone to the tavern in the first place.

So she ran. It was the only thing she knew how to do. When things got too hard, when the weight of it all became too heavy, she ran. She ran from the pain, from the thoughts she couldn’t escape, from the guilt that seemed to follow her everywhere. She ran from herself, because it was easier than facing the truth.

Each night, she found herself staying away from the places that once felt like a refuge, from the people who might see through her carefully constructed facade. The tavern had been a place of escape, a place where she could lose herself in drink and company, but now it was just another reminder of how far she had fallen, how much she was drowning in her own mind.

And so, Nesta kept running. From everything. From the woman who had never asked her for anything more than to be herself. From the very thing she was too scared to understand. And, most of all, from the person she might become if she ever stopped long enough to look.

One night, after weeks of running, Nesta had found herself standing at the edge of a decision. She had tried to convince herself it was time to stop hiding, to stop running. The pull of the tavern had been too strong, and there, amidst the warmth and the laughter, she had found herself looking at a woman, someone who seemed to gaze at her with an openness that stirred something deep inside her—a feeling she couldn’t name, something that felt raw and unguarded. It was tempting, too tempting to push away.

She had approached, hesitant but curious, the sharp edge of her emotions still cutting through her resolve. The woman had smiled, and they had shared a drink. The conversation had flowed easily, and Nesta felt a strange, fleeting connection. She had told herself it was just a drink, just a conversation, that it didn’t have to mean anything. But in the back of her mind, she knew it was more. She wanted it to be more.

When the woman leaned in, her breath warm against Nesta’s skin, she didn’t pull away. It had felt so easy, so natural in the moment, and she had thought for a second—just a second—that maybe, just maybe, this was how it could feel.

But when the woman’s hands had touched her skin, when their lips had met, everything had shattered.

It wasn’t the woman’s fault. It wasn’t even her fault. But as the kiss deepened, as the heat of her touch spread through Nesta, a wave of discomfort hit her, too strong to ignore. The hands on her body felt wrong—too familiar, too foreign at the same time. The lips, the warmth, the taste—it all blurred together into something unnatural. Her stomach twisted, her chest tightened, and her mind screamed for her to stop.

And then the voices came. The voices she’d tried so hard to push down, to ignore. You were never meant for this, they whispered, cold and harsh. This is wrong. You’re not supposed to want this. You’re not supposed to be like them. Her mind, once so clouded by drink, now seemed crystal clear, every word sharp, every fear magnified. She heard her mother’s voice, distant but unmistakable—You are a disappointment. A failure. Do you really think they’ll accept you? The voices of men from her past, from her childhood, echoed next—You were made for a man. You’ll never be enough for anything else.

Her chest tightened painfully as she shoved the woman away, her hands trembling as she backed off, unable to breathe through the storm of thoughts and shame that overtook her. She felt trapped in her own skin, like every part of her was screaming at her, telling her she had done something unforgivable. That she had crossed a line she couldn’t uncross.

Nesta didn’t even say anything. She just turned and ran.

She couldn’t explain it, not even to herself. The kiss hadn’t been bad—it wasn’t the woman’s fault. It was her own mind that had betrayed her. She could still feel the heat of the woman’s skin against hers, but all she could hear were the horrible things in her head, the accusations and judgment she had spent so long trying to bury.

The guilt felt suffocating, the rejection of herself complete. She had wanted to give in, to let herself feel something different, something that was hers. But the moment it became real, her mind spiraled into chaos. The whispers of everything she had been taught, of everything she was supposed to be, consumed her.

Nesta had retreated into the dark confines of her apartment, the world outside fading into a blur she no longer wanted to confront. She barely left anymore, choosing to stay in the silence of her own misery. Each day bled into the next, a cycle of self-loathing and numbness. She had stopped even pretending to care about the world beyond her door. It was easier this way. Easier to hide from everyone, from everything, from the part of herself she didn’t understand and feared.

The apartment had become her refuge, but also her prison. The walls closed in on her, suffocating, but it didn’t matter. It felt like the only place she belonged now, the only place she could hide from herself. She spent her days numbing the pain—drinking, sleeping, avoiding. It was a hollow existence, but it was all she had.

Some nights, as the darkness crept in, Nesta found herself wishing she could disappear entirely. If she stayed here long enough, isolated and buried under her own guilt, maybe the world would forget about her. Maybe the whispers in her head would finally fade.

She had no real desire to live anymore. The constant weight of everything—the shame, the confusion, the fear—felt too heavy to bear. If she was lucky, maybe she’d wake up one day and find that it was over. That she had disappeared without a trace, like she had never existed at all.

But she didn’t die. Not yet. So she kept hiding, kept suffocating in the quiet, hoping for something—anything—to end it. The thought of dying seemed almost comforting. It would be easy to slip away, to not have to feel anymore, to not have to face the parts of herself that made her want to run and hide.

The knock at the door came suddenly, breaking the silence that had swallowed her whole. Nesta froze for a moment, sitting on the edge of her couch, eyes fixed on the door. For a heartbeat, she convinced herself it was Cassian. Maybe he was finally here to tell her how horrible she looked—how pathetic she had become. He would taunt her with some sharp, sarcastic comment, maybe even drop some well-meaning remark about how Feyre had been concerned, about how her family was worried for her. He might mock her for staying holed up in her apartment, running away from everything, expecting a comeback from her, some biting response to make him feel justified in his judgment.

It would be just like him.

Her heart pounded in her chest, not from fear but from the dread of facing him—of hearing him look down on her again. The thought of seeing his face made her stomach churn. What did it matter if he came? He wouldn’t understand. He never did.

But then the knock came again, louder this time, pulling her from her spiral. She gritted her teeth and stood, her legs shaky as she walked toward the door. Her breath hitched in her throat, and for a moment, she considered ignoring it. Let whoever it was think she wasn’t home. Let them go away.

But the knock persisted, and against her better judgment, she turned the handle.

When the door creaked open, it wasn’t Cassian standing there.

It was Taryn.

Nesta tensed, every muscle in her body tightening as she stood in the doorway, staring at Taryn. Her mind screamed at her to close the door, to retreat back into the safety of her isolation. She didn’t need this. She didn’t need anyone seeing the mess she had become, seeing how far she had fallen. But for some reason, her feet didn’t move, and she found herself staring into Taryn’s calm, unwavering gaze.

“What do you want?” Nesta asked, her voice harsher than she intended. Her stomach twisted with unease, but Taryn didn’t flinch.

Taryn tilted her head slightly, a faint, knowing smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “Company,” she said simply. “I thought I’d come by, see how you’re doing.” She paused for a moment, as though weighing her words carefully. “If you don’t mind.”

Nesta’s heart pounded in her chest. She felt the walls of her apartment pressing in, felt the weight of every empty bottle, every wasted night, all of it hanging heavy in the air. She wanted to slam the door in Taryn’s face, tell her to leave, but she couldn’t. Something held her there.

Taryn didn’t look disgusted or appalled by the mess—she didn’t even flinch when her eyes scanned the room. Her expression remained the same: calm, open, unbothered. Nesta almost wished she would say something—anything—that would make this easier. But instead, she just waited, quiet and patient.

Nesta swallowed, her voice coming out almost a whisper. “How did you know where I lived?”

Taryn didn’t seem surprised by the question. She simply shrugged, her eyes never leaving Nesta’s. “You’re not as hard to find as you think,” she said, her tone light, teasing. “I pay attention.”

The words hung in the air, and Nesta felt a strange, uncomfortable shiver run down her spine. She couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was that made her so hesitant, so conflicted. Was it the fact that Taryn had found her so easily? Or was it the way she made Nesta feel—like someone cared, like someone was actually willing to step into her mess without turning away in disgust?

Nesta didn’t answer right away, her thoughts a tangle of confusion and something she couldn’t quite name. She should send Taryn away. She should shut the door, lock it, and forget this ever happened.

But then she felt herself step aside, the door opening just enough for Taryn to slip past her. A part of Nesta wanted to stop her, but she didn’t. She couldn’t.

“Fine,” Nesta muttered under her breath, almost to herself. “You can come in.”

Taryn gave a quiet nod, stepping into the dingy apartment with a grace that almost made it feel less suffocating. She didn’t comment on the state of the place, didn’t judge Nesta as she thought she would. Instead, she simply walked in, her presence calm, her eyes taking in the room without speaking. It was as though she had seen it all before.

Nesta closed the door behind them, the weight of the decision settling heavily in her chest, but she didn’t regret it. Not yet.

Taryn’s voice was soft but certain as she glanced around the cramped apartment, her eyes landing on Nesta. “Are you hungry?”

Nesta almost wanted to laugh at the question. Hunger felt like an impossible thing to focus on—so distant, so unimportant compared to everything else swirling in her head. She shook her head, her voice dismissive as she replied, “No.”

But as soon as the word left her mouth, her stomach growled—loud, unrelenting, betraying her in a way that made her wish she could disappear into the floor. She flushed, embarrassed, but tried to hide it by crossing her arms tightly over her chest, looking away.

Taryn didn’t miss it. Her gaze softened, a small, knowing smile curling at the corners of her lips. “Alright then,” she said, as though it were no surprise. “I’ll make something. You look like you could use it.”

Nesta wanted to protest, wanted to tell her she didn’t need anything, but Taryn had already turned toward the kitchen before she could voice another word. Nesta stood frozen for a moment, watching her. She didn’t know why Taryn had decided to stay, why she seemed so determined to take care of her when Nesta had been doing nothing but pushing everyone away. The kitchen was barely big enough to be called a kitchen, just a small counter and a stove with cabinets that had seen better days. Nesta knew there wasn’t much in the cupboards. A few cans of vegetables, some dried pasta, maybe a bottle of sauce if she was lucky. She hadn’t made much of an effort to restock lately.

She rubbed her face, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling on her shoulders. Why does she care?

Taryn, though, didn’t seem bothered by the small, threadbare apartment. She walked over to the counter with a calm, purposeful air, and as she started pulling out ingredients, her movements were fluid, practiced—like someone who had done this countless times before. It made Nesta feel awkward in contrast, as if her own existence in this space wasn’t enough. She had no idea why Taryn would want to be here, but a part of her was too tired to question it.

Nesta moved toward the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe as she watched Taryn work. Her mouth felt dry, her stomach protesting as the scent of something delicious began to fill the air. It wasn’t much, just a simple meal, but the warmth of it felt like something she hadn’t experienced in far too long.

Taryn turned to Nesta, her hands steady and sure as she set a plate in front of her. The dish was simple—scrambled eggs with soft, buttery potatoes and a side of fresh herbs sprinkled over the top. There was something rustic about it, nothing extravagant, but the way the steam rose from the plate and the rich smell of the food made Nesta’s stomach growl again.

She looked at the plate, unsure how to react. It wasn’t much, but it was the kind of thing that someone would make for you because they cared, not because they were obligated. The warm yellow of the eggs, the golden crisp of the potatoes, and the fresh green herbs dotted on top—it all seemed so foreign to her now. She hadn’t felt like she deserved something like this in ages.

Taryn stood back, watching Nesta’s expression carefully, her eyes calm but knowing. “Eat,” she said quietly, her voice soft but firm. “You need it.”

Nesta hesitated for a moment, still unsure of what to make of it. She didn’t want to accept kindness. She didn’t want to let anyone see her weakness. But as she sat there, the hunger that had been gnawing at her for days surged forward, her body demanding attention. She slowly picked up the fork, her fingers trembling slightly as she brought a bite to her mouth.

The food was simple, yes, but the warmth of it was like a balm to the raw, hollow ache inside her. It was comforting, in a way she hadn’t realized she needed, and despite herself, she found herself taking another bite.

Taryn, who had sat across from her with her own plate in hand, simply watched her with a quiet understanding. There was no judgment in her gaze, only something that felt like patience, like she knew this was just a small step.

But it felt bigger to Nesta—like a crack in the wall she’d built around herself.

As Nesta set the fork down, her stomach full but still tight with an uncomfortable mix of hunger and unease, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The silence between them stretched for a moment, and just as she thought she might breathe easier, Taryn’s voice broke through it, soft but unyielding.

“I know what happened,” she said, her gaze unwavering, eyes steady on Nesta.

The words hit her like a blow to the chest, and immediately, Nesta’s stomach twisted. Her breath caught in her throat, the sudden rush of nausea threatening to push everything she’d just eaten right back up. She couldn’t swallow. She couldn’t breathe. Her pulse raced, her skin feeling too tight, too warm.

The last thing she wanted was to talk about it. She didn’t want to relive it, didn’t want anyone to know the ugly things she’d buried in her past, things she hadn’t even let herself acknowledge until now. She should have seen it coming—Taryn was perceptive, too observant for her own good. But hearing those words from her lips was like standing on the edge of a cliff, with the wind howling in her ears, ready to push her over.

Her hands shook as she gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady herself. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nesta forced out, her voice strained, cracking under the weight of the lie.

But Taryn didn’t push her. Instead, she sat back in her chair, quiet, waiting for Nesta to meet her gaze, her expression calm, almost unreadable. The silence stretched, and Nesta felt her chest tighten, her heart pounding painfully. She couldn’t even look at her—couldn’t stand the thought of being seen so completely, so raw.

She wanted to run. She wanted to hide. She wanted to disappear. Instead, all she could do was breathe, shallow and quick, as the room seemed to close in around her.

“I’m not going to force you to talk,” Taryn said softly, her voice gentle but firm, like she knew Nesta needed that space.

Taryn’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but it felt like a lifeline in the thick, suffocating silence. “It’s okay,” she said, her tone steady and warm. “You don’t have to be okay right now.”

And then something cracked inside Nesta.

The words weren’t anything special—they didn’t offer a solution or make any promises. But the way Taryn said them, with such quiet understanding and no expectation, it was enough. It was enough to tear away the facade Nesta had been holding together for so long, enough to let the tears fall. She wasn’t ready for it, didn’t even know why it was happening, but suddenly there was no stopping it.

Her breath hitched, the dam inside her breaking, and before she could even think, the tears spilled over. She didn’t make a sound at first, just blinked rapidly, trying to suppress the feeling of weakness, of being so exposed. But it didn’t help. The tears kept coming, faster now, like a storm she couldn’t control.

And still, Taryn didn’t say anything more. She didn’t reach for Nesta or try to comfort her in some grand, overbearing way. She just sat there, still and patient, letting Nesta cry, letting her feel what she’d been holding inside for far too long. There was no judgment in her eyes, no pity. Just a quiet acceptance, like she understood, like she knew that sometimes, it wasn’t about fixing things—it was just about being there.

Nesta wiped at her eyes roughly, but the tears didn’t stop. She felt embarrassed, humiliated even, but something in her—some part that had been broken for so long—was unraveling. She hadn’t expected it, hadn’t known she needed it, but the simple act of letting someone in, letting someone see the cracks, felt like a release. It felt like freedom.

Taryn didn’t rush her, didn’t try to say anything else. She just stayed silent, her gaze soft but unwavering, like she was giving Nesta the time she needed, even if Nesta didn’t know how much time that would be.

She just let her cry.

And Nesta didn’t stop.

Tag list: @litnerdwrites

[transgenderer]

i have a pretty poor episodic memory and a constant feeling like ive forgotten something so i really like writing stuff down. and it has me thinking about how, if you don't have constant casual access to writing material (or, in modern times, a camera, etc), the past is weirdly ephemeral? i'm constantly forgetting things i did on such and such a day, or having only a hazy memory, and then i can go in my phone's photo roll, or check what i was blogging that day or whatever, and have some sense of it's occurrences. which is really weird! almost everyone ever, large swathes of people today, their personal past only exists in memory! which is like, the least reliable thing there is! it seems like it would feel rootless. but modern people don't seem more rooted in the past than people used to. maybe our memories have just gotten worse?

[talxe]

Reading the Iliad, Book 9 thoughts

This is my first time ever reading it and I know next to nothing abt greek mythology so if I interpret anything wrong by all means pls correct me

Im reading the Robert Fagles translation

Here's the thing with Achilles. It is not enough for him to know he's the best, everyone else has to know it too, BUT even that's not enough. They cannot ever forget it AND they have to worship him for it. AND that's his fucking problem Achilles is SICK okay????😭

Like wtf

LITERALLY, no one is still upset abt what happened between Achilles and Agamemnon except Achilles.

Anyway Agamemnon summons all the important ppl on the Greek side, (Nestor, Odysseus, ppl like that)

Once they all get there Agamemnon starts bawling his little Greek eyes out bc shit is looking bleak

So Agamemnon says "fuck it, let's go home NOW."

Diomedes is like "Look man you've been kinda pissy at me buuuut ur a good leader or whatever so I think there's still a chance for the odds to be in our favor, but go home ig bc me and my men are staying until Troy falls."

Diomedes how does it feel to be Homer's fav??

Nestor decides they just need to make it through the night bc the Trojans are so close to their camp that they're neighbors atp

Nestor sits Agamemnon down and goes "What you did to Achilles was actually not cool and we really need him rn so you need to make things right."

AND AGAMEMNON actually agrees????? I still don't like him but this was super mature of him. It seems like despite his temper even he knows when he's in the wrong, unlike some other people.

Agamemnon lists off A BUNCH of shit that he's going to give Achilles. I started smiling bc the list just kept going.

He offers his own daughter for marriage, 7 women from lesbos, 20 Trojan women, and all the treasure his ships could carry. (there's more but this is the more important.)

Plus Berseis

Agamemnon says he'll swear an oath that he never slept with Berseis too.

Achilles gets all of this if he stops being angry and fights

So Ody, Ajax(Greater), Phoenix, and two heralds go to speak with Achilles

Achilles and Patroclus are just chilling as Achilles plays his stupid ass lyre

Patroclus mentioned♥️♥️♥️

When they see the group approaching, Achilles stands up and says "Omg I really missed up guys lol."

Like bro....

PEOPLE ARE DYING???

Achilles and Patroclus play host for the group and they all eat.

Achille is really happy to see his friends

So Odysseus starts trying to convince Achilles to re-join the fight

Achilles starts ranting abt how he's done everything but Agamemnon keeps the lions share of what they bring back

Then he goes on to talk abt how he loves Berseis only for her to be snatched away

Basically, he says no and then Achilles says "I will leave at first light."

KNOWING DAMN WELL HE'S NOT GONNA LEAVE. STOP LYING

Achilles is so weird to me. You're not going to accept the gifts, you're not going to leave, but you're going to fight either??? WHAT DO YOU WANT THEN???? He's sulking like a child

Then Achilles says "I don't want his shitty gifts and even if his daughters rivaled Aphrodite in looks I still wouldn't want them, and he can keep Berseis."

...........hello???

Phoenix starts trauma dumping but he tells Achilles that he's being disrespectful.

I think Phoenix tells the story (you know the one) of Meleager and Cleopatra. and Achilles is like "okay be quiet."

The group goes to leave, and Ody says that it's silly Achilles is doing this all over one woman.

But at this point it's not abt Berseis anymore and I don't think it ever was.

Achilles tells them that he won't fight until Hector gets so close that he's up their asses

I love finding out why Achilles is an asshole