#Her every step is defined by this end point and always will be and always has been and it's haunting her so fucking bad

[seafoam-taide]

I love love love my dear Entropy I think about her all the time I love her <33 I have to write about her she is always in my thoughts. Don't click these tags open unless you really want to read them there is . There's lots. THERE WERE TOO MANY IT KILLED SOME OF THEM. WHY DIDN'T IT TELL ME TAG LIMIT I KEPT TYPUNG !!! That's so sad and I can't even put the rest that I typed up here bc I forgot it already because my brain fucking sucks. Whatever whatever whatever rahggg beams Entropy thoughts directly into your brain you know exactly what I mean now

[melanchoire]

UNLOCKED DOOR, LOCKED HEART ──── yu jimin.

── ( 🩷 ) years after being falsely accused of perversion, you walk in on your unclothed girlfriend, forcing you to confront your ingrained anxieties and rewrite a narrative defined by shame and misunderstanding.

pairing. soft dom!girlfriend!karina x sub!loser!fem reader

warning(s). cunnilingus, nipple play, praise titsucking.

word count. 3,4k

author's note. the request for this fic is right here.

the scent of jasmine and something vaguely expensive clung to the air as you stood outside karina’s apartment building. you pressed the buzzer, the metallic chime echoing in the sterile lobby. “hey, babe! door’s unlocked, come on up!” you take a deep breath, smoothing down the front of your shirt. this is it. you’re going to karina’s apartment, again. it’s been six months since you two started dating, and your heart still does a little flutter every time you see her name on your phone.

you push open the heavy glass door of the building and step into the opulent lobby. everything about karina’s life is opulent. her clothes, her car, this building… it’s a far cry from the cramped apartment you share with two roommates. you’ve never felt particularly envious of her wealth, but it does occasionally highlight the differences between you. you, the quiet, reserved girl with a past you’d rather forget, and her, the radiant, effortlessly charming social butterfly who seems to glide through life without a care.

the elevator ride is short, but your palms are already starting to sweat. the polished chrome reflected your anxious face back at you, the faint fluorescent light highlighting the shadows under your eyes. you always felt like an imposter in karina’s world, a world of sleek modern architecture, designer clothes, and effortless confidence. you, on the other hand, felt like a faded photograph, a relic from a past you desperately wanted to forget.

you step out onto the plushly carpeted hallway and find karina’s door ajar, just as she said. taking another deep breath, you push it open further and step inside.

“karina?” you call out hesitantly, your voice barely a whisper.

no answer. you close the door behind you and step further into the apartment. it’s even more breathtaking inside than you remember. floor–to–ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the city, and the furniture looks like it belongs in a magazine.

that’s when you see her.

karina was standing in the living room, a goddess sculpted from steam and silk. her skin, flushed from the shower, glowed under the soft light. water droplets clung to the ends of her dark hair, cascading down her shoulders. and she was completely, breathtakingly naked.

your breath catches in your throat. time seems to warp and distort. you feel a jolt of panic, a cold wave washing over you that threatens to pull you under. she hasn’t seen you yet, still reaching for a fluffy white towel on the armchair.

she turned, a wide smile gracing her lips. “hey! i just hopped out of the shower.” she reached for a plush towel lying on the arm of the sofa, casually wrapping it around herself, but the image was already seared into your mind.

but you’re not smiling. you’re not even breathing properly. your breath hitched. the world seemed to tilt on its axis. a familiar panic surged through you, cold and clammy. your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of the room. this wasn’t supposed to happen. you weren’t supposed to see this.

the memories slammed into you like a tidal wave. the whispers, the snickers, the pointed fingers in the hallways of your high school. the accusations thrown at you like stones, the constant feeling of being watched, judged, and found wanting. “lesbo.” they’d hissed, “pervert.” you’d become a pariah overnight, defined by a sexuality you hadn’t even fully understood yet. every glance felt like an accusation, every touch a potential violation.

you had become meticulously careful, hyper–aware of your surroundings, of your own body, of the invisible boundaries you felt compelled to erect. you avoided the women’s locker room like the plague. you walked with your head down, trying to disappear into the background. you flinched at casual touches.

and now, here you were, confronted with something so raw, so intimate, that it shattered the fragile peace you had painstakingly constructed.

karina’s smile faltered as she saw the look on your face. her brow furrowed with concern. “hey, are you okay? you look… pale.” she took a step towards you, her voice soft and gentle.

every nerve ending in your body is screaming at you to run, to disappear. you stumble backward slightly, your hand instinctively reaching for the doorknob. “i… i should go," you stammered, your voice barely a whisper.

you can’t speak. your throat is constricted, your lungs refusing to cooperate. you shake your head weakly, trying to communicate the unexplainable knot of anxiety that has taken root in your chest. shame burns in your cheeks. you’re supposed to be her girlfriend, not a frightened child.

karina closes the distance between you, her eyes filled with genuine worry. she reaches out and takes your hands, her touch warm and grounding. you flinch slightly, but she doesn’t let go.

“hey, look at me.” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “it’s okay. it’s just me. you’re safe here."

her words, simple as they are, cut through the fog in your mind. you open your eyes and focus on her face, on the genuine concern etched in her features. she’s not judging you, not laughing, not disgusted. she’s just… worried.

“i… i…”you stammer, struggling to find the words. “i’m sorry. i just… i panicked."

karina squeezes your hands. “it’s okay, baby. you don’t have to explain. just breathe with me."

she demonstrates, taking a deep, slow breath and holding it for a moment before releasing it. slowly, laboriously, you start to breathe again. the panic begins to recede, replaced by a heavy wave of exhaustion. you lean into karina’s touch, drawing strength from her presence.

karina’s expression softened, becoming even more tender. she understood. somehow, she understood. “hey, it’s okay," she soothed, reaching for your hand. her fingers were warm and reassuring against your cold skin. "it’s okay. come here.”

she led you to the sofa, gently guiding you to sit down. she knelt in front of you, her eyes filled with compassion. “what’s wrong? talk to me.”

finally, you manage to find your voice. “i… i have some bad experiences…” it comes out barely audible.

karina waits patiently, not pushing you to elaborate.

you take another deep breath and begin to tell her. you tell her about high school, about the casual cruelty and the constant fear of being exposed. you tell her about the rumors and the whispers, the feeling of being ostracized and vilified for something you couldn’t control–something you didn’t even fully understand then. you tell her about the locker room incident, the false accusations, the feeling of being branded as a pervert. you tell her about the years of hypervigilance, the constant anxiety that still lingers in the back of your mind.

as you speak, karina listens intently, her eyes never leaving your face. there’s no judgment in her gaze, only compassion and understanding. when you finally finish, breathless and emotionally drained, she pulls you into a warm embrace.

karina listened patiently, her gaze never wavering. when you were finished, she reached out and brushed a stray tear from your cheek. “oh, honey.” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “i had no idea. i’m so sorry you went through that. you didn’t deserve any of that."

you looked down, ashamed. “i should have told you.” you mumbled. “i didn’t want you to think… think i was like that.”

karina cupped your face in her hands, forcing you to meet her eyes. “hey.” she said firmly. “look at me. i don’t think that. i’d never think that. i know you. i know you’re kind and gentle and wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

her words were like a balm to your wounded spirit. you felt a tiny spark of hope flicker within you. maybe, just maybe, you could learn to trust again. maybe, with karina, you could finally let go of the fear that had haunted you for so long.

“you know you can always tell me anything, right?” she says softly. “i’m here for you, always. and i’d never, ever judge you.”

you nod, tears streaming down your face. “i know.” you whisper. “it’s just… hard."

“i understand.” she says, wiping away your tears with her thumbs. “but you don’t have to go through it alone anymore. i’m here to help you carry that weight."

she leaned in and kissed you, a soft, tentative pressure against your lips. it was a chaste kiss, a promise of something more. you closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the moment.

her lips parted slightly, inviting you to deepen the kiss. your instincts screamed at you to pull away, to run back to the safety of your own world. but something held you back. the warmth of her touch, the sincerity in her eyes, the unwavering belief she had in you.

you tentatively kissed her back, your movements clumsy and unsure. you had karina really kissed anyone before, not like this. karina seemed to sense your hesitation and took the lead, guiding you with gentle hands.

her tongue traced the curve of your lips, sending a shiver down your spine. you opened your mouth slightly, allowing her to deepen the kiss. the world around you faded away, replaced by the sensation of her soft lips on yours, the warmth of her breath against your skin.

your hands, still trembling, reached up and tentatively touched her face. her skin was soft and smooth beneath your fingertips. she moaned softly against your lips, and you felt a surge of heat course through your body.

you didn’t know what you were doing. you were completely lost, adrift in a sea of new sensations. but you knew that you wanted this. you wanted her.

karina broke the kiss, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “easy there.” she teased, her voice breathy. “we have all the time in the world.”

she took your hands in hers and placed them on her waist. “like this.” she murmured, her voice husky. “feel my body. let yourself enjoy it.”

your hands trembled as you explored the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips. you felt her shiver beneath your touch, and a thrill of power coursed through you.

“don’t worry, baby, i’ll teach you everything you need to know. by the time i’m done with you, you’ll be a pro at making girls scream in ecstasy.”

she crooked a finger at you, beckoning you closer. “come here, sweetheart. let me show you how to touch me…”

as you approached, karina took your hand and guided it to her breast, encouraging you to squeeze the soft flesh. her nipple pebbled under your palm, the rosy bud begging for attention.

“start by worshipping my tits.” she instructed breathily. “use both hands, don’t be shy. get acquainted with every inch of them.”

not knowing what to do really, you slowly take her breasts in your hands, feeling the weight of them on your palms. “they’re… uhm, nice.”

karina let out a soft moan as your hesitant hands cupped and squeezed her breasts, your touch sending pleasant shivers through her. she covered your hands with her own, guiding you to knead and caress the ample mounds with more confidence. she reached up and showed you how to circle her stiff nipples with your thumbs, applying a teasing pressure. another breathy moan escaped her lips as you clumsily mimicked her actions.

“mmmh yes, just like that, baby. you’re a natural.” she encouraged breathlessly, her back arching slightly to push her chest further into your touch. “don’t be shy. grab them tighter, pinch and pull at my nipples. i want to feel that cute mouth of yours all over them too.”

she released your hands and leaned back, watching you intently through half–lidded eyes darkened with lust. your fingers found her nipples, rolling and tugging at the stiff peaks. karina gasped and bit her plump lower lip, looking utterly debauched.

“that’t it, baby. now, lean down and put your mouth on them. cover my nipple with your lips and suck, use your tongue to swirl around it.” karina tangled her fingers in your hair, pushing your face further into her cleavage as she arched her back, pressing more of her soft flesh into your mouth. her breath came in short, eager gasps as she felt your inexperienced but enthusiastic exploration of her body.

karina gasped and arched her back slightly as your warm mouth enveloped her sensitive nipple, your tongue beginning to swirl and flick around the hardened nub. she tangled her fingers in your hair, guiding your head as you suckled and lapped at her breast. “oh fuck yes—, just like that.” she purred, pushing your head more insistently against her chest. “suck on my tits, baby. put that pretty mouth of yours to work.”

as you tentatively suckled and licked at her nipple, karina squirmed beneath you, her arousal growing. she held your head in place, encouraging you to lavish attention on her breasts.

“you’re a quick learner.” she praised breathlessly. “keep going, baby. use more of your tongue, flick it against the tip. make me feel good.” she pushed your head down, encouraging you to take more of her breast into your mouth. her other hand came up to grope and knead the neglected mound, pinching and rolling the nipple between her fingers.

karina’s thighs began to tremble slightly, a dampness building between them as your inexperienced but eager ministrations stoked the fires of her arousal. she could feel her pussy throbbing, aching to be touched and filled.

she released your hair and tapped your chin, urging you to lift your head and look at her. “do you want to learn how to make a girl feel good?”

she sat up and spread her legs wider, revealing her glistening folds. the scent of her arousal was stronger now, filling your nostrils and making your head spin with desire.

“come closer, baby. get on your knees.” karina commanded, her voice low and breathy. she used two fingers to spread herself open, exposing her pink, pulsing hole. “start by kissing up my thigh, nice and slow. get me nice and worked up.”

her eyes locked with yours, burning with lust and hunger. she licked her lips, beckoning you closer with a crooked finger. “then find my clit with that clever tongue of yours. suck and lick it just like you did my nipples. i want to feel that hot mouth all over my pussy.”

karina leaned back on her elbows, her chest heaving with anticipation. her eyes never left yours as she waited for you to obey her command and begin your sensual journey up her thigh.

karina shuddered as your soft lips trailed kisses along her inner thigh, your mouth leaving a path of tingling heat in its wake. she let out breathy little moans and sighs, her fingers curling in your hair as you worked your way steadily upward.

“oh fuck, baby.” she whimpered, squirming slightly. “your mouth feels so good. don’t stop, baby. keep going until you reach the top.”

as you drew closer to her glistening center, the musky scent of her arousal intensified, filling your senses and making your head swim with desire. your heart raced as you caught sight of her swollen, slick folds, just begging to be tasted.

karina spread her legs even wider, giving you full access to her most intimate area. she used two fingers to spread herself open, revealing her pink, pulsing hole and the stiff little bud at the apex.

“go on, sweetheart.” she breathed, her voice trembling with need. “find my clit with that hot little mouth of yours. suck on it, lick circles around it. make me feel good."

her chest heaved with anticipation, her full breasts rising and falling rapidly. she gazed down at you with hooded, lust–filled eyes, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. the air between your face and her dripping sex was charged with electric tension, the promise of pleasure hanging heavy.

karina let out a sharp gasp as your tongue made contact with her sensitive flesh, her hips bucking slightly at the sudden jolt of pleasure. she tangled her fingers tighter in your hair, holding you firmly in place as she grinded your face against her dripping sex.

“fuck yes—!" she cried out, her head falling back against the couch cushions. “just like that, baby. suck on my clit. put that wicked little tongue to work.”

spurred on by her encouragement, you focused your attention on the stiff little bud, circling it with the tip of your tongue before suckling gently. you swirl your tongue around the stiff bud, flicking and teasing it mercilessly. karina’s thighs trembled and clenched around your head, her arousal coating your chin and dripping down your neck. you could feel her pulse racing beneath the slick skin as you lapped and suckled greedily.

“your tongue feels incredible.” karina panted, her hips undulating in time with the strokes of your tongue. “don’t stop, sweetheart. lick up all my juices. i want to feel that hot mouth all over my pussy.”

you delved your tongue deep into her fluttering channel, fucking her with the slick muscle as you continued to suckle her clit. karina’s moans grew louder and more desperate, her grip on your hair tightening painfully. the obscene sound of your slurping and sucking filled the room, mingling with her wanton cries.

“yes, yes, yes! oh fuck, i’m gonna come!” she nearly screamed, her body tensing and quaking. “make me come on that pretty face. don’t stop!”

karina’s body went rigid, her back arching sharply off the couch as her climax crashed over her like a tidal wave. she threw her head back and let out a guttural, primal scream of ecstasy, her inner walls clenching and fluttering wildly around your plunging tongue.

“oh shit, yes! i’m coming so hard!” she wailed, her juices flooding your mouth and dripping down your chin. her fingers pulled harshly at your hair, holding you in place as she ground her spasming sex against your face, riding out the intense waves of her orgasm.

you continued to lap and suckle at her sensitive flesh, prolonging her pleasure as her honey gushed into your mouth. the taste of her essence was intoxicating, sweet and tangy, addictive in its uniqueness. you couldn’t get enough, greedily swallowing every drop as it coated your tongue.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, karina collapsed back onto the couch, her chest heaving and glistening with a sheen of sweat. she went limp beneath you, her thighs falling open and her legs dangling over the edge of the couch. Her eyes were glazed and unfocused, a blissed out smile on her kiss–swollen lips.

“oh my god.” she panted, her voice ragged and hoarse. “that was… fuck, that was incredible. you’re a natural at eating pussy.”

she reached down and stroked your cheek with a trembling hand, smearing some of her juices across your skin. her touch was gentle, almost reverent, as she gazed at you with a mixture of awe and lust.

“did i do it right? was it good?”

karina grinned wickedly as you came up for air, her eyes sparkling with mischief and satisfaction. she wrapped her arms around your neck and pulled you into a searing kiss, her tongue plundering your mouth and tasting herself on your lips.

“good? baby, you were fucking incredible.” she purred against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip. “I haven’t come that hard in a long time.”

she rolled you both over so that you were lying on top of her, your breasts pressing against hers. karina’s hands roamed your back, squeezing and caressing your curves as she held you close.

“i knew you were a keeper from the moment i first saw you.” she murmured, her lips brushing against your ear. “such a sexy little thing, with your pretty face and hot body. i’m so glad i made a move on you.”

her hands slid down to grope your ass, kneading the firm globes and pulling your hips flush against hers. you could feel the heat of her skin, still flushed and tingling from her intense orgasm. karina’s eyes flashed with renewed lust as she gazed up at you, a devilish grin on her face.

“you know, we’re just getting started, sweetheart.” she said with a wicked chuckle. “i’ve got so much more in store for you. tonight is going to be a long, pleasurable experience. i’m going to take away your fear of being around girls."

[lightwise]

Omega is not okay

I know we've all been over the moon about Crosshair and Hunter's dynamic in The Return, but I want to draw some attention to Omega in this episode, and something that I think Joel Aron is trying to draw attention to with his lighting choices.

Omega is not okay.

Joel has made pointed out many times that he loves doing reveal lighting (think the overhead light in Crosshair's cell or on the freighter at the end of A Different Approach giving him a halo, or how Hunter stops short of the overhead light on the Marauder before stepping out to greet Omega). And throughout this whole episode, the light is breaking over Crosshair and bathing him in warmth more and more. He is slowly returning the light and coming home to his family.

Omega, however, in nearly every single scene in this episode, is in shadow.

Yes, her hairstyle is contributing to the fall of light on her face, and yes, she has her hat on while they're on Barton IV. But this is showing that her psychological state since they escaped Tantiss is uneasy, at best, and very conflicted and darkened, at worst. Even when she wakes up in the comfort and safety of the Marauder, she is shrouded in shadow. And even in scenes where the light wraps around and highlights Crosshair's face, Omega's is kept harshly defined, and she is often looking away from the "camera".

Even when we see her somewhat happier at points in this episode, usually due to watching her brothers reconnect, her face is not as well lit as theirs.

Omega kept her positivity and optimism at the forefront while she and Crosshair were in prison, and throughout most of their escape. It's what we most associate with her--being a ray of sunshine and encouragement for those around her. Now, however, she has the opportunity to relax a bit, for the adults to be handling certain things, and the trauma and perspective shift that she has just gone through is coming to the forefront.

Her survivors guilt, her shock at not being the only female clone, her confusion and questions over who she is and why she is so important, the cruelty she's seen Hemlock be capable of, and her continued empathy for anyone who is suffering is all swirling around in her in ways that she doesn't know what to do with yet. Yes, she has seen much suffering in the galaxy already in her short life, and has always been adamant about her need to help others. But ultimately it had never impacted her like this. Until now.

Crosshair has been broken and remade by his experiences. Omega is being broken and remade by hers as well. And I'm not sure the boys fully realize just how much yet.

Omega refuses to be left behind. She feels responsible for the fact that the rest of the clones are still on Tantiss. She feels guilty that she could have a chance at a life still and they don't. She feels an all-encompassing need to help them if she can, even though she is still young and vulnerable. This is ultimately going to conflict with Hunter's desires to keep her safe and hidden. Echo has already chosen the fight. Wrecker is willing to go wherever he's needed. Crosshair has been through too much to not be willing to fight back however necessary.

Hunter is going to eventually realize that while Omega is still a child, and does need to be protected, at the same time, her own sense of responsibility is going to eventually supersede his desires.

Echo and Crosshair especially will be able to understand some of what she is feeling and hopefully help guide her through it. Hopefully, Omega will be able to reconcile who she is, what she is capable of, and what is outside of her ability to fix, sooner rather than later. But it's safe to say she will never be the same after this. At least she has a little bit of reprieve before facing whatever is next.

[pbaz7]

AGAINST THE TIDE: PART EIGHT

paige x azzi

word count: 3.5k

A/N: I’m sorry 😔 it’s necessary for the plot. It’s also kinda all the other writers fault because they broke my heart too many times with their updates recently so I was being a masochist. Leave some live reactions and I’ll make it up to you before the weekend is over.

—————————————————————————

September 2022

It had been a whirlwind of a few months for Paige. Between tearing her ACL during a pickup game in August and spending weeks avoiding everyone—including Azzi—things had been rough. At first, Paige couldn’t stand to be around anyone, the weight of her injury crushing her spirit. She didn’t understand why this kept happening to her. The most she could manage was sitting silently on FaceTime with Azzi, who didn’t push, didn’t prod—just sat there on the other end, offering quiet support.

Eventually, Paige started to miss her. Not just the quiet presence on the phone, but Azzi herself. She missed her laugh, her teasing comments, and the way she always seemed to know when Paige needed someone to hold her together. She knew she wouldn’t get better by sulking, so she started physical therapy. Azzi, of course, was by her side every step of the way, cheering her on through the grueling sessions and sneaking in snacks when she thought the trainers weren’t looking. One day Paige even pointed out that Azzi didn’t have to sneak her snacks, she could just give them to her and Azzi shushed her saying it was no fun that way.

The connection between them was undeniable, and as soon as they were back to spending every moment together in person, they fell right back into their old habits—flirting, teasing, and, inevitably, sleeping together. They had been doing that a lot since that night in the Jeep.

Now, their situationship was as confusing as ever. Best friends, friends with benefits, something more—they didn’t bother defining it. What mattered to Azzi was that they were together in some way, even if it wasn’t official.

The team’s popularity had skyrocketed since their championship run, with Paige’s popularity growing right along with it. It seemed like every time they went out, someone stopped her for pictures or autographs. Paige always said yes, her natural charisma making her a magnet for attention. Azzi usually found it amusing—until recently.

She’d never considered herself a jealous person before, but watching people fawn over Paige had started to get under her skin in ways she didn’t want to admit. Paige always teased her about it when they got back to their room, whispering in her ear about how she only had eyes for Azzi. Those moments usually ended with clothes scattered across the floor and all frustration Azzi had prior completely gone.

Tonight, the team was at Ted’s, their usual hangout spot. Paige, still on crutches, sat at their table while Azzi headed to the bar to grab them drinks. Insisting that she didn’t want Paige hobbling across the crowded room.

While waiting for the bartender, Azzi glanced back toward the team’s table—and froze. Three random girls had surrounded Paige, their body language a little too friendly for her liking.

One of them leaned in, her hand brushing against Paige’s forearm as she laughed at something the blonde said. Another one tossed her hair over her shoulder, clearly trying to get Paige’s attention. The third girl just stood there, starry-eyed, hanging on Paige’s every word, though Paige wasn’t saying much.

Paige just smiled and nodded as they spoke, her natural charm working its magic even though she wasn’t meaning for it to.

Paige’s gaze suddenly shifted, locking with Azzi’s from across the room. A slow, knowing smirk spread across her face as if she could feel the possessiveness simmering behind Azzi’s dark eyes. She winked, and Azzi’s jaw clenched.

Azzi grabbed their drinks from the bar, her grip tight around the glasses as she made her way back. When she reached the table, one of the girls noticed her approach and immediately lit up.

“Oh my god, you’re Azzi, right? Paige’s teammate?” she asked, her tone overly friendly.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, placing the drinks down. “Yeah. Teammate,” she replied coolly, slipping into the seat next to Paige—closer than necessary, her shoulder brushing Paige’s.

Paige looked over, biting back a smile at Azzi’s obvious claim of space. “Thanks, Az,” she said lightly, reaching for her drink.

The girls, undeterred, continued talking over one another, their eagerness to capture Paige’s attention almost comical. Paige didn’t lean into it, but she didn’t shut it down either, her polite demeanor keeping the conversation going.

“So, Paige,” one of the girls said, a playful edge to her voice. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Before Paige could respond, Azzi froze beside her, her grip on her drink a little tight.

“No,” Paige said simply, her tone casual.

Azzi scoffed, the sound loud enough to draw Paige’s attention. Paige glanced at her briefly, her expression unreadable, before turning back to the girls. “Not really looking, though,” she added.

Azzi opened her mouth, ready to make a smart comment, but before she could, one of the girls leaned in closer to Paige. In her attempt to get Paige’s attention, the girl bumped Paige’s injured knee.

Paige winced, her hand immediately going to her leg. The sharp intake of breath she let out wasn’t loud, but it was enough to make Azzi snap.

“You need to be careful,” Azzi said, her voice a little tight, cutting through the noise around them.

The girls all froze, surprised by the sudden shift in Azzi’s tone. She glared at them, her usual calm replaced by an edge of irritation. “I think you guys should go,” she said, her voice low and laced with a little venom.

The three exchanged glances, murmuring awkward excuses and apologies to Paige as they shuffled away, leaving Paige and Azzi alone at the table.

“You didn’t have to scare them off,” Paige said, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice as she reached for her drink.

Azzi turned to her, her gaze softening as it dropped to Paige’s knee. “You okay?”

Paige nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’m fine. Didn’t know you were so protective.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair. “Someone has to be, considering how much you clearly love the attention.”

Paige chuckled, leaning toward her. “Only yours,” she whispered, her voice teasing.

Azzi’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile, her earlier anger melting away as Paige’s words settled between them.

…

The night continued with its usual buzz, but Paige and Azzi remained in their corner, the tension between them slowly dissolving as they sipped their drinks. They’d fallen into their familiar rhythm, laughing and leaning close as they talked about everything and nothing all at the same time.

That was, until another woman approached their table, her sights set squarely on Paige. Azzi noticed her immediately—the confident stride, the deliberate way she positioned herself in Paige’s line of sight, and the overly friendly smile she flashed.

“Hi,” the woman said, her voice smooth as she directed her attention toward Paige, completely ignoring Azzi. “I just wanted to say I’m a huge fan. You’re incredible on the court.”

Paige, immersed in her conversation with Azzi, looked up, her expression polite but distant. “Thank you,” she said, her tone kind but not inviting.

The woman didn’t take the hint, shifting closer as she spoke again. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but if you ever have time, I’d love to pick your brain about basketball. Maybe over some dinner sometime?”

Azzi’s jaw tightened, and Paige caught the subtle shift in her posture. Without missing a beat, Paige reached for her drink, her free hand brushing against Azzi’s under the table.

“Sorry, but I’m not really looking for anything these days,” Paige replied smoothly, her eyes flicking briefly to Azzi before settling back on the woman. “But I appreciate the support.”

The woman hesitated, clearly not expecting the polite rejection, before finally backing off with a forced smile. Once she was out of earshot, Paige let out a soft sigh and turned to Azzi.

“Alright, I think that’s our cue to call it a night,” Paige said, standing carefully and grabbing her crutches.

Azzi stood as well, her expression still unreadable, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward. “Yeah, before I have to fend off another one.”

Paige laughed, leaning on her crutches as they made their way out of Ted’s. The cool night air greeted them as they stepped outside, and Azzi stayed close, her hand lightly brushing Paige’s arm every so often as they walked to the car.

When they got back to Paige’s apartment, the teasing smile was back on her lips as she closed the door behind them. She turned to Azzi, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You know,” Paige began, her voice low and playful, “I think it’s cute how jealous you always get.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the slight blush creeping up her neck betrayed her. “I wasn’t jealous,” she said, her tone defensive but unconvincing.

Paige grinned, stepping closer until they were nearly chest to chest. “Really? Because it definitely felt like it when you tensed up anytime somebody looked at me.”

Azzi crossed her arms, though her resolve was clearly slipping. “I was just protecting my teammates space,” she said, though the way her eyes softened as she looked at Paige said otherwise.

Paige leaned in, her lips brushing Azzi’s ear as she whispered, “I can show you why you don’t need to worry about nobody else.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, her arms falling to her sides as she looked at Paige, her expression caught between exasperation and anticipation.

“Fine,” she muttered, her voice barely audible. “But you better make it convincing.”

Paige smirked, her eyes darkening as she pulled Azzi closer. “Oh, I will.”

…

The next morning Paige stood in Azzi's room, leaning on the edge of the dresser as she pulled on her shirt. The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of fabric. She glanced at Azzi, who was seated on the bed scrolling through her phone, and decided to fill the silence with something she had been thinking about.

“I was thinking we could check out this spot downtown,” Paige began casually. “It’s got these cozy booths, good food—kinda intimate but not over the top. I think you’d like it.”

Azzi’s head looked up, her brow furrowing. “That sounds like a date, Paige.”

Paige shrugged as if the words didn’t sting. “Nah it doesn’t have to be a big deal. We can just grab some food.”

Azzi set her phone down, her voice a little firm. “Just because we don’t call it a date doesn’t mean it won’t feel like one.”

Paige’s jaw tightened, the easygoing front she tried to maintain cracking. “Is it the worst thing in the world for us to go on a date, Azzi?”

“Yes,” Azzi said immediately, her tone leaving no room for doubt. “Considering we aren’t dating.”

Paige let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Here we go with this again. So what is this then?” she asked, gesturing between them.

“It’s...complicated,” Azzi said, sighing as she ran a hand through her hair. “I really don’t want to argue about this today Paige.”

“No,” Paige said sharply, her voice rising. “It’s not complicated. We make it complicated. You make it complicated. God, Azzi, we spend every night together. You let me whisper all kinds of shit in your ear, you let me touch you—hell, you beg me to touch you—but you won’t let me take you to dinner? What the hell is that about?”

Azzi frowned, her frustration building. “You never get it, Paige. This isn’t just about us. I’ve told you that.”

“Then explain it to me,” Paige demanded, stepping away from the dresser, her crutches clacking against the hardwood floor.

Azzi sighed heavily, clearly reluctant to have this conversation. “You’ve already made a name for yourself. You could never play another game, and you’d still be drafted. Me? I’m still proving myself. I can’t afford distractions like that.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed, her voice tinged with anger. “Oh, so I’m a distraction now? Is that all I am to you?”

“That’s not what I said and you know it,” Azzi snapped.

“Then what are you saying, Azzi? Because honestly I’m getting a little sick of this half-in, half-out bullshit!” Paige’s voice was rising now, her emotions spilling over.

Azzi stood, pacing the room as she tried to collect her thoughts. “I’m saying this...this thing between us could complicate everything. The team, our careers—”

“So what, we'll just keep sneaking around forever in your mind?” Paige cuts her off, her tone incredulous as she says things she knows aren't true. “I’m good enough to sleep with but not good enough for you to actually be with. Is that what it is?”

“That’s not fair,” Azzi said, her voice tight.

“No, what’s not fair is what we’ve been doing!” Paige shot back. “You’ll scream my name all fucking night, let me do whatever I want to you, but God forbid I want hold your hand in public or call this what it is. Do you even hear yourself?”

Azzi stopped pacing, her face hardening. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like, Azzi?” Paige pressed, her voice cracking. “Because from where I’ve been standing, it looks like I don’t mean that much to you.”

Azzi’s expression softened for a moment, guilt flickering across her face. “You mean the world to me, Paige. You know that.”

Paige let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Do I? Because it sure doesn’t feel like it when you won’t even agree to a simple date with me.”

Azzi threw her hands up in frustration. “I’m not dating my fucking teammate, Paige! I’ve told you that so many times. It’s too messy, and it’s not worth the risk.”

“Not worth the risk?” Paige repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. She grabbed her crutches, her movements sharp. “You’re unbelievable.”

Azzi stepped toward her, her voice softening. “Paige, don’t—”

“No,” Paige interrupted, her voice rising again. “You don’t want me to leave? Then stop treating me like I’m just some convenience for you. Because I’m not doing this anymore, Azzi. I’m not just some fuck toy for you to play with when it’s convenient. Find somebody else to fuck you if that’s all you want from me.”

“You know that’s not all I want!” Azzi protested, her voice desperate now.

“Then what the hell do you want, Azzi?” Paige asked, her voice a little raw.

“I don’t know!” Azzi yelled, the words hanging in the air.

Paige hesitated, her chest rising and falling as she fought against the lump in her throat. Finally, she looked Azzi in the eye, her voice quiet but trembling. “I love you, Azzi.”

The words hung in the air, heavy. Azzi froze, her expression unreadable as she stared at Paige not expecting her to say that in this moment. For a few agonizing seconds, she said nothing, and then softly, “Paige...I–”

The silence was all it took. Paige’s face hardened, her jaw tightening as she turned away. “Forget it,” she muttered, grabbing her crutches and heading for the door.

Azzi reached out, panic flashing across her face. “Paige, wait—it’s wet outside. Your crutches…You shouldn’t—”

“I really don’t want to look at you right now,” Paige cut her off, her voice icy. “I’ll be fine.”

With that, she walked out, the sound of the door slamming behind her echoing in the room. Azzi stood there, staring at the empty doorway, her chest tight as the weight of their argument settled over her. Azzi realized just how much she just fucked up and she didn’t know if she could fix it this time.

…

Azzi tried to give Paige some time to calm down so she left her alone for the rest of the day. But the next day after their fight, Azzi couldn’t stop thinking about her. She stared at her phone, her fingers flying across the screen as she sent text after text.

💗: Paige I’m sorry about yesterday, Can we please talk?

💗: I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never want to hurt you P.

💗: You mean everything to me, P.

💗: Please just let me fix this

💗: Paige, please…Just answer me

💗: Are you okay?

💗: How was physical therapy? Who took you?

💗: I thought about going but I figured you didn’t want me to.

💗: I hate how we left things

💗: I miss you P

💗: I know I messed up, please don’t shut me out.

By midday she had sent at least twenty messages and about a dozen phone calls to Paige, each one unanswered. She was about to give up for the day when her phone buzzed.

P 💗: ok.

That was it. Just two letters, but it was enough to send Azzi flying out the door.

Now Azzi was sitting in Paige’s room, the tension between them so suffocating it felt like the walls were closing in. They’d been talking for some time, exchanging quiet apologies for some of the harsh words they had thrown at each other the night before. But the heart of the issue still lingered, unspoken.

Azzi broke the silence, her voice soft but insistent. “I do love you, Paige.”

Paige’s breath caught for a moment before she exhaled slowly, shaking her head. “No, Az. You don’t.”

Azzi frowned, her expression a mix of confusion and hurt. “How can you say that? You don’t know how I feel.”

Paige met her gaze, her voice steady but tinged with sadness. “Because if you loved me—really loved me—we wouldn’t be in this situation. You’d want to be with me, Az. Not just here, not just like this, but completely.”

Azzi’s eyes softened, her hands clasping together tightly in her lap. “Paige, it’s not that simple.”

“It is to me,” Paige said quietly, her voice breaking just slightly. “I love you Azzi. I love you so much I’d give up anything for you. Do you understand that? I’d leave this team, this school, all of our friends, my dream of winning a championship here... I’d walk away from all of it, because none of it matters to me as much as you do.”

Azzi’s eyes began to glisten, but she stayed silent, the weight of Paige’s words settling over her.

“I’m not saying you have to do that to prove you love me,” Paige continued, her tone soft but firm. “But I know you don’t love me the way I love you. Not yet. Not even if you won’t let us try to be together.”

Azzi blinked, a tear slipping down her cheek. “That’s not fair, Paige. Just because I’m scared doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

Paige’s lips pressed into a thin line, her jaw tightening as she held back her own tears. “You might love the idea of me. Of us. Of what we have when no one else is looking. But love—real love—it’s more than that, Az and you know it. It’s being willing to take the risk, even when it’s scary. Even when it’s complicated.”

Azzi’s voice was a whisper. “It’s not just fear Paige I’ve told you that. You’ve already made a name for yourself. You could never play again and still be drafted. But me? I’m not there yet. I can’t afford to let anything get in the way of what I’ve been trying to build since I was a kid.”

Paige nodded slowly, her heart breaking even as she forced herself to stay composed. “I get it Az. I do. And I promise I’m not mad at you for it. I’ll keep supporting you But I can’t keep doing what we’re doing, Az. I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with having only part of you when I want so much more.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, her tears now falling freely. “So that’s it? We’re just... done?”

Paige hesitated, her voice trembling as she spoke. “Yeah I think we have to be.”

Azzi reached out, her hand holding Paige’s as their fingers intertwined. “I love you so much, Paige. Maybe not the way you want me to yet, but I promise I do.”

Paige closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek as she shook her head. “I can’t do ‘maybe,’ Az. Not with you. Not right now”

The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging between them. After a moment, Azzi stood, her movements slow and reluctant.

At the door, she paused, glancing back at Paige. Her voice was barely audible. “You’re still my best friend, right?”

Paige gave her a small, sad smile. “Always, Azzi.”

Azzi nodded, her expression filled with sorrow as she whispered, “I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want yet P.”

Before she stepped out, Azzi turned back one last time, her heart heavy with everything she felt like she couldn’t explain to the girl she loved more than anything. She moved toward Paige and, without a word, pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, her lips touching one of Paige’s tears, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. Her lips whispered against her skin as she pulled away, her voice barely a breath.

“I promise this isn’t the end of our story P. I just need time.”

Paige’s breath caught in her throat, but Azzi was already turning to leave. The door clicked shut behind her with a finality that echoed in Paige’s heart. Alone now, she let out a shaky breath, her hands covering her face as she laid back and the tears finally came.

[ask-whitepearl-and-steven]

If it's not a spoiler, what would you say is WD!Rose's biggest weakness/flaw?

I would hope that her biggest flaws haven't really changed from the original show. It's not like she acquired some new ones just because Steven's there. At her core, her motivations and fears are still the same.

Largely, it's her self-hatred and self-doubt.

Rose Quartz has always been defined by her dislike of herself. It's in the lyrics of the end song. It's practically telegraphed at every episode she shows up in.

Rose Quartz popped out of the ground, was immediately defined by who she was (supposed to be) and then was pretty much immediately reprimanded by the other diamonds for acting out in any way that didn't fit their 'standards'.

Then she went to Earth, realized their standards were shite, and tried desperately to become someone else - while never believing that she could ACTUALLY change and grow to be someone new. To the very end, she thought that she was fooling the others, even as she tried to protect them.

Her entire arc is about desperately trying to be herself, and failing at every step of the way because she fundamentally doesn't believe she's capable of change. She looks in the mirror and she sees in past tense.

Rose, here, is faced with something she has been running after her whole life:

Living proof of how a Diamond could be Not A Diamond in a way that isn't deceiving anyone. In a way that is purely, entirely, fundamentally, changing who they are.

Rose adores Steven at this point in the story, as much as she is terrified of him and all he represents.

His ability to forget who he is supposed to be.

His potential for change, and growth beyond his programming.

And the looming threat of that all being just another lie, or a temporary fix that will shatter her hopes of ever becoming like him.

Of course... she doesn't know about his dreams, nor his internal struggles. But that's gonna be its own story. :)

[lyjen]

Maybe

Summary: Evan and (Y/n) end up closer than ever on a call. But when (Y/n) gets hurt and Evan’s girlfriend notices the slightest sign of worry for his colleague, she confronts him.

Request by: anonymous - The request

9-1-1 masterlist

Taglist: ( @oliviah-25 @shauna-carsley

______

“Come on, we’re halfway there.” Buck tries to motivate (Y/n), to attempt to give her some more energy. A sigh falls off (Y/n)’s lips as her flat hand slides over the side of the stairwell wall and starts carefully placing her feet down onto the metal railing underneath her.

They are inside a building that was going to snap in two.

Buck and (Y/n) had the opportunity to go up the partly collapsed building, doing a sweep to see if there were any signs of life inside the building. The chances of that weren’t that high, the building they were in was an old hospital and wasn’t being used in decades.

But protocol said to always do a sweep through the buildings to make sure they wouldn’t leave anyone behind. So, that’s what they were doing. But till so far, they didn’t see anyone.

“Can you believe it? They made us go all the way up there, and find nothing.” she said as she stepped down onto the stairs and grabbed the railing with her gloved hands.

“Well, if you define old broken hospital cabinets and beds as nothing.” Evan laughed at her as he panted and flashed his light, which was secured to his harness, towards the rest of the stairwell.

But his laugh was nowhere to be found anymore when he looked at the barricaded entryway of the stairwell. “You’ve got to be kidding me” he sighed as he stepped closer.

They were in the second half of the building. They were almost back on the ground floor. Although they needed to go down another six to seven levels, it still felt like they were almost there.

(Y/n) could still hear the building trying to move with every step they took inside. The concrete was creaking and cracking on every corner.

Evan turned his head to look at his colleague “There’s no other way than..” he pointed his index finger up and looked in between the staircases until he could see the part where the building was snapped. “Back up. I get it.” She finished his sentence annoyed.

She was tired, exhausted, this was hour twenty one of the twenty four hour shift she was on and she still didn’t have any decent sleep.

“Let’s go probie” Evan said with a smirk on his face as he pulled himself up by the help of the railing. He knew damn’ well (Y/n) wasn’t a probie anymore, but he loved teasing her with that nickname. He knew she didn’t like it, she could handle other people saying it, but whenever Evan said it, it sent a shiver down her spine.

*

“Okay, there’s nothing to worry about.. you’re going to be fine.” (Y/n) motivated herself as she walked down the stairs and focussed herself on repeating the sentences she just read in the books. “You’re going to be just fine” she whispered as she tried to reassure herself as she skipped the last two steps of the stairs and landed safe and sound on the ground with her two feet.

She had a few study books piled up in her hands, with a couple of loose sheets sticking out of the books because those were her notes she just wrote down.

(Y/n) was in her probation period, trying to train, study and work all at once. It was hard, but she knew she could do it. She just had to step up and work a little harder. While she was walking towards the locker room to put her books away, she was looking through the pile of books.

“Hey probie!” Evan’s voice sounded through the firehouse, harder than he originally wanted to sound.

(Y/n) was caught off guard as she heard her new nickname fall off the lips of Evan. The books she was holding flew out of her hands and within a second they were all spread over the ground floor of the firehouse.

“Fuck” she hissed underneath her breath as she quickly squatted down and started collecting the books she just spread over the floor.

“Oh shit, sorry” Evan said as he quickly walked towards her and crouched down to collect some lost papers.

“You-..You don't have to do that..” she stumbled as she saw Evan collecting her notes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you” Evan apologizes as he picks up the papers he collected and handed them over to (y/n).

“No, it’s okay. I wasn’t really paying attention.” she said as she accepted the papers he was holding out to her, and she placed them right on top of the pile of books she made. She secured the pile of books between her lower arm and her chest as she and Evan both straightened up again.

Their eyes connected, it felt like Evan was drowning in those beautiful eyes. “Hey, uh..” Evan sighed as an awkward silence fell between the two of them and he was still looking in her eyes like he was possessed. “We’re going out with the team after shift for a drink, do you want to join us?” he continued as he pointed over his shoulder and slid his hands in his pockets.

“That’s sweet.. but I’m kinda busy” she smiled softly at him as she shrugged her shoulders and motioned with her head towards the books in her arms. “Oh yeah” Evan said as he realized what he asked her was not his best move.

(Y/n) turned around as the conversation fell silent again. She could feel the tension in the air, it made her uncomfortable, so she decided to walk away.

“Uh, maybe next time?” Evan spoke loudly as he was now watching her back again, trying to get her attention. She didn’t dare to give him another glance. “Maybe!” she shouted back as she continued her way towards the locker room again with a smile on her face.

*

“Hey! Open these doors with your halligan” Evan commanded as they finally reached an elevator shaft with the door closed tightly. A groan fell off her lips as she tried to balance her weight and keep herself in place while the building was obliquely.

Her hand reached for the halligan, which was secured on her back, and she pushed the metal tool in between the two elevator doors and pushed as hard as she could. Evan’s gloved hands were placed on one of the doors to assist her.

Evan panted as he had put all of his strength into his action and looked around to search for a possible anchor point to hold their weight. “This is not going to hold the both of us..” Evan said as he saw the nearest point to attach them to while he held onto the elevator door.

It was a half broken piece of railing of the hospital hallways. It was old, probably rotten, but it could only hold one of them. It wasn’t surely the strongest one, but it could hold one person to the max.

(Y/n)’s hand harshly tapped against his chest. “So, we find another anchor point.” she said as she finally got Evan’s attention and pointed her hand out to the opposite direction of the elevator doors.

There was another set of doors on the opposite side, it was a double-sided elevator.

“I was about to say that you had to ripple down first, but this could work too.” Evan laughed as he looked to his left and met her gaze. They were standing close, maybe too close, but that happens when gravity is pulling you down and you’re in a building that’s in the wrong angle than it's supposed to be.

She could feel his warm breath tickling her skin as he inhaled and exhaled. “I’ll go to the.. otherside.” she stumbled as she disconnected her eyes from his. Evan cleared his throat as he agreed with her, “Yes, do that. I’m.. going to set the rope up.” Evan said as he was pulled out of his trance.

“You do that!” (Y/n) said as she grabbed the railing with both hands and let herself slide into the wall to move a little faster. It felt like they were on this call for too long.

As (Y/n) rounded the corner and finally reached the other pair of doors, she again pushed her tool between the two doors and pulled them open. (Y/n) quickly secured her rope to the railing just as Evan did on his side of the hallway. She tightened the knot and gave it a few hard pulls to see if it would hold.

She turned around and looked into the shaft, trying to get a look on how deep it is. “Are you ready for this?” (Y/n) asked Evan as she glanced at him. “Are we really ready for anything?” Evan said as he looked around in the shaft and shrugged his shoulders.

She shook her head as she laughed at the ceiling, typically Evan.

A sigh left her lips as she saw Evan already going over the edge, rippling down. “You coming?” Evan said as he looked up and saw herself starting to second guess her idea. “You’re doing great.” he tried to give her some motivation.

She swallowed as she turned around and let the rope catch her weight. Inch for inch, she let the rope slide through her gloved hands, lowering herself down.

The sound of the elevator shaft creaking was flowing through the space they were in.

Evan looked up at the ceiling, shining his headlight towards the parts above them. On first notice, there was nothing to be seen, but when Evan shone his light right above (Y/n), he could see a large, half broken beam dangling loosely above her side of the shaft. Inches above the doors she had climbed through.

It could fall any moment.

“(Y/n). I need you to stay calm for me, okay?” Evan suddenly said after a few moments of silence. Her stomach turned and filled itself with anxiety at the way he talked. Why was he suddenly talking to her like she was a victim? What was he seeing that she couldn’t see?

“What?” Her confused voice sounded through the shaft as she tried to look over her shoulder at Evan.

“I need you to push yourself with your feet, off the side and reach out for my hand.” Evan tried to stay calm but his eyes stayed right on the large beam a few feet above her head, ready to fall any second.

“Do it now!” Evan called out. There was no time to explain what the hell was going on, she had to trust Evan on his words. So she did exactly what he asked her to do.

She bent her knees as much as she could, so (Y/n) could create enough momentum to reach Evan's side. She pushed as hard as she could and swung from her side of the elevator shaft towards his side. Evan held out his hand as far as he could so he could catch hers.

A loud bang sounded through the shaft as the beam disconnected itself from the shaft.

He could feel her fingers brushing his wrist and clinging onto it as he tightly grabbed hers. Evan was holding all of her weight and gear in his right hand. He let his left hand climb further on her arm and resumed pulling her closer that way.

A groan escaped her mouth as she felt Evan’s nails pinning into her skin. But on that last pull, a yelp fell past her lips and Evan could hear her hissing in pain. Within seconds he had his chest meeting hers. His hands were secured around her waist, and the other one around her upper back, holding her as close as possible.

Evan panted as he put each and all of his energy what was left into that quick stunt they pulled. “Fuck” (Y/n) sighed as she had her arms attached around his back, looking like they were in a hug in the middle of a lift shaft. “Yeah, that was.. unexpected” Evan said as he looked down towards the hole where the beam just fell down.

“That, and.. that beam hit my damn’ left foot.” she hissed as she squeezed her eyes. “Wait what?” Evan said confused as she tried to read her face. (Y/n) let her forehead for a second rest against Evan’s shoulder as she closed her eyes and tried to stop focussing on the pain. “You okay?” his voice sounded worried.

Yes, they were friends and co-workers, nothing more and nothing less. But yet here they are closer than ever before.

“Yeah, for now.. let’s just get down to proper ground. I don’t want another beam falling down onto us.” (Y/n) said as she looked up at the sky, looking for other loose material. “Great idea” Evan said as he let the adrenaline that rushed through his veins calm down.

(Y/n) started to detach her hands off Evan’s back so she could swing her way back towards her side of the shaft. Her palms were awkwardly pushing into Evan’s collarbones, trying to create some distance between the two of them. “Evan? You can let go of me now” she said.

Evan was lost in his thoughts when she called his name. “Oh yeah.. Right. Sorry.” he apologized as he let his eyes connect with hers once again. He could hear her breathe, he could swear that he even heard her heartbeat for a second. They were close, and he didn’t want to let go.

He let go of her back and softly grabbed her wrist to get her back to her side of the shaft slowly and steady. They didn’t want her to bang into the wall with a high force of speed.

His fingers were curled around her wrist, and hers were curled around his. Evan let his other arm slowly become looser around her waist, so now she was only holding his wrist. Gravity slowly lets (Y/n)’s body move towards the middle part of the shaft.

Their hands “Ready?” Evan asked as he kept his eyes on their connected hands. “On three okay?” (Y/n) said as she nodded. “One..two..three.” And on three they both let go of each other's wrist.

(Y/n)’s hand wrapped around the rope which was still attached to her harness as she softly landed her right foot against the side of the elevator shaft. “You good?” Evan asked, wanting to know if she didn’t hurt her left foot by returning to her side of the shaft. A sigh left her mouth, as if she was holding a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Yes. Let’s just get out of here” she said as she started rippling down towards the ground floor.

The rest of the ride down was silent, beside some creaking and cracking from the building itself. They were just focussing themselves on getting out of that shaft.

When they reached the lowest level they were able to access, Evan opened the doors of his side of the shaft as he explicitly told (Y/n) to hang tight and wait for him. Especially after she hurt her foot, he couldn’t have her risking doing more damage to it than it probably already had.

Evan detached his harness from the rope and hurried towards the other side of the hallway and opened the doors. It was a relief that he could actually walk straight again after all that climbing and sliding down. “Grab my hand” Evan commanded as she lowered herself a little more, so she could touch the ground with her right foot while she let her left foot float above the ground. Evan’s touch made her heart take a little jump.

“Hold on” he said as he placed her hand onto his shoulder, and felt her fingertips burning into his button up shirt. Evan’s hands reached out to her harness as he detached her from the line.

“Thanks” she mumbled as she limped forward, trying to not put any weight on her left foot but she couldn’t help it.

“No, no. You can’t walk on that” Evan said worried as she slightly put some weight on it to keep her balance. “Here, let me help you.” Evan said as he grabbed her left arm and slung it over his shoulders, trying to support her weight.

Groan after groan fell off her lips with every limp, every hop she took. “Are you sure you can make it outside while limping?” Evan asked as she took another hop. “I’ll have to. Unless you have some other theories” she said as she groaned again. Evan pressed his lips into a thin line as (Y/n) leaned her weight onto Evan for another hop.

“It may be faster if I just carried you.” Evan suggested. A yelp left her mouth as her ankle bent to the outside. She wasn’t sure if it was because of Evan’s suggestion or the matter of fact that she already limped almost a hundred times. “Shit” she said as she held onto Evan’s shoulder with her left arm, she felt like a monkey. “Hey, hey, you alright? Seriously you’re going to hurt yourself even more if you keep on hopping onto that leg.” Evan spoke up as he came down to the same height as her.

She didn’t want to tell him he was right, but he was and she knew it. She just didn’t want him to give him the satisfaction. “Let me carry you. Please.” He was practically begging. He didn’t want her to get hurt any more than she already was. A sigh left her mouth as she mumbled an almost inaudible “Okay”.

Evan’s hand wandered towards his radio as he held the button to speak. “We’re almost done. Coming out in a minute.” he said. And he received a small “copy that” from Bobby. Evan’s left arm was already around her waist since he was guiding her just a second ago. He let his right arm slide underneath her knees and he carried her through the hallway to the exit of the building.

Her arms were hanging around his neck, as Evan hurried towards the ambulance. “Got a possible broken foot over here!” Evan yelled as he saw the rest of his team cleaning up the halligans and other equipment they used for the sweep in the lower building. Hen’s eyes shot up as she looked towards the duo that came rushing towards the team. “How the hell-” Hen mumbled as Evan sat (Y/n) down on the back of the ambulance as carefully as possible.

“Don’t ask” (Y/n) said as Hen removed the boot and started to examine her foot. When Hen touched it, (Y/n) hissed at the pain and grabbed Evan’s wrist, she almost crushes and squeezes all of the blood out of his wrist which made Evan groan.

When the grip became looser on his wrist, he moved his hand up, so she was now holding his hand. “Jesus!” she groaned at the touches, and let her forehead fall into Evan’s chest, wishing for the pain to leave her body.

Evan placed his other free hand on the back of her head. “You’re going to be fine” he whispers and let his chin rest on the top of her head.

______

“You’re late” a familiar voice spoke through the apartment as Evan closed the door behind him. His eyes fall on his girlfriend, Taylor, who’s sitting at the kitchen island. Her hands were curled up around the cup of tea she had just made, the steam was still coming off the hot boiling water.

“Hey” Evan simply said as he slowly walked into the room. He let the keys he had in his hand, slowly slide onto the table and let the strap of the duffle bag which he was balancing on his shoulder, fall onto the ground. A sigh left his mouth as Taylor turned on the chair to face him. “I’m so sorry” he continued as he was looking for the right words.

“Hey. I’m sorry. Really Buck? That’s it? That is everything you have to say?” Taylor said as a scoff left her mouth. “You’re unbelievable” her voice continued as Evan’s eyes wandered back to his feet, which were suddenly very interesting to him.

“Didn’t your shift end like, what? Three hours ago?” She asked when Evan didn’t answer her and she blew softly at the water to try to cool it a little bit down. He nodded his head, “Yeah, I’m sorry, we were with the team at the hospital, waiting for (Y/n)’s results” Evan tries to explain to Taylor.

“And she couldn’t do that alone?” she shot back as she took a small sip of her tea and brought the mug down onto the flat surface. Evan was taken by surprise as he didn’t expect Taylor to react the way she just did. “Uhm.. We’re a team. We’re not leaving each other behind.” he spoke as he took place on the opposite side of the dining table, leaning his hands down on the back of the chair. He watched Taylor stirring her spoon in the hot water of her tea.

“Look. I’m sorry I didn’t call you or texted you back. If that’s the thing you’re mad about, then-” Evan tries to apologize, he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, but he did it anyways. “It’s okay. It’s fine. Really.” She holds out her hand towards Evan to stop him from talking, as she shoves the chair she was sitting on backwards and starts walking to the kitchen with her cup of tea in her hand.

“You don’t seem fine at all.” Evan says as he pushes his hands off the back of the chair. She placed the full mug of tea on the kitchen counter as she leaned with her palms on the counter. She’s silent. Trying to find the right words. “Taylor… Come on, talk to me. What’s going on?” Evan says as he slowly moves towards the kitchen island now, trying to come closer to her.

With her eyes locked onto the kitchen counter she laughs. “Do you really want to know what the problem is?” her voice sounded somewhat broken. Evan’s voice brought out an almost inaudible yes, but she heard him.

“I was on the scene too.That call of the partly collapsed building that had been split in two” she said. Evan’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. So, she was at the scene? But what had made her so upset that she was mad at him?

”It’s her. Isn’t it?” her broken voice asks him as she keeps her back turned towards Evan. “Who?” his voice immediately asked.

“Come on Buck, I'm not that stupid.” She sighs and pushes herself off the kitchen counter and turns her body around so she is now facing Evan. “I saw the way she clung onto you. The way you looked at her, and cared for her because she was hurt.” her lower back leaned against the kitchen counter now, as she folded her arms over one another.

“Taylor, whatever you saw... it’s not what it looks-“ Evan tries to defend himself as he gets cut off by his own girlfriend. “Then tell me” she shot back at him as she stared right into his soul. “Tell you what?” he could feel and hear his voice slightly rising. “That you love me!” within every word she said, her voice broke more and more.

Evan was silent, he was searching for the words. But he couldn’t say it, not if it was a lie. He had used her all this time, to get closer to (y/n), to make her jealous but it didn’t work. He stayed with Taylor to try and get her attention.

The silence was loud, Taylor had given him enough time to say those three simple words. “Guess I know my answer then.” she says as she storms towards the gaderobe.

“Taylor..” Evan’s voice sounded through the room with her footsteps in the background.

She grabbed the hanger and slid off her coat. “Please wait�� he says as his eyes fall onto Taylor as she puts on her jacket and pushes with the back of her hand her red hair over the coat, so it wouldn’t be stuffed into the back of her jacket.

Taylor sighs as she turns around one more time. “I’m done waiting for you, Buck. Why should I be waiting for someone, who’s clearly head over heels in love with someone else?” her voice spoke, and with those words she walked to the door and slammed it shut with a bang.

She was right.

______

(Y/n) put down her mug with tea onto the coffee table as she hopped through the house, trying to put as little weight onto her foot as she could.

She was wearing a brace, luckily her foot was badly sprained. Which means she had to take as much rest as she could, and just let it heal by itself. Right now, she was on pain meds and she at least had to be two weeks off the job, which could be stretched out to three or four, but that was up to how good and fast it would heal.

When the doorbell sounds through the house, (Y/n) turns down the volume of the TV which was currently playing the news and hopped towards the door.

As the doorbell sounds for a second time in ten seconds, a sigh leaves her mouth. “Yeah yeah! Coming!” She calls out. Her hand pushed down the lever of the door, and her eyes met those ocean blue eyes she saw almost every shift.

Evan sounded like he had run the Los Angeles marathon and just got over the finish line. With his arm he leaned against the doorframe, as he heavily breathed.

“Evan? What are you doing here?” She clings on to the door to try and keep her balance, since she was standing like a flamingo and holding her injured foot slightly above the ground. “There’s something I have to say to you.” he said as he was breathing normally again.

“And you couldn’t do that by calling or texting me?” She laughs. Seeing her smile like that made a shiver roll down his spine and his heart almost burst out of his chest. “This is something I'd rather tell you face to face.” he says as he slid both of his hands into his pockets, something he always did when he was nervous.

“Come on in” she says and motioned her head towards the hallway of her home. Evan steps over the threshold, far enough for (Y/n) to close the door. She starts hopping towards the kitchen. “I was just about to drink some tea, do you want anything?”

Evan was in some kind of trance, his heart was beating in his chest. But quickly got pulled out of it when her voice called out his name again. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“You’re a little dreamy tonight, I asked if you wanted some tea?” she asked again as she tried to keep her balance on her one foot and leaned her hip against the kitchen counter. “Yeah, that sounds good, thankyou” Evan answered. He didn’t want tea. He wanted to spill his guts.

(Y/n) grabbed a cup out of the upper cabinet and poured the warm water from the kettle into the mug. “Hey, have you seen that highway pile up on the news where the 133 worked on?” she asks. “I still wonder how pile ups like that keep happening.” she continues, it honestly felt like she was talking to a wall. She had never seen Evan that quiet.

“Hey, you okay?” (Y/n)’s voice asks as she glances at Evan and gets out a tea bag and disconnects the little string which was attached to it. She limped back to the area where the mug was standing on the counter.

“I love you” the words fell off his lips.

A silence that was so loud filled the room. “What?” the word rolled off her lips. Did she actually hear him right?

“I think that I’m in love with you” Evan says again as he stares into her soul.

“Did you hit your head in that collapsed building?” (Y/n) asks as she throws the tea bag she had put into the water, into the bin and makes a bee line to limp towards Evan.

When she’s in front of Evan, she holds up her index finger. “Can you follow my finger?” she asks and starts moving it from the left side of his face to the right side.

“No I didn’t hit my head, and besides we were wearing helmets” Evan says as he wrapped his hand around her index finger and pushed it down.

“Im serious (Y/n)” Evan let her name roll off his lips, which sent a shiver down her entire body. The hairs on her arms were standing up, goosebumps were spread all over her body.

“From the moment I saw you walking into the firehouse, you’ve had my heart.” he sighs. “It has been kind of exhausting to try and get your attention. And trust me I went far. I went so far that I got into a relationship with someone else, to try and make you jealous” Evan is out here spilling his guts.

He continues his rattle “But if you do not feel the same, all you have to do is say so and I’ll walk back out of that door and we can pretend this never happene-“ But before Evan could finish that sentence, he could feel the collar of his jacket getting crushed.

“Oh, shut up Buckley” She grabbed the collar and pulled him closer until her lips connected with his.

A warm feeling was spreading through her body as she felt his hand touching the back of her neck. Evan let his index finger and thumb of his other hand slip onto her chin, as he gently pushed it up to meet his height.

It almost felt like Evan was the air she needed to breathe and she couldn’t survive without it. One hand was still placed on the collar of his jacket. As the other one wandered to the back of his head, slightly pulling the short curls on his head.

She could feel his warm breath tickling her skin, it was almost like she was back in that building again when she opened the elevator and they were that close.

They both were panting, catching their breaths as they both took each other's breath away.

Evan let his forehead fall against hers as he smiles. “So you do like me.. did I make you jealous as well?” his low voice said as a small laugh left his mouth.

“Maybe.. ” she teased him.

[nemo-writes]

⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; the reunion ends with forgiveness and firm boundaries, and an unlikely proposition. back home, leah reveals her need to journey and define her life beyond your growing shadow.

⚠️ warnings; none

★ previous ; next

☆ story masterlist

A hush as dense as morning fog settled over the room. 

Ghost lingered behind the couch, arms folded, mask in place; Soap was perched on the armrest, knee bouncing; Gaz stood by the doorway, alert but outwardly calm, a faint shimmer of ward‑dust swirling around his boots; and Price leaned against the mantle, steady as a stone idol. You sat across from him, spine rigid, every muscle locked against the scrutiny of four men who once knew your heartbeat by memory.

You drew a single breath, let it lodge behind your ribs, and spoke before courage could abandon you. “I can’t quite believe it,” you said, voice low and surgical, “that you actually moved to my town—my home—just to follow me. To grovel. To beg for forgiveness as if that could unwind the past.” Your words cracked like a whip. 

“Then again,” you continued, gaze flicking from Johnny’s sheepish grimace to Ghost’s blank mask, “maybe I can believe it. Grand gestures were always your favorite sin.”

You inhaled deeper, bracing against the dull throb where old wounds still lived. “And yet,” your voice softened around a truth you could not deny, “thank you. All of you.” 

The hush didn’t break, but the air thickened as though it recognized gratitude like a spell. “Thank you for stepping in when I couldn’t, for helping me put Makarov down when I had nothing left. Without that intervention I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be me.”

For a heartbeat you allowed yourself to see them not as traitors or ghosts, but as the men you once loved—perhaps still loved in corners of the heart you’d tried to board up.

“I am angry,” you admitted, the confession scraping your throat.

“Probably always will be. But that night shaped everything. Like it or not, you helped build the path that placed leadership on my shoulders.” Soap’s body leaned forward, desperate to close the distance. You lifted a single palm—halt—and he froze, breathing hard, as if muscle memory alone might yank him into your gravity. Silence draped the room again. You laced your fingers tight to keep them from trembling.

“I forgive you,” you said, and the words weighed more than you expected. “I know you were brainwashed, manipulated. Still, that doesn’t erase what shattered in me.”

A bitter laugh escaped you.

“I clung to you like lifelines, thought I knew every quirk. Truth is, Johnny, I don’t even know how you take your tea. Or if Gaz sleeps in socks.” Gaz made a face—half offense, half amusement—muttering, “Who on earth sleeps in socks?” Soap huffed, but your point landed. 

“I filled the gaps with fantasy,” you finished quietly. “That’s on me. I’m sorry—for expecting you to patch the holes in me simply by being there.”

The silence that followed was not empty, it thrummed with grief and half‑glimpsed hope. Price unfolded his arms and pushed off the mantle. “We acknowledge it,” he said, voice like gravel under boot, “but we’re not acceptin’ it.” 

You blinked. “Excuse me?” 

Then Soap shot upright, chair legs scraping. “Damn right we’re not!” His blue eyes blazed with unshed desperation. “You’re floggin’ yourself for lovin’ us too much, bonnie. But do you think we came here outta pity? We can’t breathe right without you. Every day hurts!”

Gaz laid a steadying hand on his shoulder, though the same ache shimmered in his own eyes. “We know we lost your trust,” he said softly. “But don’t pretend the bond was one‑sided. It’s still real, even broken, and if there’s any shard left to mend—” He let the unfinished promise hang. Ghost remained silent, but he stepped closer, silent vow radiating from the set of his shoulders.

“I can’t,” you whispered, voice shredding. “I can’t give you anything. Not now.” 

Tears blurred your vision; fury and shame tangled in your chest. “I hate that I still feel something. I hate that part of me misses you and I can’t cauterize it.” Soap made a low, wounded sound as Ghost’s gloved fist clenched. “I should have buried this,” you rasped. “Let it rot.”

“But you didn’t,” Price countered, voice gentling without losing steel. “And neither did we.” The truth hovered like smoke. You were breaking—but so were they.

You swallowed, drew yourself taller though exhaustion dragged at every limb. “Listen carefully. For now you can stay. I won’t force you out. But I still need the distance. Weeks, months—whatever it takes."

It had already been a year, and despite the restraint clearly already ready to burst at the seams, this would be the perfect test. Both for them and you.

“And Leah lives with me,” you added, protective steel in the name. “She owns her scars. Keep your distance unless she chooses otherwise.” Unease flickered across their faces—shared guilt for harm they hadn’t meant. Gaz answered, “Understood. Her terms rule.”

Relief loosened something inside you. With everything out of the way, at least for now, you stood to leave.

"Well....I'll be seeing you around, I guess." Surprisingly nobody followed. Well, expected Price. He rounded the table, ready to guide you out.

His hand found the small of your back as he followed you through the hallway. The house was quiet now—no more clatter of boots, no sharp inhalations of half‑swallowed arguments—only the subdued creak of old floorboards and the faint clink of glasses settling in the other room. Lamps cast pools of amber across the walls, and your shadow moved alongside his brief moments where the two merged before separating again.

He paused at a side table to snag his cap, brushing unseen dust from the brim in a small, absent gesture of habit. Then he opened the front door, letting in a wash of night air scented with pine and damp earth. Starlight splintered on the porch rails; the distant murmur of the town’s night‑watch bells drifted across the fields.

Price didn’t release you right away. He stepped onto the threshold with you, gaze sweeping the dark road as if mapping potential threats before returning to your face. Only then did he speak—voice pitched low, meant for you alone.

“We’re not blind to what’s been shifting since last year,” he began. “A new matriarch at the center of the web, stirring up council seats that haven’t budged since smoke signals were state‑of‑the‑art. A lot of good’s come from your leadership—lively streets, open borders, folks actually smiling in daylight. But change?” He huffed a humorless laugh. “Change makes the oldest bones creak. Some of those ancients in your High Circle would sooner petrify the whole coven than let it bend.”

You stiffened at the truth of it.

You’d felt every silent rebuke carved into council chambers—every potion master who sniffed at your reforms as though fresh air itself might poison tradition. He read the flash in your eyes and pressed on.

“We also know König and Horangi will likely take their leave once your mothers retire,” Price continued, voice pitched low. “They’ve given the coven decades—stood watch when everyone else slept, bled to keep its walls upright. But when the two old matriarchs step aside? Well, those lads may fancy open skies for once—somewhere no one calls ’em muscle or minder.” He tipped his cap back, meeting your gaze squarely. “That’ll leave you shorthanded—two pillars gone while the roof’s still settling.”

You exhaled through your nose, a slow, reluctant acknowledgment. Part of you had known this was coming ever since that moment on the hallway months ago, when König confessed feelings he’d hidden for years. You’d turned him down, quiet harshly at that, yet he’d accepted the answer with his usual, wordless loyalty. But afterward, you’d often caught him staring toward the horizon, as though mapping a life that didn’t require him to haunt your shadow. Freedom, you suspected, would heal him in ways the coven’s corridors never could.

The night pulsed around you; the wards along the fence line thrummed at the edge of your senses like distant bees.

“So here it is plain.” Price’s tone softened, gentled by something that felt older than war. “Let us be those pillars. The four of us—my pack. We stand in their stead, if you’ll have us.”

Behind him, through the open door, you caught silhouettes: Soap halfway out of his seat, hope blazing bright; Gaz leaning in the doorway, arms crossed but nodding once, steady as a vow; Ghost a darker presence at the corridor’s mouth, mask unmoving yet radiating fierce allegiance. They stood like stars fallen into human skin, each one waiting for your celestial mechanics to draw them back into orbit.

Your pulse thundered. The notion of replacing König’s quiet steadfastness and Horangi’s razor‑sharp counsel with four men who had broken your heart felt impossible—yet their offer glowed like embers in snow, stubborn and warm.

“I… appreciate the offer,” you said, voice husky from the whirl of emotions still lodged in your chest. “But my boundaries stand. Space, time—no stepping over lines. If you can keep to that… I’ll consider it.”

Price’s mouth curved—not smug, but pleased, as though the first stone of a long bridge had just been set. “That’s all we ask, love. Consideration.” He gave a slow nod, tilting his cap as though sealing a contract. “We’ll remain exactly where you need us—no more, no less.”

Reluctant hope flickered traitorously in your heart. You stepped onto the porch boards; they groaned underfoot.

You faced Price once more. “Goodnight, Captain.”

“’Night, Matriarch,” he replied, voice warm enough to curl in the cold. He stayed on the threshold until you reached the end of the path—guardian to the last—before the door clicked shut behind him.

The walk back to the manor was long and.....lonely, but moonlight painted silver across cobblestones, and every breath tasted of possibility. You were uncertain, bruised, still angry—but the fragile ember inside your chest burned a fraction brighter.

Change did rattle old bones. But it also made room for new foundations to rise.

. . .

The manor’s gates groaned open to admit you, wards fluttering over your skin in recognition. Lanterns along the front path glowed a soft rose‑gold, but every window beyond remained dark; the household had long since gone to bed.

For now, only Sybil was awake.

You had barely shut the heavy oak door when a blur of fur barreled down the hall. Sybil skidded across the polished marble, claws tapping frantically, dark eyes wide with accusation. She shoved her broad muzzle beneath your hand, whining—a sharp, scolding sound that vibrated in her chest.

“All right, all right,” you murmured, fingers diving into her ruff. She huffed, clearly displeased, then inhaled—one deep, thorough breath—and froze. The mingled scents of Soap’s cologne, Ghost’s leather, Price’s tobacco, and Gaz’s ward‑dust still clung to your clothes. Sybil’s ears flattened; she nosed your coat again, as if to be certain. A soft, disapproving grumble rolled up her throat.

“Not a word,” you sighed, guilt pricking. “I know I should’ve taken you.” You tugged off your boots in the entryway and padded toward the sitting room, Sybil glued to your side. She bumped your hip each step, her own wordless reprimand.

Inside, the hearth was banked to embers, casting copper shadows across bookshelves. You collapsed onto the rug, pulling Sybil down with you. She flopped half‑across your lap, an eighty‑pound criticism. You answered with apologetic kisses to her velvety ear, gentle scritches beneath her jaw. Her tail thumped once in reluctant forgiveness, but she continued to stare up at you, eyes reflecting firelight and worry.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, smoothing the fur over her ribs. “Shaken, but alive.”

A creak sounded in the doorway. Leah hovered there in slippers and an oversized cardigan, hair tousled from sleep but eyes sharp and very awake. She took in Sybil’s posture, the coat you still wore, the flush in your cheeks.

“You went to them,” she said—not quite a question, not quite an accusation. Just fact.

You nodded, too tired for pretense. “Price asked to talk. All of them did.” You motioned to the far armchair. “Come in. I’ll give you the unabridged version.”

Leah crossed the room, curling into the chair with her knees tucked beneath her. The soft glow of embers painted her golden hair with copper streaks. She listened without interrupting while you recounted the confrontation: the gratitude and the fury, the boundaries set, Ghost’s pledge, Price’s final offer. Every so often her gaze flicked to Sybil, then back to you, assessing, weighing.

When you finished, silence settled, punctuated only by Sybil’s slow breathing and the crackle of burning oak.

Leah spoke first, voice measured. “I’m… relieved you laid down rules. And grateful you mentioned me.” She braided a strand of her hair around one finger. “But hearing they’re back, hearing how badly they want in…” She swallowed. “It’s complicated.”

You opened your mouth, ready to promise them nowhere near her, but Leah raised a hand.

“That’s only part of it,” she said. “Honestly, I’ve been thinking about leaving for months.”

The words struck like a sudden downdraft. “Leaving?” You shifted, Sybil whined. “Because of the pack?”

“Partly,” Leah admitted, fingers tightening in the knit sleeve. “But mostly… me. You know what your Mom discovered about the parasite’s imprint. I’m neither fully human nor fully supernatural. I feel… unanchored.” Her gaze flicked toward the dark windowpane, where reflections of fire danced like distant spirits. “Everyone here has roots: lineage, magic, a place in the coven’s lattice. I have you—and I’m grateful beyond words—but I still wake some nights wondering who I am when I’m not in your shadow.”

The confession hollowed something in your chest. “Leah, you have a home here. You’re family.”

“I know.” Her smile was rueful. “That’s what scares me. I don’t want to stay only because your power makes the imprint easier. I want to choose it, not need it.”

Your throat tightened. “Are you—are you asking to leave?”

“I’m asking for time,” she said softly. “The same thing you asked of them.” She met your eyes—steady, earnest. “Let me visit other sanctuaries. Meet with healers who understand in‑between things. Figure out whether my place is truly here—or somewhere I carve for myself.”

Sybil rose, rested her head on Leah’s knee, a silent gesture of solidarity. Leah stroked her ears, smile trembling.

You exhaled, a slow, painful release. First König and Horangi, now Leah looking to wander. Part of you wanted to lock every door to keep everyone safe and close. But leadership had taught you the cost of clenched fists: nothing new can grow in a grip that never opens.

“All right,” you said, voice hoarse but firm. “Take the time you need. I won’t chain you here—physically or emotionally.” You reached across the low table, brushing your fingertips over her hand. “But promise you’ll write. And promise you’ll come back if the imprint worsens.”

Leah’s eyes glistened. “I promise.”

She rose, crossed to you, and pulled you into a fierce, awkward hug around Sybil’s bulk. You held her tight, pressing your cheek to her hair, anchoring each other for one long breath before letting go.

When she finally left for her room, Sybil circled, curled against your side, and rested her heavy head on your lap. You leaned back on your palms, staring into the dying fire. Price’s proposal echoed in the dark, tangled now with Leah’s request. Pillars leaving, pillars offered, friends risking the wide unknown—no wonder the future felt like a shifting deck beneath your feet.

Change rattled the oldest bones—but somewhere inside the noise, hope kept humming.

divider credit

[lilyprettyremy]

How to Stop Comparing Yourself & Become Obsessed with Yourself

Okay, let’s get real. If you’re constantly comparing yourself to others, it’s time to break the habit and start focusing on what you want. The key to unlocking your most confident, successful self isn’t about envying others—it’s about using that energy to obsess over your own growth. Ready to start living your best life? Here’s how to ditch the comparison game and become your own biggest fan.

1. Jealousy = Desire. Turn it into your power move. First of all, jealousy isn’t the problem—it’s how you use it that counts. When you feel envious of someone, it’s actually a sign that they have something you want. Instead of spiraling, turn that jealousy into motivation. Want their style? Their career? Their glow-up? That’s your cue to start making it happen for yourself.

Action Steps:

Identify what’s sparking the jealousy. Is it their confidence, career, or lifestyle?

Take a mental note of exactly what you want from their vibe.

Now, turn that feeling into goals. Make a list of what you want and how you’re going to get there. Start working on those goals today, and you’ll be on the path to achieving your desires—without the comparison game.

2. Make self-love your obsession. Self-love isn’t just a trend—it’s the foundation of every confident, successful “it girl” vibe. Your routine should be all about you, honey. Create a daily self-love habit that fills you with positive energy and makes you feel like the queen you are.

Action Steps:

Morning Rituals: Begin your day by setting the tone. Whether it’s writing down affirmations, sipping on lemon water, or practicing some deep breaths—give yourself a good start.

Mental Health TLC: Meditate or journal for 10 minutes each day. Focus on gratitude and remind yourself of your worth.

Body Love: Treat your body like the temple it is. Get moving (dance party, anyone?), drink water, and invest in that skincare routine. A face mask or a bubble bath at the end of the day? Absolutely.

3. Turn Your Energy Into Your Personal Brand. You’re not just a person—you’re a brand. And, like every successful brand, your vibe needs to be on point. Start channeling that energy into building a personal identity that screams confidence, ambition, and success. When you start focusing on what makes you unique, comparison will feel like a thing of the past.

Action Steps:

Define Your Brand: Write down what you want to be known for. What makes you stand out? Is it your chic style? Your brilliant ideas? Your hustle?

Create Consistent Content: Whether it’s posting on social or just being yourself IRL, curate your energy and your image. Share your passions, your story, and your journey.

Presence is Everything: Dress in a way that makes you feel like a million bucks. Stand tall, speak with conviction, and show the world that you own your space.

4. Quiet Confidence is the New Loud. The loudest person in the room doesn’t always win—quiet confidence is what draws people in. Be secure in who you are, and let your presence speak for itself. The best “it girls” don’t need to shout—they simply are.

Action Steps:

Set Boundaries: Protect your energy. Say no to things and people that don’t serve you.

Lead by Example: Be the girl who stays true to her goals without seeking validation. The more you trust yourself, the more others will follow your lead.

Master Your Craft: Whether it’s learning a new skill or becoming the best at what you do, focus on growth without the need for applause. When you shine quietly, it’s magnetic.

Being obsessed with yourself isn’t vanity—it’s self-respect. Prioritize your growth, and watch how the universe responds to that magnetic energy. You’re not just an “it girl”—you’re the girl.

[wanderswithinyoureyes]

Just Be There... [Astarion x F!Reader]

Summary: You find yourself in uncharted territory with Astarion.

Author's Note: I always like to switch things up a bit....

~~~

The silence was defining, heavy...

No one had uttered a single word or let out a single exhausted sigh. No, the shock of the situation that had just unfolded left everyone stunned, unable to think of the right thing to do or say.

And if someone even thought to even mutter a word, the sight of Astarion's blood-soaked body was enough to make any word choke up in their throats. Even for someone to glance at another just ended with a sad expression, and a gentle shaking of their head, almost as if they had been told some news so painful that it was simply too hard to swallow. Especially for her... Because at the mere sight of him, all she could think of was his cries. Those screams of anguish; how heavy the pain was in every sound his body couldn't help but let out. And though afterward she helped lead all those spawns to the safety of the Underdark, and he seemed fine, she knew he wasn't... Those hypnotic ruby red eyes gave it all away.

As they reached the Inn, no one bided the other a goodbye, simply waving lazily. A silent sign to say that they'd all see each other in the morning, going into the room they shared with another companion.

And she, of course, had returned to her own room that she shared Astarion, finding it logical to, considering they were together.

But as she closed the door behind her, the silence seemed to grow even heavier, clinging onto her like a second skin. Astarion hadn't joined her yet, having gone down to wash himself of the blood that was now dried onto his skin. Yet, she found herself struggling with the thoughts that consumed her even more.

What could she do for him...? What could she have done to make something, anything easier for him? It was all her mind seemed to ask, making a sinking pit growing even larger in her stomach.

When he collapsed down onto his knees, casting the dagger aside as he let out his wounded cries, she had just... froze. She had seen him vulnerable yes, gazing at her with pained eyes and wavering words. But, to see him breakdown the way he did tonight just... stunned her.

To see firsthand a pain affect someone that deeply, someone she deeply loved nevertheless simply made it hard to think straight.

Should she have approached him? Wiped the blood from his face before pulling him in an embrace and telling him that it would be okay? It would've made her feel better someway sure but, how, how can you tell someone who is clearly hurting so deeply that it would simply all be okay?

A hug and a gentle caress wouldn't be able to fix any of that, that much she knew.

But was it better to just... stand and watch Astarion in silence? What if he did need a gentle reassurance, just someone, anyone to tell him whatever he needed to hear? Yet, she had no idea what he needed to hear, what he needed to at least try and settle the pain for a respite.

Not being able to help someone you love, someone who desperately needs... something, was frustrating for her, made her stomach churn to the point where she honestly felt sick. And the evidence of the turmoil within her mind now grew evident on her face, just as Astarion's pain was evident in his. The sound of the door creaking open shook her up slightly. Her eyes darted to the deep wood before her, watching as Astarion stepped into the room, closing the door mindlessly behind him once more.

Their gazes then met, they always did, and their stares grew curious, almost as if the other was trying to gage what was running through the others mind. But, alas, no one had a scroll of detect thoughts to use tonight.

"Waiting up for me, I see?" Astarion spoke, and she could hear the twinge of humor he attempted to add into his voice. But it was too weak, too wavering and unsure, but she wouldn't call him out on it, what good would that do?

"Of course," she spoke, her words coming out in a soft, honey-ed whisper, a moment of sweetness despite the bitterness of the situation. "When don't I?" she added, her lips curving into a miniscule smile, though even doing that felt draining to her. He didn't say anything more after that, simply moving to sit down next to her on the edge of the bed, their thighs touching... and that heavy silence returned once more, but it didn't linger for long.

"I'm not some fragile bomb that's ready to go off, you know that, don't you darling?" his words made her head snap toward him, her eyes widening in shock. Out of all the things he could've possibly said, that was certainly the last thing she had expected.

"I-I don't..." She paused, finding her jumbled thoughts to all come crashing down into one another. Was her silence being seen as standoffish? She cleared her throat, looking down at her lap with a soft sigh. "I'm sorry."

The forced laugh that followed from Astarion in response just made that pit feel even worse. "Don't apologize, you did watch me mindlessly stab... him, after all. I think that tends to unsettle-" "It's not like that," she interjected, placing a hand on top of his as it rested on his thigh. "I-I'm not sorry that I see you that way, because I don't I... I'm sorry because I can hardly look you in the eye, o-or know what in the hells to say to you." The heaved sigh that came from her soon after felt like she had just expelled a weight from herself, a weight that was sinking her down into a sea of worry.

"I don't know what to do, to make this... better for you." She muttered weakly, her voice wavering, her thumb mindlessly rubbing the back of his hand.

"Darling, if I don't know really how to feel about it all, I'm not expecting you to... fix it." Astarion spoke, his tone deep and smooth, but thoughtful. "Everything just feels so numb to me, right now. And whether that's a good or bad thing is... hard for me to tell right now."

She felt his hand turn, his cool palm encompassing her warm hand as their fingers entwined together. Their gazes met once more, and the soft background noises of the other patrons of the end faded away.

Astarion then leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against hers. His eyes fell shut, not out of fear or exhaustion but... solace. To feel her there, to take in the warmth that radiated it from her, to just be... loved by her, made just a tiny bit of that hurt lessen.

And that bit of relief, meant more, did more for him than she could ever truly realize.

"But if I do know one thing, it's this, just you... being here, is more than enough for me..." he murmured, and the love that dripped with every word he spoke was enough to move her. "Just... be there, darling."

She squeezed his hand gently in return, feeling a small, but this time, genuine smile finally curve her lips. Things weren't going to be fixed in a day or two, nothing healed that quickly. But, like a plant that's nothing more than a sprout sticking out of its seed, or a pattern of a shirt that was waiting for its seamstress to sow it, all it would need to bloom or become complete was time, patience, and a helping hand...

"If that's what you need," she paused, lifting his hand up to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss against his cool knuckles.

"Then that's exactly what I'll do for you..."

~~~

[agentstarkid]

WHAT THE GODS TRIED TO BURY ✦ 04

✦ WORD COUNT: 7.2K (damn)

✦ WARNINGS: language, brief angst, nightmare, banter and you might end up loving someone (I did). No Azriel or anyone from the Inner Circle.

✦ MAY'S RADIO: I just want y'all to know that this wasn't planned at all. This chapter took a sharp turn after I read inhaled Fourth Wing a few days ago (and now I'm on chapter 49 of Iron Flame), I fell in love with the men—except Dain, I couldn't care less what happens to his bitch ass. Anyways, this was definitely inspired by them (especially Ridoc and Garrick). No violence on this one or major angst (shocking), so enjoy it while it last, friends :)

< previous | series masterlist | next >

She had no intention of coming home.

Not to this place. Not to him.

But her feet had led her here anyway—like they always did.

“You’ve got that look again,” the male drawled, voice rough with sleep. “Like someone kicked your favorite blade off a cliff.”

He didn’t move when she approached. Didn’t even open his eyes.

She halted just inside the archway. “Maybe they did.”

He was sprawled in a chaise on the sun-drenched terrace, a book balanced on his well-defined chest, his bare feet kicked up on a cushioned stool. He looked every bit the lazy noble male he pretended to be in the Summer Court. Barefoot, shirt half-unbuttoned, hair a little too perfect to be accidental, one arm slung behind his head like he hadn’t a single responsibility in the world.

He cracked one eye open. The corner of his mouth tilted. “Then I hope you returned the favor.”

She didn’t answer. Just stepped onto the terrace and dropped her satchel and blade beside the chair opposite him—the one she always used, though she’d never admit it—while the ocean roared below like it wanted to swallow everything she was trying so hard not to feel. His scent followed her, sliding through the tension, as sharp and steady as always—spice wound through crushed mint, sun-warmed leather, and the tart bite of elderberries, anchoring her in place.

“You look like shit.”

That earned him a glance. Barely. But enough for him to spot the storm behind her eyes. Not the rage, no—he knew that well. Rage was easier. This was… something else. Quieter. Meaner. Sadder.

Instead, she rolled her eyes. “Nice to see you too, Theron.”

The male tilted his head without lifting it. “Didn’t say I wasn’t happy to see you. Just pointing out that you look like you haven’t slept since the last solstice.”

She stepped past him without answering, boots silent on the polished stone floor.

Truth was…she hadn’t planned on coming to the Summer Court.

Not really.

She’d decided to head to the Winter Court next, it was easier to leave. She’d told herself that at the crossing—Winter was quiet, detached. Winter made sense. But as she found herself at the intersection of the three courts, Summer had just been on the way—or close enough that the detour felt justified, and it’s been a while since she’s seen the ocean. That was what she told herself as she crossed the final marble bridge stretching toward the villa that overlooked said ocean, where sea-salt clung to her skin and the scent of citrus blooms and driftwood wafted on the breeze.

Definitely just a coincidence, she thought with a huff.

She told herself it wasn’t about the only person in two centuries who hadn’t asked anything of her but had given everything anyway.

Theron wasn’t home.

Not exactly.

But he was the closest thing to it.

And gods help her, she hated that most of all.

The heaviness in her bones threatened to pull her down, and none of it was physically related to the 2-week trip she made to get here from Autumn. 

Fifteen days since Azriel had looked at her like she was both a ghost and a sin he couldn’t name. Since Cassian stood in front of her like a stunned wall she hadn’t asked for. Since the past had bled into the present and she had no idea what to do with any of it.

Theron sat up slowly, brushing a hand through his hair, the ends curling slightly thanks to the sea breeze. “Let me guess. You’re here to ‘pick something up.’”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Or was it ‘just passing through’ this time?” he teased, standing with that languid grace that always made people underestimate how fast he could gut somebody.

“I needed a place to lie low.”

“Of course you did,” he said dryly. “Purely practical. Not at all sentimental.”

She didn’t dignify that with a response. But Theron just grinned, stepping forward and pulling her into a one-armed hug that she tolerated for exactly three seconds before pulling away.

“You smell like fire and poor decisions,” he said.

“I was in Autumn,” she muttered, brushing past him and into the villa.

He raised a brow. “And yet, still in one piece. That’s new.”

She ignored that, too.

It was easier not to talk about it. About how she nearly slipped on her control and the way her power threatened to burn everything around her, fueled by her emotions. About how Azriel’s voice had chased her long after she’d walked away. About how, for the briefest moment, she'd wondered if he would follow.

He hadn’t.

And that was for the best.

Probably.

The 4-inch over 6-foot male didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched her move through the villa like she wasn’t trying to wear her anger like armor. Like he hadn’t seen her do this before—hadn’t memorized the signs of her unraveling long ago.

She stood at the edge of the open balcony doors, staring out at the ocean, jaw tight. He leaned against the threshold, arms crossed over his chest, his posture all casual indifference.

“I’m making dinner,” he announced.

She blinked. “You burn water.”

“I’ve improved,” he said with mock offense. “Besides, I didn’t say I was cooking it. I said I was making it. Big difference. I’ve got a tray of very pretty things being delivered by a very pretty male in about ten minutes.”

She shot him a sidelong glance. “Is that what you call flirting now?”

“I call it strategic delegation.”

Her lips twitched—barely—but Theron caught it. A chink in the walls.

He pushed off the doorway, walking toward her with that infuriating ease, like he knew exactly what he was doing. (And knowing  him, he mostly did.) “Come on. Eat something. Then you can brood dramatically on the rooftop if you must.”

“I’m not brooding.”

He gave her a look. “You are the definition of brooding. If I painted you right now, I’d have to call it ‘Female Thinking About Death and Vengeance While Pretending to Enjoy the View.’”

That got a real smile, small and unwilling. “You’re an ass.”

“And you’re stalling.”

She said nothing.

Theron stepped closer, his tone softening. “Whatever happened in Autumn—it’s not going to eat you alive unless you let it.”

Her shoulders stiffened. He didn’t push further. Just added, “Let me distract you for a little while. I promise to be annoying enough that you’ll forget everything else.”

“I don’t need distraction,” she muttered.

“You need something. It's why you're here.”

She turned to him then, really looked at him. And just for a second, she saw the echo of herself in him—Almost the same wild tangle of hair that drank in the light, same sun-warmed skin that always looked kissed by some faraway place, the same shadow in their gazes they never quite managed to scrub out, the same tension curling through their postures like a second skin. The few people who have gotten lucky enough to see them together—to see her—often asked if they were siblings.

Sometimes, when she looked at him sideways, she wondered if the Cauldron had stitched something in their bones before they were born, she even wondered if they could’ve been, in another life, before everything had been taken. Before the world had turned cruel.

But no—he was just the male who helped her escape, who stayed, who never asked for anything in return. Just a guard with too many secrets and a soft spot for the female he once smuggled out of what she considered was Hel itself.

He was the only hand that reached for hers when she was nothing but blood and bone and rage. She didn’t trust many—but she trusted him.

Or at least, as close to trust as she allowed.

Alas, Theron never corrected the assumptions. He just smirked and let it hang in the air.

“I’ll stay for dinner,” she said finally.

Theron smirked. “I knew the promise of food would win. Works every time.”

As he turned to head for the kitchens, whistling under his breath, she found herself following.

And for the first time in days, the storm inside her eased—just slightly.

He opened a bottle of wine, and called over his shoulder, “So are we pretending everything’s fine, or do I get the full tragic breakdown today?”

She shot him a look, arching a brow. “What happened to distracting me?”

He glanced back with a crooked smile. “This is the distraction.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, at least you’ve got the annoying part covered, effortlessly may I add.”

He just grinned, throwing at her a small trinket he found nearby as she ducked slightly, and made his way to the small cabinet by the kitchen entrance.

She didn’t answer at first, just leaned against the cool marble counter and watched him pull down two mismatched glasses like he hadn’t stolen them from a noble’s villa three solstices ago.

“I’m not in the mood for a breakdown,” she said finally.

Theron uncorked the bottle and poured generously. “So… pretending everything’s fine, then.”

“Exactly.”

He slid a glass toward her as she took a seat on one of the stools, which were made of polished iron and decorated with an intricate design. “Cheers to emotional repression. My favorite coping mechanism.”

She raised it, clinked it against his. “Second only to sarcasm.”

He grinned. “Naturally.”

They drank in silence for a moment. Outside, the breeze rolled in through the open balcony doors, carrying the scent of salt and ripe peaches. Somewhere, a gull screamed clear and cutting, a wild hymn to the open sky.

Theron cocked his head. “You going to tell me what happened?”

She stared at the glass. “No.”

“Okay,” he said casually, then dramatically dropped his shoulders with a sigh. “Then I’ll guess.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Theron—”

“You were caught stealing priceless jewels from the Autumn Court treasury and had to seduce a warden to escape.”

She snorted. “That was you in Winter, last year.”

“Right.” He took another sip. “Then… someone pissed you off, you burned half a forest, and now you’re in hiding because someone’s very upset about their trees.”

Her jaw tightened, but not from amusement this time.

Theron didn’t miss it.

His voice lowered, the teasing slipping from his tone just enough to be noticed. “Was it them?”

She didn’t answer.

He set his glass down. “Did they find you?”

“No,” she said, too quickly. “It wasn’t them.”

Theron waited.

She pressed her lips together. “I saw… someone. From before.”

His brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

She took another drink, staring past him at the sea. ��It was like… like I’d walked back into a story I forgot I was a part of. And suddenly, everything was loud again. All of it.”

A muscle ticked in her jaw. “I left before anything could happen. Before I did something I’d regret.”

Theron’s gaze sharpened, but he didn’t move. “You didn’t lose control?”

“No.”

Almost.

It wasn't necessarily a lie, just omitting certain words, but it still felt bitter in her mouth. Her fingers curled around the glass.

He nodded, as if accepting that answer—for now. “And this someone… was it the one with the shadows and the brooding glower? The one who stares like he’s trying to solve a riddle no one asked?”

Her eyes snapped to his. How the fuck–?

Theron held up his hands. “I remember things.”

She rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters if he made you look like you’re carrying the end of the world on your back again.”

She looked down at her drink and exhaled slowly. “Rhysand knows.”

His brow arched. “That you’re alive, or that you’ve been impersonating the ghost of vengeance for the past hundred years?”

“Both.”

“Damn.” He clicked his tongue. “Took him long enough. I thought he was supposed to be clever.”

Her jaw twitched. She didn’t respond.

“Apparently he told the others I died on that battlefield,” she said finally, voice like splintered glass. “Didn’t even check. My supposedly dead body wasn’t even cold yet—and he was already spinning the tale. Told them I sacrificed myself.”

Theron stilled.

His hand flexed once on the stem of his glass before he forced himself to ease it.

“Right,” he said, too softly. “Of course he did.”

She didn’t look up.

“I bled out in a shithole,” she murmured. “Alone. And when I clawed my way back he’d already moved on. Already buried me in his mind and made it poetic.” A dry chuckle left her lips.

Theron’s expression didn’t change, but his silence sharpened.

He’d always known. She hadn’t needed to spell it out for him—the fury, the sorrow, the way she flinched at the mere mention of them. She’d told him enough. Enough for him to hate them all on principle.

“Sounds like they mourned a corpse that wasn’t theirs to grieve,” he said coolly.

She gave a soft, bitter laugh. “At least he made it sound noble. Said I made a choice. That I gave myself to save the rest of them.”

“And did you?”

She glanced at him.

He didn’t smile. “Or did he just need a story to sleep at night?”

Her chest rose with a sharp breath. “Fuck if I know anymore,” she said. Then, quieter—like it cost something to say, “Azriel and Cassian… they said they didn’t know. That Rhysand never told them I was alive.”

Theron’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t speak.

“They swore it.” Her voice wavered, barely. “And I—” she shook her head, fingers curling tighter around her glass, “I almost believed them. The way they looked at me… like I’d torn the world in half just by standing there.”

He was quiet for a beat, the only sound coming from the waves crashing on the shore outside.

“He looked at me like I was a ghost.”

Silence stretched. By the way her eyes seemed to dim a little, he knew who she was referring to. Mother damn it. 

“Maybe you were.”

She blinked.

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “To him. Maybe you’re a story he buried. Or maybe you were the part he never really got over.”

Her throat felt tight.

“But,” he added, his tone light again, as if cutting the thread before it pulled too far, “he’s also probably an idiot. So don’t let it get to your head.”

She huffed a soft, dry laugh. “Thanks for the insight.”

Theron grinned. “Anytime. I’m full of half-baked wisdom and unlimited charm.”

She rolled her eyes, but the tightness in her chest eased. Just a little. Just enough.

Her gaze drifted to the rim of her glass. “Why did you stay?”

Theron blinked. “What?”

She looked up at him now, something open and bare in her expression. “You had no reason to. After that place, after—everything. You could’ve disappeared. But you stayed. With me.”

A pause.

“Are you asking if I’m secretly madly in love with you?”

She snorted. “Theron.”

He gave her a slow, exaggerated shrug, leaning back in his chair like he hadn’t just deflected her question. “Maybe I just like Faerie wine. Or maybe I enjoy the thrill of never knowing when you’re going to barge in covered in blood and bad decisions.”

She didn’t let it go. “I’m serious.”

He didn’t answer immediately. Just stared at the wine in his glass like it might spare him from telling the truth.

Then, softly, “Because I saw you chained and beaten half to death, and still looking at those assholes that captured you like you were the one they should fear.”

She stilled.

He didn’t look at her as he continued. “Because when most people break, they shatter. But you—gods, you didn’t just survive. You endured. And you still had enough spite in you to tell me to fuck off while half-conscious.” A dry huff of a laugh left him. “You were bleeding out, less than half conscious and still trying to bite the guards when they got too close.”

“I don’t remember that,” she said, voice thin.

“I do.” He looked up at her then, something ancient and unspoken in his eyes. “And I think… seeing that—seeing you—did something to me. You had a foot and a half in death’s door and were still feral. It was the most impressive, most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her throat went tight.

But of course, he didn’t let the moment linger too long.

“Also, I’d already decided that if you lived, you owed me at least one dramatic rescue from a tower cell. Still waiting on that, by the way.”

She snorted. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are. Sharing my wine. Sitting at my table.”

“Only because you bribed me with food.”

“Strategic delegation, thank you very much.”

She shook her head, but the edges of her mouth lifted.

“You still haven’t cooked anything edible in your life.”

“I made toast once.”

“You burned toast once.”

“Fine,” he said, throwing his hands up. “I’m emotionally supportive and terrible in the kitchen. Some would call that balance.”

She grinned, just a little. “Some would call that a red flag.”

“Some don’t appreciate me.”

“I do,” she said quietly, before she could stop herself.

The words hung between them like threads catching light.

Theron tilted his head slightly, the smirk slipping into something gentler. “I know.”

And for a few heartbeats, silence wrapped around them—comfortable and full of everything unspoken.

“Whatever you are thinking about making better not be poisoned.”

He let out a mock gasp. “How dare you.”

“Because if I die from it, I’m haunting you.”

“Oh, I expect nothing less. But if you do, try to knock over the vases I hate first.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ass.”

“You adore me.”

“Questionable.”

“Undeniable.”

He poured her another glass of wine. “You still smell like shit, by the way.”

“And you still dress like a pompous little prince in exile.”

“It’s called fashion,” he said with a wink, twirling with a flourish gesture. “You’d know that if you didn’t wear the same bloodstained black leathers every other week.”

“You love them.”

“I tolerate them.”

She smirked and settled further on her chair, stretching like a cat. “I missed this.”

His smile turned quiet, but sure. “Yeah. Me too.”

For the first time in weeks, the air around her felt breathable.

She found herself in the same kingdom of impossible wonder.

It always started the same way.

Towers that kissed the sky, carved from pale stone that shimmered like trapped lightning. A river, dark and glimmering with untold power, that cut through the land like a vein of liquid night.

But tonight, it was… different.

Wrong.

Instead of the deafening chaos that always follows, the quietness reigned. No screaming. No shadows lunging through wreckage. Just… stillness.

The towers now stood shattered, veined with cracks and shadows, jagged stumps clawing at the dark sky. That radiant shimmer was gone—stone dulled and scorched, as if lightning had not been trapped in it, but had burned it from the inside out. Statues that had once stood tall and graceful, wept molten gold from hollow eyes. The river that had once flowed like a pulse of living magic now ran thick and crimson, sluggish as blood. The scent, so dense it made her stomach twist, hit her next—iron, acrid sulfur, rot. Trees, blackened and skeletal, groaned softly despite the lack of wind.

It looked like the calm after a storm, but there was no peace here. No calm.

Not anymore.

Still, the silence pressed hardest of all. Not even her footsteps dared make a sound.

Something was so fucking wrong.

The stones were too smooth. The grass too dry. The sky above churned with grey, angry clouds that didn’t move, as if painted on.

She whispered, “What happened?”

The wind didn’t answer. It never did.

But her feet moved anyway, following the broken path to the water’s edge, where crimson lapped at the banks and the reflection staring back at her was not her own.

It was her face—but older. Blood-spattered. Void-eyed. Crowned in bone and cerulean flames.

And behind her in the river’s reflection, a throne sat empty.

Waiting.

She gasped and staggered back, heart lurching, breath caught on a sharp edge of panic. The vision—or whatever it had been—vanished the moment she looked away, leaving only the ripple of blood-stained water. But the weight of it lingered. Clung to her skin like smoke.

She turned from the river, throat dry, and stepped carefully into the ruin beyond. Yet every footfall felt too loud, like it might wake something that should never rise. Her skin prickled. Her heart pounded too hard against her ribs.

Her senses screamed with something she hadn’t felt in years—prey.

There was a presence. She could feel it, just at the edge of awareness. Not watching—looming. Like a stormcloud with teeth. Like a shadow that whispered of ruined oaths. Power rolled across the ruined landscape, ancient and wrong, pressing against her like invisible chains.

She turned in slow circles, scanning the wreckage. Nothing. No movement. No sound.

But she knew something was here.

A tremor rippled down her spine. That was when she saw it—movement.

From the ruins ahead.

Shapes.

At first she thought they were shadows, but no—bodies. Dozens of them. Twisted, broken, dragging themselves from the crumbling remains of the city. Some stumbled forward as if in a trance, others crawled, limbs splintered and bent. Their bodies were ruined—gaping wounds, twisted limbs, charred skin hanging from fragile bones. Their faces were bloodied, half-gone, yet eyes that should have been shut in death were open, locked on her with hollow stares as if they remembered her. As if they hated her.

The closer they came, the clearer she saw it: these were people.

Or what was left of them.

Panic shot through her like lightning.

They were coming straight for her.

She stumbled back, heartbeat turning frantic.

And then—

A breath, hot and too close, ghosted across the back of her neck.

She froze.

A voice, low and rich and dark as the grave, whispered into her ear:

“Ah, I’ve been waiting for you, Geallta.”

She woke with a gasp—sharp and ragged, like her lungs had forgotten how to breathe.

For a moment, she didn’t know where she was.

The shadows of the room twisted in her vision, strange and warping as if the dream hadn’t truly let her go. The scent of blood and sulfur still clung to her senses, too thick, too real. Her pulse thundered in her ears, and her chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow bursts as her eyes darted across the room.

Stone walls.

Sunlight filtering through gauzy curtains.

The soft crash of distant waves.

Not the kingdom. Not there.

Just a dream. Just a dream. It was just a fucking dream. 

But the panic didn’t care.

She reached instinctively—fingers wrapping around cool steel beneath her pillow—just as a shape moved in the corner of her vision.

The blade was in her hand, half-raised before her eyes fully registered him.

Theron.

Leaning lazily against the doorway, arms crossed, barefoot and utterly unconcerned.

He didn’t flinch. Of course he didn’t. Just lifted a brow and drawled, “Do you ever not wake up like you’re about to kill someone?”

Her heart still raced like a war drum. Sweat cooled against her skin. But the knife lowered, her grip slackening just slightly.

“Next time,” she rasped, her voice still hoarse with sleep, “try knocking.”

“I did. Three times.” He glanced pointedly at the closed door. “You were too busy thrashing around like you were fighting off a small army. Which, to be fair, is on brand.”

She groaned and sat up, dragging a hand down her face. Her muscles ached with tension she couldn’t shake, the echoes of that dream still clinging like a second skin.

“Morning sunshine,” he sang-song. “Or, you know, whatever passes for a greeting from you these days.”

She rolled her eyes and muttered something too low for him to hear. Not that it mattered—he probably already knew what she was going to say anyway. Sometimes she swore he saw too much.

The broad-shouldered, lean male pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room, snagging the pitcher from the nightstand and pouring her a glass of water. He handed it over without comment, sitting on the edge of her bed, crossing one ankle over the other.

She took it with a muttered thanks and drank, slowly, letting it anchor her. Letting here sink back in.

The bed. The villa. Summer’s sea breeze curling through the open windows.

Not bone crowns or rivers of blood.

He watched her, still and silent, his usual smart-ass commentary blessedly absent—for now.

“You had the dream again,” he said after a beat.

Not a question.

She didn’t answer.

“You screamed,” he added, softer.

She looked away.

Theron let the silence stretch before he offered, gently, “Wanna tell me what you saw this time?”

She didn’t speak. Just stared at the cup in her hand like it might hold the answer.

But the image burned behind her eyes: a river turned to blood, a reflection that wasn’t hers, an army of undead.

And the voice. 

Mother save her.

She shuddered.

“I don’t think it was just a dream,” she said quietly.

He tensed, but didn’t interrupt. He didn’t push. He never did—not in the way others had. That’s what made him dangerous, she sometimes thought. He saw everything, said little, and made you think it was your idea to share anything at all.

“I think…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “There was something there. I could feel it watching me. I could feel it.” Her voice dropped. “It knew me.”

Theron didn’t move. But something cold flickered in his gaze. “What did it say?”

She hesitated before repeating what that voice said, low and unhurried, thick with something ancient and vile.

Silence.

Even the sea outside seemed to hush.

Theron’s expression didn’t change—but she saw it. The faint twitch of his jaw. The stillness of a man suddenly very, very alert.

She met his eyes. “You know what that word means.”

It wasn’t a question either.

But he only gave her that maddening look—the one that danced the line between infuriating and concerned. The one that never quite gave anything away.

Theron didn’t answer right away.

His gaze flicked to the window, where early sunlight spilled across the stone floor like gold dust. “I think it means you’re not getting enough sleep. Or you’ve been reading too many creepy, erotic poems before bed.”

She gave him a flat look. “Theron.”

He offered her a lazy shrug. “Nightmares are dreams with better marketing. I’m not sure I’d call that prophecy.”

“Bullshit,” she snapped. “You’ve been writing every detail I give you down for years.”

“I like stories,” he said smoothly, too smoothly. “And yours are always… vivid.”

She stared at him, unblinking.

He grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Look, if I had a coin for every time you woke up brooding and dramatic, I could finally afford that island I keep threatening to disappear to.”

Before she could answer, he pushed off the bed and crossed the room, his movements unhurried, like he wasn’t watching her out of the corner of his eye. Like he hadn’t noted the sheen of sweat on her brow or the tremor in her fingers.

“Anyway,” he said, tone light, “I ordered pastries. From that place you pretend you don’t like but somehow eat half the tray from every time.”

She didn’t reply. Just stared at the space where the dream still lingered like smoke.

He hesitated—only a beat, but long enough to register—and then added with a lazy smirk, “They sent the good honey this time. The one you claimed wasn’t sweet enough, then finished with a spoon.”

Still no answer.

Theron ran a hand through his hair, “If you’re going to sit there looking like the ocean chewed you up and spit you out, I’m going to do the responsible thing and feed you before you start brooding hard enough to summon a storm.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. “You better eat something. Or I’ll start reciting tragic tales of my short-lived career as a Summer Court minstrel until you cry out of secondhand embarrassment.” Her brow lifted, the smallest flicker of curiosity in her eyes. “Turns out, water wraiths are harsh critics—Who knew?.” 

That earned him the tiniest, grudging flicker of a smile.

He saw it.

He said nothing.

Later, when the scent of sweet-flavored tea finally dragged her from her room, she padded barefoot down the polished hall, hair still damp from the bath she hadn’t intended to take. Her steps were quiet, unhurried—but not quite relaxed.

The villa’s kitchen came into view just as a very pretty male—the very pretty male—was pulling on his tunic, tousled hair sticking up like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times. He stood close to Theron. Too close for it to be casual.

Tall, golden-brown skin kissed by sunlight, high cheekbones and a mouth made to smirk—all of which he was currently using to good effect as he murmured something low enough that she couldn’t catch it, but whatever it was made Theron grin and nudge him with a shoulder, still barefoot and shirtless, tattoos curling around his forearms—souvenirs from another life. An old thin scar traced the side of his neck, just barely visible through the stubble on his jaw.

She slowed just enough to watch Theron lean in and murmur something in return. Whatever it was made the stranger grin, bold and unapologetic, leaning in—mouth brushing too close to Theron’s ear for it to be anything but intimate. A quiet laugh. A brief touch to the waist before he ducked his head, placed a slow and sensuous kiss on the ex-guard’s lips and left through the side door with a wave that might’ve lingered a little too long, smug and definitely satisfied.

She raised a brow as she stepped into the room. “Let me guess. That was the very pretty male delivering very pretty things last night.”

Theron turned with a stretch, unbothered. “And prettier in person, right? I didn’t lie.”

“You left out the part where he came back after dinner.”

Theron smirked, unrepentant. “Must’ve forgotten.”

“You also forgot to mention he stayed.”

“He was very persistent,” Theron purred, flipping open a box on the counter and revealing a selection of pastries that looked criminally good. “And, in my defense, the dessert was excellent.”

She didn’t quite roll her eyes as she reached for one. “Which part? The cake or the company?”

He winked, biting into a strawberry tartlet. “Yes.”

She took a slow bite of the flaky pastry, eyeing him. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Theron made a noise of agreement, already halfway through his tartlet. “So I’ve been told. Repeatedly. Usually right before someone kisses me or tries to stab me.”

She arched a brow. “Which one was he?”

Theron grinned, dusting off his hands. “Why not both?”

She rolled her eyes and took another bite of her mini coconut-key lime pie. Fuck, they were so good. “You really know how to pick them.”

He placed a hand over his heart, mock-wounded. “I’ll have you know my taste is impeccable.”

“In chaos? Sure.”

“And you?” he said, raising a brow. “You’ve had your fair share of… colorful partners.”

Her look turned flat. “No, I haven’t.”

He tilted his head. “Come on. There was that Urisk who—”

“Used me for cover during a raid and vanished with half my gold? Not exactly a sweeping romance.”

“Alright, then the brooding blue-skinned fae who—”

“Lasted all of 5 minutes and then stole my boots.”

Theron cringed. “Oh. Right. I forgot about the boots.”

“You know why you forgot?” she said dryly. “Because there’s barely a list to begin with. And it’s short. Very short.”

He didn’t answer immediately, just studied her over his cup, that too-knowing look flickering behind his lashes. She felt it—just for a moment—that faint edge of concern beneath the teasing. The truth he wouldn’t say out loud.

“I don’t trust easily,” she added, quieter this time. “Haven’t in a long time.”

“Since escaping a prison of nightmares two centuries ago? Shocking,” he said lightly. But the softness was there. “Still, good to know you’re picky.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “And you’re not?”

“I just have very… flexible standards.”

She snorted. “Clearly.”

He playfully stuck his tongue out at her, narrowing his eyes as she answered back with a smug smirk. Then his expression laced with thinly veiled curiosity as he leaned against the counter, drumming his fingers lightly. “So. You gonna tell me why you refused their invitation?”

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

“The Night Court. You mentioned they wanted you to return. And from what you told me, you shot it down so fast I’m pretty sure time must’ve reversed for a second.”

Her shoulders stiffened slightly. “Because I don’t want to go.”

Theron gave her a long, unreadable look. Then, with a breezy shrug, said, “Maybe you should.”

What in the Mother's tits?

She blinked slowly. “What?”

She must have heard him wrong. Surely, he didn’t just suggest her to pay them a—

“Visit. Just to stir the pot. Imagine the chaos you could cause by simply showing up.” He smirked. “You’d have them all crying into their pretty wine glasses.”

For Cauldron's sake… 

“I’m not a blunt instrument.”

“No. You’re far worse. You’re a scalpel.” His grin widened while he wiggled his eyebrows. With each word spoken, his voice became less pitched until it became a whisper, “Sharp. Quiet. Dangerous.”

She gave him a look. “And this is your idea of encouragement?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely. Think of it as a heartfelt push from a concerned friend who wants to live vicariously through your emotional carnage.”

She stared at him a beat, slight amusement dancing in her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are. Eating my pastries. Sleeping under my roof. Threatening me with knives. Rejecting the idea of a little chaos. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were getting soft.” 

“Keep talking and you’ll find out how soft a blade can feel in your ribs.”

He winked. “That’s the spirit.”

Then, casually, as if it were a minor detail: “Besides, if you go, you could finally kick that pompous High Lord’s ass. Closure, catharsis—call it whatever you want. I’ll even make popcorn.”

She raised a brow. “You just want a front-row seat.”

He grinned. “Obviously. But also... come on. Don’t pretend the thought hasn’t crossed your mind.”

Her silence was answer enough.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Mm, sure. But a correct one?”

Silence.

Too long.

He leaned forward, grinning like a cat who’d found something sharp to play with. “You thought about it.”

She didn’t look at him, moving around the counter to get to a cupboard. “Maybe I just want to punch someone.”

“Then make it count. Hit the one who deserves it.” He turned around, following her figure.

And though she said nothing, he saw it—the twitch at the corner of her mouth, the way her eyes didn't quite harden fast enough. Just for a heartbeat. 

“Gods, you’re the worst,” she muttered, grabbing a cup from the shelf a little too aggressively.

“And yet,” he said, grinning as he leaned his back against the counter, “you’re still here.”

“I have nowhere better to be,” she said coolly, but the words lacked their usual bite. Her don’t-give-a-damn tone slipped, just a fraction, around him—and he noticed. Of course he did.

He didn’t press. Just sipped his tea like this was all very casual. “You know,” he said after a beat, “if anyone might know something about the undead, it’s probably the Night Court. They’re dramatic like that.”

She snorted, grabbing the kettle and pouring the blood orange, cranberry, and pomegranate flavoured tea into her cup. “You’re confusing drama with darkness.”

“Not mutually exclusive. Shadowboy did say they needed you to fight Koschei. And if I recall from old tales, he’s not exactly… alive—in the traditional way.” Theron’s nose wrinkled as if he smelled sour milk. 

Her hand stilled. The warmth of the cup did nothing to stop the chill climbing her spine.

Koschei.

Her chest tightened, vision narrowing. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

That name… It gave her the same feeling as the voice in her dreams. The same wrongness. The same ancient dread.

She took a slow breath. Masked it with a roll of her shoulders and a sip of her cup. “Still not a reason to go running into their open arms.”

“No,” Theron agreed easily, but there was something quieter under it. “But maybe not a reason to keep running away, either.”

She gave him a long look, trying to find the usual smirk, the glint of teasing in his eyes.

It was there. But dimmed.

She hated how he could do that—say the one thing that cracked right through the armor she’d spent centuries sharpening. Hated more that some traitorous part of her was already imagining it. Velaris—the place she considered home once. The spymaster’s shadowed hazel eyes. The look Rhysand might wear when he saw her again. She wholeheartly hoped he’d shit his pristine tailored pants once he saw her, as if she was a vengeance spirit coming to right all. his. fucking. wrongs. 

She took a drink instead of answering.

But her silence wasn’t quite as heavy with certainty as it had been moments ago.

Theron didn’t push—just leaned back in his chair with that maddening calm, tattooed arms crossed loosely over his chest. Watching her like he always did, with too-sharp eyes and too much patience.

She hated when he did that.

Because it worked.

It made her want to throw the cup at him.

She didn’t. Mostly because she knew he’d dodge it easily.

She shifted in her seat, her left foot tapping once against the leg of the stool. “It doesn’t matter,” she muttered.

She set the drink down slowly, her thumb traced slow circles against the rim of the cup, over and over like it might ground her. “I’m not going back,” she said, but it sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than him.

Theron arched a brow but didn’t comment. Just drummed his fingers against the table in a slow rhythm. “No one said you had to. It was just a suggestion.” 

She rubbed a hand over her face, fingers dragging down the line of her jaw. “It’s not my war anymore.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But whatever’s coming? Sounds like it might make your last war look like a warm-up.” Theron was on his feet now, moving to the granite sink to wash it.

There wasn’t mockery in his expression this time. No teasing. Just something quieter. A flicker of something he rarely let show—concern. Worry. Maybe even fear.

Not for himself.

That made her chest twist.

Her voice was quiet when she finally asked, “You think I should go?”

He shrugged one shoulder as he came to stand on the edge of the countertop, facing her chair as he studied her face. His eyes made her think of the sea after a terrible storm, the gray rolling clouds reflecting onto the almost-blue surface of the water. “I think you’ve already decided.”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

The silence said enough.

“What if I’m wrong?” she said quietly.

He didn’t ask what she meant. Just said, softer than usual, “About what?”

“That they didn’t know. That they didn’t care.”

He was quiet for a beat. “Does it matter?”

“Yes.” The word snapped from her throat. She hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

He shifted again, his voice back to that frustrating drawl. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I still think they’re a bunch of emotionally constipated pricks.”

That startled a soft huff from her. 

Theron shifted, tilting his head a little, as if he could see something she couldn’t. Then, he smiled. Not smug. Not teasing. Just… there. A quiet presence that had long since stopped trying to be anything but himself. 

"Whatever this is, you're not facing it alone. Not this time.” After a beat, he knocked three times on the counter.

A shadow of a smile tugged at the edge of her mouth, even as her heart twisted.

He softly nodded once, and then made his way toward the door with a stretch and a lazy yawn, like the conversation hadn’t shifted the ground beneath her feet.

She stayed at the table long after Theron left the room, the morning sun slanting through the open balcony doors and casting gold across the cool stone floor. The scent of salt and citrus drifted in on a lazy breeze, but it couldn’t quite settle the storm inside her.

She told herself it didn’t matter. That she didn’t fucking care. That the Night Court wasn’t her home anymore. Fuck them and their City of Starshit. But Gods—some part of her still felt the tug. Felt it like an old scar aching before a storm.

And worse still, she wanted to see them. Not all of them. Not yet. But… him.

She shoved the thought aside so hard her chair scraped the floor as she stood.

Her feet made no sound as she crossed the villa, padding barefoot across sun-warmed tiles toward the open terrace. The sea glittered beyond the cliffs, mocking in its serenity.

She braced her hands on the balcony railing, jaw clenched, heart pounding far too fast for someone standing still.

He had been the one to say her name first. After two centuries. He’d looked at her like a man dragged from a grave. Like she was something lost and found all at once. And Mother help her, some weak, traitorous part of her had felt it. Had wanted to reach out. Had wanted to believe.

Her eyes fluttered shut. She died on that battlefield, Rhysand had told them.

Except she hadn’t. And they’d lived with that lie. Built a whole life around it.

Her head said stay away. Burn the bridge. Let them drown in what they did. Tell them to fuck right off once again.

But her heart—godsdamned thing—had the worst memory. Still kept pieces of them buried deep, under layers of iron and ice and rage. Azriel’s deep voice. Cassian’s booming laughter. Amren’s sharp words that somehow still made her feel seen. Mor, who had looked at her once and immediately decided she was worth keeping around.

The fragile and stupid thing was whispering still. Definitely not forgiveness. Not yet. But something quieter, older. That they’d once been hers. And maybe, just maybe, some part of her still belonged to them.

And to him.

The shadowsinger with eyes like dusk and scars she knew by heart.

She opened her eyes.

The wind shifted, tugging at her hair.

She didn’t move for a long time.

The truth was, she didn’t know what scared her more—the thought of returning, or the thought that she might actually want to.

< previous | series masterlist | next >

[mythicalmyles]

step brother Toby 🧍👀 (also i hope tomorrow gets better💗 )

After this ask im gonna have too much in my mind lmfaoo

Stepcest/dubcon/manipulation/tobys gross n toxic/bottom male reader

You huffed out, turning to look at the man that was now your brother. You hated the fact your dad had remarried but there was little you could do, he had made his mind up and moved her and her hell spawn into your home.

Toby stared a lot. Especially when you wire nothing but a towel after a hot shower, you tried to push back any thoughts that tried to weasel into your mind. You couldn’t deny his lifeless brown eyes would easily pin you in place, he always had a smirk on his face, like he knew something else no one else knew.

You were stuck alone with him, he sat on his bed, hair messy and unkempt. He’d likely ran his hands through his locks, deciding that was enough. He wore grey sweat pants decorated with stains that showed off his boxers, he was well defined which had initially surprised you. His glasses sat crooked on his nose, his dark bags hanging down his eyes as he stared at the screen infront of him. He had his shirt off, leaving his mouth watering chest on display. He was toxic as hell, always shouting obscenities down the mic. Even if he had done something stupid he’d still blow his top on those around him.

You were usually quick to make yourself scarce during the times he was gaming, instead you lay on your stomach and watched him lazily as anger seared over his features. “Yo-you fuh-fucking bitch!” He suddenly screamed out, throwing the control off the wall and nearly causing you to leap out of bed. It was too late once you’d realised your mistake.

Something evil took over Toby’s face when his eyes landed on you, his lips pulled into a snarl and a horrifying look in his eyes. You felt like a little fawn that had been dropped into the line of sight of a starved wolf. He moved to strike, jumping up just before your brain finally clicked. He was pissed and you must’ve looked like a target.

Fear flooded through you as you scrambled up, desperately praying for escape. Toby literally slammed the thoughts out of your head, sending you fly into the wall. You let out a cry as your body hit the wall, head slamming against the plaster and leaving your head spinning.

He had always scared you, he disappeared for days on end and always came back just that little bit extra terrifying. It was almost like every time he came back he left a little more humanity behind. You had tried so hard to stay out of his way despite sharing a room, you knew he was a ticking time bomb and yet you had stayed any way. You’d long given up on having your room look nice, he always tore it up anyway.

He grabbed your wrists, slamming them against the wall so hard you yelped. “T-Toby, ple-please.” The look on his face let you know just how big of a mistake you had made, he held your arms above your head with one hand while the other wrapped around your throat. His grip was tight and unforgiving, you were positive his nails would leave scars along your neck. You choked out a whimper, tears dripping from your eyes as he choked you to the point of blackout. He stopped just before you fell over the edge and into darkness, pulling away watching as you fell to your knees grasping your neck and choking.

Toby didn’t have any interest in you at first, intent on keeping the worst parts of himself until he was ready to leave. But when he caught sight of that dumb little look on your face it went straight to his cock, he knew you feared him and he relished in it. He was enraged from his game, the idiots in his team sucked. When he caught sight of you after his rage he felt something stir in him, the fear on your face, the way you bit down onto your lip eyeing him like you were about to bolt. He couldn’t have that.

That was how you’d ended up biting onto your sheets, Toby’s cock smashing deep inside of you. You felt your tears rush down your cheeks and soak into your sheets. “You like tha-a-that? Getting fuh-fucked by your big bro-brother?” Toby was insane, his words were lewd and disgusting. Yet your cock leaked between your legs, body shaking as he nailed into you. He left deep scratches in your hips, slamming you back onto his cock.

You couldn’t breathe, he loved the way you struggled underneath him. “S-stop To-toby-y.” You choked out one last time, he knew you didn’t mean it. He knew by the way your back arched, letting his cock slide deeper into you. Your choked moans filled the room along with the sound of him slamming into you, his cock abusing your prostate.

He ripped himself out and flipped you over, baring down at you with a shark toothed grin. He looked terrifying, drool dripping from his mouth as he stared down at you. The sight of his cock slamming into your tight hole was almost enough to spur him over the edge. “Ye-yeah that-thats it baby, ta-ah-take my cock.” He slammed your lips together, tongue forcing its way into your mouth and wasting no time in exploring. You whined into the kiss, feeling both of your saliva dripping down your face and neck.

“Do-dont wor-ry ill take go-good care of you, li-lit-little bro.” Toby’s words left you whining, hands grabbing desperately against his shoulders. You barely had a moment before an orgasm ripped through you, tearing you apart at the seams and leaving you clenching around Toby’s cock.

You clenched hard around him, sobbing and whining as you felt his cum flood your stomach. He flopped down onto you, his weight keeping you pinned down as he lazily ground into you. He ignored your overstimulated cries, content to keep his cock buried in your tight ass. “Suh-such a good b-boy.” Toby muttered, petting your hair as you came down from your high.

[flowerbloomsworld]

𝙊𝙡𝙙 𝙁𝙡𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨, 𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝙂𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: After three years together, Sira and Jobe broke up when she left to pursue her dream of studying physiotherapy. Now, back in Sunderland as the team’s physiotherapist, she finds herself caught in a familiar game. Realizing his mistake, Jobe refuses to let her go, determined to win her back. He teases, pushes, and chases her every day, knowing she still feels the same—even if she won’t admit it. Sira fights against it, but in the end, Jobe always gets what he wants, because no matter how much time has passed, their feelings never truly faded.

𝙀𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙝 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙢𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙜𝙚, 𝙨𝙤 𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝙞𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨.

___________________________________________

Sira was organizing her materials when she heard the door open. Without raising her eyes, she already knew who it was. The woody scent, mixed with a hint of sweat, betrayed his presence.

“You never knock before entering, do you?” she murmured, trying to ignore the approaching presence.

Jobe smiled from the corner of his mouth, closing the door behind him. “Knocking is a waste of time. Besides, I know you like my company.”

She slowly lifted her eyes, eyeing him with suspicion. “What now? If you came to cause trouble, you can turn right around.”

He took a step forward, pointing to his shoulder. “On the contrary, I hurt myself during training. I think I’ll need some special attention.” He leaned on the table, his eyes shamelessly wandering over her body.

Sira crossed her arms. “You have an entire team of physiotherapists. Why did you come here?”

Jobe dramatically sighed, sitting on the bench in front of her. “Because I only trust you, doctor.” He smiled slyly, that mischievous smile that always destabilized her. “And because I know your hands are much more careful.”

Sira crossed her arms again. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Do I really need an appointment? I thought I had priority.”

She rolled her eyes. “You have no priority in anything.” She stood up and walked toward the treatment table. “Take your shirt off.”

He raised an eyebrow. “If you wanted to see me without a shirt, you could’ve just asked.”

“Jobe.” Her tone was firm, but her eyes betrayed a hint of amusement. She took a deep breath, trying to maintain composure.

He slowly obeyed, pulling the shirt over his head and revealing his well-defined muscles. “I saw you looking,” he murmured with a playful grin.

Sira huffed, grabbing her gloves. “Stop it, I’m just doing my job.”

“Of course,” he teased, leaning forward a bit. “And when your hands slide over me, it’s purely professional, right?”

She took a deep breath, determined to ignore him, but when she turned her back to continue her work, she felt his gaze burning into her.

“You know those pants look perfect on you?” he commented, blatantly.

She spun around instantly. “Jobe!”

He raised his hands in mock innocence. “I’m just telling the truth. You always taught me to be honest.”

“You’re hopeless.” Sira closed her eyes for a second, trying to find patience. “Now, sit up straight.” She approached him, examining his shoulder. The area was slightly swollen. “Does it hurt here?” she pressed with her fingers.

Jobe let out a low sigh, but a grin played on his lips. “A little. But I think a kiss would help.”

Sira took a deep breath, trying to stay focused. “If you keep with this nonsense, I’ll really hurt you.”

Jobe laughed, but stayed in place. When she turned to grab an anti-inflammatory cream, she felt a light tap on her behind.

“Ouch!” Jobe exclaimed immediately, clutching his shoulder.

She spun around on her heels, incredulous. “Are you kidding me?!”

He raised his hands, holding back a laugh. “Calm down, doctor. I was just testing if my arm still has reflexes.”

Sira narrowed her eyes. “Test it another way before I give you a real injury.”

He smiled, leaning in a little closer to her. “If you’re going to hurt me, at least do it with care.”

She intentionally pressed his shoulder, making him let out a groan of pain. “That was with care.”

Jobe winked at her. “If that’s how you treat your patients, I think I’ll hurt myself more often.”

Sira rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the heat rising in her body. “You never get tired, do you?”

He smiled. “Of you? Never.”

She finished applying the cream and stared at him, trying to keep her seriousness. “Done. Now, try not to hurt yourself on purpose just to come here and annoy me.”

“I’m not promising anything.” Jobe struggled to put on his shirt, but didn’t lose his composure. “By the way, I’m going to need some special treatment later. In my room. Special treatment.”

Sira stared at him, incredulous. “You’re unbearable.”

Before leaving, he leaned slightly toward her. “Ah, doctor, next time you want me to take my shirt off, just ask with care.”

“Get out before I throw something at you,” she threatened, grabbing a towel.

He pretended to enter the room again, and Sira threw the towel at him, watching him laugh as he left through the door. She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile threatening to appear.

×

×

×

ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ♡

[meazalykov]

love letters

sydney lohmann x f!reader

writing loving letters to your girlfriend always warms a part of her soul

warnings: one letter is suggestive

august 3rd, 2023

dear sydney,

I hope you find this somewhere in the pit of the clothes in your locker ha. i'm sorry the world cup didn’t end the way you wanted, and i know that’s weighing on you in some way.

yes, I was with my own national team but I watched you out there, giving everything, your heart stitched into every sprint, every tackle. it hurts to see you break down like that.

sydney.. you’re still a great player. you lift up your teammates with a smile, making everyone feel like it’ll be okay.

I am just your bayern teammate, not your national one. however, it hurts to move on in this world cup tournament while you go back to munich. I am someone who sees you from a distance, but i needed to write this.

you’re not defined by one tournament. your fire, your kindness, the way you make people feel alive just by being near you...that’s what matters. you’ll rise again, syd. i know it.

your teammate <3

october 15th, 2023

dear sydney,

training’s been intense lately, hasn’t it? I felt it, and you did too. we've been together for a month at this point, but one thing I've noticed is how you make football look like a dance.

i saw you today, laughing with klara after a drill, your hair catching the sunlight, and i couldn’t stop smiling while listening to the both of you in our small triangle while sitting.

you have this way of making my hard days feel lighter, like you’re carrying a secret spark that spreads to everyone.

i’m still too shy to say this to your face, so here i am, hiding behind paper again even though you are my girlfriend now.

you’re beautiful, not just because of how you look (though, wow, you really do glow you beautiful girl). it’s how you listen when someone’s struggling, how you fight for every ball like it’s the last.

i admire you so much, more than you’ll ever guess. keep shining, okay?

you can guess who <3

december 20th, 2023

dear sydney,

it’s almost christmas, and the team’s all festive, but i keep thinking about you. we have been officially together now for the last few months... can you believe it?

i was so nervous when i finally told you it was me writing those letters, but the way you smiled… syd, i’ll never forget it.

you’re my girlfriend!

you’re beautiful in ways i’m still discovering like how you get this little crease in your brow when you’re planning something sweet for me, or how you cheer louder than anyone when a teammate scores.

i’m falling for you harder every day, and i just needed you to know that.

happy holidays, my love.

your love, y/n <3

january 15th, 2024

dear sydney,

my heart’s been aching since you got hurt. as I stood down beside tuva, it hurt watching you go down in the middle. it felt like the world stopped.

you’re always so unstoppable out there, and now you’re stuck healing, and i know it’s driving you crazy. injuries have happened to you a lot but you’re still you...still cracking jokes, still making me laugh even when you’re in pain.

that’s what i love most about you, syd. your spirit never dims.

you’re beautiful, even now, with your crutches and your stubborn determination. it’s how you care so fiercely, how you’re already talking about coming back stronger.

i’m here for every step, holding your hand, loving you through it all. rest, heal, let me be your strength for a bit.

your love, y/n <3

march 10th, 2024

dear sydney,

you’re back on the pitch, and i swear the whole team feels brighter for it. being back with me, even if it’s just for light drills, makes my chest ache in the best way.

you’ve been so strong through this recovery, syd. i know it wasn’t easy, but you faced it with that same fire you always have...the one that makes you chase every ball, every dream, like nothing can stop you.

i love how you light up when you talk about the game, how your laugh echoes across the field.

you’re beautiful in your passion and for this club, in the way you make me believe in impossible things.

i’m so proud of you, and so lucky you’re mine.

y/n <3

may 25th, 2024

dear sydney,

the season’s winding down, and i keep thinking about how far we’ve come.

you’re back to your old self by flying down the wing, making defenders look silly, and god, it’s a sight.

the thing is that you're more than just a footballer, it’s you off the pitch that steals my heart. the way you check in on me after a long day, the way you hum when we’re cooking dinner together.

you make everything feel like home.

your beauty’s in those quiet moments, syd. it’s how your eyes soften when you look at me, how you always know what to say when i’m doubting myself.

i love you more than i can ever write down, but i’ll keep trying.

your love, y/n <3

august 6th, 2024

dear sydney,

today was heavy, and i’m sorry. scoring those goals, especially that second one which curled it past you into the top right, felt so strange.

you were right there along with the other defenders like feli and midge trying to block me, and i saw the fight in your eyes. you were aggressive, I'm happy you didn't let our relationship stop you from trying to stop me.

i didn’t celebrate much as trinity and mallory jumped on my back like I'm some sort of train ride...you probably noticed.

i can get wild with my cellys, but not today, not with you and so many of our bayern teammates out there, giving everything.

it’s weird, isn’t it? how we’re family at club, but out here, it’s country against country.

i know germany’s headed to the bronze match now, and i hate that i had a part in that.

the thing is that you’re so strong, syd with your heart and your fire, it’s why i fell for you.

you’ll face spain, and yeah, they’re world champs, but they’ve got holes now. don’t let their press or the famous ones like alexia scare you.

I am not your coach, but it is clear that you can break their lines if you stay sharp and capitalize on their overcommits.

i believe in you, always.

go get that bronze medal.

i love you.

y/n <3

[sydney's pov for the next letter]

august 10th, 2024

dear y/n,

its me writing you letters now, haha. I hope my handwriting is not too bad.

i’m sitting here with this bronze medal around my neck, and it feels good, really good, but nothing compares to the way my heart swelled watching you today.

you won gold, and god, you deserve it.

the way you lit up out there, the pure joy on your face when they called your name… i don’t think i’ve ever seen anything more beautiful.

the olympic committee draped that medal over you, and the crowd lost it, screaming louder than they did for anyone else. i was right there with them, cheering from the stands with my german teammates, my voice hoarse from shouting for you.

even in our colors, i was yours first.

that navy blue tracksuit of yours, the way it hugged you with that gold gleaming against it...it was like the whole stadium faded away, and all i could see was you.

your skin was glowing, love, like the medal was made to sit against it. i kept thinking about that header you scored against brazil, in the last minute, sealing that 2-0 win after your other teammate scored the first earlier.

the way you leapt, so sure, so alive, and sent the ball screaming into the net, it was perfect. you were perfect.

i must’ve replayed it in my head a hundred times already, grinning like an idiot every time.

i’m so happy for you, y/n. you worked so hard, fought through every moment, and now you’re standing at the top of the world. i know how much this means to you, how you’ve carried your country’s hopes and turned them into something real.

it’s one of the reasons i love you...your heart, your creativity and your fire, the way you give everything and still have so much left to share with me.

i’m proud of my bronze, too. we fought for it, scratched and clawed against spain like you said we could.

just standing here, knowing we both get to go home with something shining around our necks, it t feels right, doesn’t it? like we’re in this together, even when we’re on opposite sides of the pitch.

you looked so happy up there today, and that’s what i’ll carry with me most. your smile, your laugh, the way you waved to the crowd like you couldn’t believe it was real.

i could watch you shine like that forever.

i love you, my gold medal girl.

i’m counting down the minutes until i can wrap you up in my arms and celebrate you properly. you’re my everything.

your bronze medalist, sydney <3

[back to your pov]

september 1st, 2024

dear sydney,

happy one year, my love.

a whole year since you said you loved me too, since i stopped being just a secret admirer and got to hold you instead. i still get butterflies thinking about it...how you took my hand that day, how you make every day since feel like a gift.

you’re beautiful, syd, in ways that stop me in my tracks.

it’s your heart and how you pour it into everything, from a perfect cross to a silly joke just to see me smile.

it’s your courage, your warmth, the way you make me want to be better. i’m so grateful for you, for us.

here’s to forever.

your love, y/n <3

[sydney's pov once again]

august 27th, 2024

dear y/n,

god, y/n, you’re making it impossible to focus today, and i’m not even mad about it. i caught you watching me at training, your eyes lingering a little too long, and it set something off in me.

i’m writing this with my pulse racing, my skin tingling, because all i can think about is you. the way you moved out there, your confidence in every stride, the way your shirt clung to you when you were drenched in sweat... i had to look away to keep from losing it.

your aura, love, it’s dangerous, so bright and teasing, like you know exactly how you’re unraveling me.

you’re beautiful, and it’s driving me wild. it’s how you light up the pitch, throwing yourself into every play with this fire that makes my heart skip. it is the way your hair catches the light when you tie it back, making me want to tug it loose just to see you glare at me.

it’s deeper than that, y/n. it is how you lean into me when we’re alone, making me feel like i’m the only thing that matters.

you’re this mix of fierce and tender, and i’m addicted to every second of it.

i keep picturing us tonight, slipping away somewhere quiet, just you and me. i want to touch you, y/n. my hands on your waist, sliding up your back, feeling you shiver under my fingers.

i want to pull you close, my lips grazing your neck, hearing you sigh my name like it’s all you can say. i want to press myself against you, slow and deliberate, until you’re melting, begging for more.

i’m dying to take my time, to explore every inch of you again even if we do this almost every night already, just to make you feel how much i want you until you’re breathless and clinging to me.

you’ve got me so worked up, love...i can’t think of anything but you, your taste, your heat.

i’m yours, y/n, every part of me burning for you.

you’ve turned me into a mess, and i need to show you what you’re doing to me.

i love you, always, but tonight, i want to make you feel every single thing i’m feeling right now.

your love, sydney <3

[back to your pov]

october 30, 2024

dear sydney,

the new season is in full swing, and you’re killing it out there. every time you step on the pitch, it’s like you’re reminding the world who you are.

to me, you’re so much more than goals and assists. you’re the one who makes my mornings better with your sleepy smiles, the one who listens when i’m overthinking everything.

your beauty is in how you love everyone syd. you do it so fiercely and openly without holding back. it’s how you celebrate the little things, like when we nailed that recipe last week.

you make my life brighter every day, and i’ll never stop being amazed by you.

your love, y/n <3

january 20, 2025

dear sydney,

it’s cold out, but you’re still my warmth. we’ve been together through so much now, and yet every day with you feels new. i was thinking about those early letters today...how nervous i was, hoping you’d notice me.

now, i get to wake up next to you, and it’s more than i ever dreamed.

this letter is short since we have to go get ready for training soon but i love you, syd, today and always.

y/n <3

february 25, 2025

dear sydney,

i miss you so much, syd.

being here in california with the national team feels so far from you in germany, and my heart’s aching for you. the days are busy, but every quiet moment, i’m thinking of your laugh, your warmth, how you make everything better.

i can’t wait to be back with you in munich, just four days from now.

today was full, at least.

we had a light training session this morning.

there was a funny moment at lunch that made me think of you. cat or catarina, you know how she gets... was teasing alyssa about her coffee order, something about how she’s “too predictable” with her oat milk latte.

alyssa, deadpan as ever, just goes, “at least my coffee order doesn’t taste like shit,” and points at cat’s triple espresso.

i laughed so hard i nearly choked on my water.

the out-of-pocket joke was crazy! you’d have loved it, syd.

oh, and get this... there is the homophobe on the team, the one who’s acted fake around me this whole time. I've told you all at bayern about her when you guys asked.

well, she finallyyyyy mumbled some apology too all of us on the team yesterday after her scandal happened LAST YEAR???? i guess she felt guilty after all this time.

i just nodded and walked away. i don’t have the energy for her drama, so i keep my distance at these camps. it’s better that way, and honestly, i’d rather focus on the teammates who’ve got my back, like literally anyone else.

california’s sunny, but it’s not the same without you. i went for a walk by the beach after training, just to clear my head, and i kept wishing you were here, holding my hand, making fun of how i always trip over the sand.

i’m counting down the hours until i’m back with you, syd. four days, and i’ll be in your arms again, where i belong. i love you so much.

your love, y/n <3

march 26, 2025

dear sydney,

i’m sitting here, syd, and i feel like i’ve been run over.

bayern’s out of the champions league, 4-1 to lyon in that second leg, and it’s eating me alive. i’m so burnt out, so sad, and honestly, pissed...but not at the team, not at you. it’s me.

i keep replaying every moment, every goal we let in, and i can’t shake the thought that i should’ve done more.

i should’ve stopped them. diani’s goal. that is all on me. if i’d passed down to tuva instead of pernille, that whole play wouldn’t have fallen apart.

i see it over and over, my mistake, and it’s like a knife twisting.

i let us down.

you, though...you were brilliant out there. you fought like hell, every sprint, every tackle, pouring your heart into it like you always do. i’m sorry if my frustration’s spilling over, love. you don’t deserve that.

you never stop amazing me, even when i’m drowning in my own head. i just wish i could’ve matched you today, could’ve been the player we needed.

i love you, syd, and i’m trying to pull myself together for the team, and for you.

y/n <3

april 16th, 2025

dear sydney,

spring’s here, and the world feels alive, but you’re still the brightest part of it. you’re still the same sydney who stole my heart. you are brave, warm, always finding a way to make even the toughest days feel okay.

I can't wait for our trip to mallorca in the summer. I have been to ibiza, but never mallorca. i cannot wait to spend time on the beach with you <3

you’re my home, my future, my everything. i hope you know i’ll love you forever.

you know who by now <3

masterlist

authors note: I kinda hate this but I spent too much time on it

[cozymochi]

What is your secret/tips when it comes to analyzing the art style and anatomy of TWST? 👀

Studying the rest of Toboso’s work as it was presented over time and how it evolved, identifying it, noting the patterns, breaking down how she came to the visual conclusions she did on top of what process is probably being taken in regards to twst, and putting that into practice when going off the beaten path to do my own thing with it.

I don’t know if that makes any sense. It’s just master studies. I’ve done it with Takahashi, Toriyama and a myriad of other artists I’ve liked. It’s kind of why my junk can kinda shift around when I feel like it. I have some gripes with that links wording, but it’s basically just that and not some grand secret. I only really came to a better understanding of how twst is constructed extremely recently when I got my physical hands on the first artbook. Then I realized how much I was overthinking. [shitty scans are my own]

You can even see the ghost lines and more of the uncertainties on where elements should go, and how they were ultimately changed.

Something about seeing the original card art completely broken down with notes and without all the bells snd whistles (and definitively from Toboso herself) kind of put into perspective how twst isn’t as complicated it seems to be when it’s cleaned up. It might be just me, but looking at a solely finished work can potentially skew someone’s perspective, especially if the only thing being noted is coloring- a completely seperate step altogether. Which I see a lot of, tbh. I’m not exempt no matter how deep in the rabbit hole I get.

But—

But, I probably shouldn’t be the one talking since I have like… [redacted] years of having a trained eye for that sort of thing.

I’m not too concerned about coloring ( again, separate step, and not even done by her), it’s the drawing part. That’s the actual meat and potatoes.

So, someone could see competent twst coloring mastered but the drawings themselves aren’t really following the general processes at play (from what I determine them to be), and folk will still call it the “twst style.” So, whenever anyone says that, even here, I’m not sure what others mean by that. What is this alleged “twst style?” (Disclaimer: Rhetorical)

Yeah it’s a combination of every element at once (as every style is), but as far as my learning goes- I define the quote “twst style” is just Yana Toboso’s general artwork (notably from the 2020s, but the rest are helpful). Even if there are other artists in D-6th that are contributing to twsts art, they’re all essentially trying to accomplish a unified look and that unified look is based off of hers. And it’s not always entirely clear which one is hers unless something is written to be so outright.

So, I don’t find looking at just twisted wonderland itself all that beneficial, low key. I’ll look over Black Butler (as it’s her main showcase), her miscellaneous fanart, her disney fanart, whatever happens to cross my path that I think would be informative for my purposes. Again, I’m not looking at every possible thing ever, obviously, just what I think would be informative.

I’m not sure how often anyone thinks about that. Especially since her visual process just carries over nearly 1:1, even if her point of reference and intent on designing something has changed.

It’s like how Snake from Black Butler and Silver look pretty similar. No, it’s not from being “lazy” which- side note I hate those bad faith reads, total peeve.

Designing Snake and designing Silver came from two completely separate and unrelated intentions nearly a decade apart from each other. It just happens there are tropes that she clearly likes as an artist when designing characters. I’m more inclined to believe based on what I’ve read and practiced that it’s just a case of that, nothing more.

Which makes me reflect on a lot of my own repeated visual tropes. Such as how a lot of my female character designs always end up having some form of short curly hair, meanwhile the male characters keep having long hair 😩 God knows the wavy asymmetrical swoop bang rearing it’s head. It’s not intentional, but it keeps happening anyway.

That’s the kinda joint I’m talking about with master studies. Again, not just looking at something and only trying to mimic it, it does go into trying to break down the process even at the most fundamental level.

All this reminds me of this conversation I overheard in college while I was stuck doing printmaking work— some person said they, really wanted to draw like the guy who made Naruto since they liked his artstyle. Only for some other guy to cut in like “No, you shouldn’t do that! That’s not original :/ you should figure out your own original style first” or something to that end. I partially wish I butt in to that conversation. I didn’t much like how quick that guy shut that person down either.

Because… That’s… that’s not even remotely how that works? How can a person even find their own style/voice/whatever without studying the work of someone that came before them? If they wanna draw like that mangaka, then let them learn via that avenue. You can’t work backwards starting from nowhere. I even learned that in character design.

This person would have learned a lot more about how the process works and what works for them in their attempts to understand his style. They’d find their own organically after that. It’d also be more fun for them in the moment since they’re focusing on something they like. Then when it comes time to learn the boring (but important) stuff like fundamentals, they’d be able to articulate themselves more and identify what they’re doing. (Don’t knock art history and bring stuck breaking down meaning in seemingly “useless” stuff.)

But I’m starting to digress on the common “ugh im not original and unique enough if im not immediately doing my own thing from scratch” thing I saw/ overheard too much during my years at that campus. (It also led to me seeing zero progression from beginning to end from those peers)

As for the whole twst art thing, I can’t really tell you what conclusions to draw should any of this be put into practice. That’s not up to me to say.

I really can’t tell somebody how to draw anything. I don’t believe that one way exists. I’m just kinda… doing what my understanding of it is.

I’m of the mindset that if you can sufficiently understand at least one art style, you can pretty much do anything else you want.

Take that with what you will.

[elliemarchetti]

Eris Week Day 6: AU/Retellings

Inspired by one of @foxcort’s unhinged prompts because I couldn’t resist although I’m not totally out of my writing/Tumblr hiatus yet. Hope my contribution to @erisweekofficial will still be appreciated even if it’s in Cassian’s POV.

Disclaimer: I know some of you will see this more as Cassian's self-pitying account of an event that highlights his inadequacy as a mate, but in my eyes it's an excerpt of the happy life that awaits Eris and Nesta once her contacts with the Night Court will be reduced to a minimum, only from the point of view of someone who will remain in the past. Still, and for this I turn to the admins of Eris Week, if you find it inadequate for any reason you have every right not to reblog it and I won't bear you any grudge. You guys are amazing, and when my life will be a little more normal I can't wait to read everything that's been written and show some love to all the wonderful fanarts I'm sure the artists have made.

Plot: The Lord of Bloodshed is having the worst time of his life. The heir of Autumn can’t really say the same. This is the famous scene at the Court of Nightmares reimagined with a totally different plot for the whole last book so if it doesn’t really make sense, I’m sorry.

Rating: Explicit

Words: 1529

When the next song began, its notes lighter, the steps easier than the ones they had just engaged in, Nesta didn’t hesitate to take Eris’s hand. She seemed eager, like her partner wasn’t the monster they all told her about but just a good dancer who instinctively knew her body screamed to do those extra, solo turns that had catalysed the attention of the whole room. Cassian realized he wouldn’t have let her go, too worried about the impractical design of her dress, too apprehensive she was drunk on the music and not paying enough attention to her surroundings to succeed.  If he had been in Eris’s place, he would’ve scolded her by the end of the music, dragging her off the dancefloor, while the heir of Autumn studied her with his amber eyes as they chatted amiably, chuckles audible here and there. The General couldn’t hear everything they said, but as they got closer he caught a few scraps, words that made the blood in his veins boil.

“… I didn’t see this side of you…”

He wasn’t smiling, but she met his stare anyway as she responded, suave and flirty. She never spoke to Cassian in that tone, always composed, almost defensive, in the rare occasions their topic hadn’t revolved around training or the thousand obligations they were subjected to due to their roles. Maybe it was because he had never spun her, never murmured sweet nothings in her ear, sentences so refined her mouth twitched to one side. Unable to witness more, he turned to Mor, who watched from beside Feyre and Rhys, her face neutral and aloof. He couldn’t imagine how she was feeling, knowing she was the one who taught Nesta those steps.

“Are you inquiring after my eligibility?” Cassian heard Eris joke, his sharp smile turning into a full-on silky laugh at her reply. As it often happened, he felt inadequate in his vulgarity, in his lack of grace. A brute, as the eldest of the Vanserras liked to define him. There was no room for someone like him by the side of a female capable of carrying a political meeting on her inexperienced shoulders and tear someone’s head from their neck in the same week. That duality, the savage rage and silver fire mixed with a beauty able to bring kings to their knees was too much for him, no matter how many times he had claimed her as his, yet his feet moved instinctively, and he reached the pair at the very end of the waltz, trying to ignore how his tapered fingers had descended into the hollow of her bare back or how her cheeks were flushed.

“Move,” Cassian said coldly, halting their private moment. He stood before them amid the sea of people cradled in black, just another piece of Night, until Eris stared at him down his straight nose, ignoring the burning violence oozing from the warrior’s hazel eyes.

“Go sit at your master’s feet, dog,” he hissed, teeth bared, but Nesta was quick to interject, accepting her mates unspoken offer.

“We’ll play later, Nesta Archeron,” the fireling retorted, putting too much emphasis on her last name for Cassian’s liking, before aiming for the dais. For an instant, really just the time of the song, the General deluded himself that he had won, that he could somehow be the knight in shining armour of the story, the hero who saves the princess from the villain and thus obtains her hand and eternal, unconditional love. Those empty illusions were shattered when he followed her into the dark and suffocating corridors of the Court of Nightmares, when he watched her slender figure enter the chamber assigned to Eris for the duration of his visit, her steps cautious and silent as a cat’s. She barely glanced at the slightly ajar door, too focused on her lover’s eager embrace, and Cassian clenched his jaw at the portrait of carefree happiness.

“You’re tickling me!” she giggled as the snake peppered her neck with light kisses, the sound like a harp strumming high and sweet. From his hiding spot, Cassian saw his nemesis’ half-smile widen as he hooked a finger under one of her dress’ straps and pulled, flooding him with pounding, vibrating jealousy. He had to remind himself to breathe when the silk slid down her chest, briefly exposing one of her breasts before Eris could sweep her to the bed, the impalpable skirt mostly gathered between her parted legs, firmly clutched around his waist. As he feasted on her exposed skin, her body went loose and taunt in so many different places Cassian didn’t know where to focus: she was bent and shaped and directed by her lover, her widened pupils hiding under long lashes thanks to the skill of the fingertips massaging her core. The ghosts of nearly faded love bites revealed themselves on the lower part of her ass as she arched her back in ecstasy and Cassian’s face went slack. It wasn’t him who left those marks on her, the memory of the sleepless night spent together forever imprinted in his memory, so she could only have had other partners, or maybe she had previously entertained herself between Eris’ sheets, protocol be damned. The matter quickly slipped out of his mind when the smell of her arousal flowed and swam around him, clouding his senses as she melted under someone else’s touch. There wasn’t enough space inside him, not in his mind or his heart, for what the situation made him feel, he just knew he was hard under his trousers, his body ready to honour and worship someone he had been unable to keep up with when he had the chance.

He was about to leave to deal with his shame when their gazes met. He would have expected those merciless and cold eyes to pin him to the spot, he supposed she would scream in anger, or perhaps warn Eris with quiet disdain that some beast beneath them was spying on their tryst, but instead her irises glimmered and she let out a moan, her flawless red lips, sin personified, parted to draw a likewise perfect O. As if awakened by that sound, her lover crawled back to her mouth, his hands busy undoing his pompous clothing. Cassian knew what was about to happen, he had watched and performed this dance for centuries, in the frenzy of inexperienced youth and in the blind search for solace when the need was too much. He had fucked females on all fours like some kind of wild animal, knees hurting on marble floors and feet losing their grips in the mud, in a foolish attempt to fill the void left by Nesta, but no one showed on their features the pure, feral delight that crashed on his mate’s face when Eris entered her all at once, like a conqueror of death, glowing as he devoured moonlit skin and shared heartbeats. Between one fast thrust and the next, he lifted Nesta’s arms above her head, their matching rings glinting as if lit by an inner fire. He guided her through the orgasm with ease and they came together, a rising cacophony of panting and groaning.

“I hope you’re with child,” he whispered, his words so shocking they made Cassian audibly gasp. There was no way he hadn’t heard the sound, even lost in his unchecked, dark joy, yet he decided to ignore it.

"Why so?" she murmured seductively, gleaming with wanton desire as she drank in his expression, whatever it was. She didn’t seem to object the idea, nor she sounded eager to postpone it as long as she could.

“It would give us an excuse to speed up the organization of this wedding. I know my father wants it to exude power, to convey all the strength of our family, and my mother wishes for every detail to be perfect, but I’m growing tired of this façade,” he replied honestly, then lovingly erased a smudge of kohl from the corner of her left eye, a remark of the familiarity they shouldn’t have had yet.

“She has no daughters and I have no mother,” she pointed out, amazing Cassian with the nonchalance she used to address her traumatic past. “Let her have fun.”

“I know, and I will never show even a hint of displeasure when she will inevitably take you away for the whole day to pick the best party favours and select the optimal spot to best showcase the sheer magnitude of the orchestra you so wisely selected, but the only thing I aspire to is to finally be able to get away from the intrigues and the backstabbing for a while, to travel wherever we want and show you all the wonders Prythian and the Continent has to offer,” he confessed, and Nesta kissed him again, dangling her love and triumph in Cassian’s face, a silent dismissal to whatever his role had been in her night.

Slowly, the fearsome Lord of Bloodshed retreated in the shadow, engulfed in a cocoon of grief and rage at the Mother’s mistake, the sound of his shattering heart deafening in his eardrums.

[94perreaults]

INITIAL CONDITIONS l GP94

CHAPTER ONE OF THE PERREAULT PARADOX

SUMMARY: Sophia tags along to a BC bar to help Naomi avoid her ex, expecting nothing but sticky floors and bad drinks. Instead, she meets Gabe Perreault.

a/n: Hi! Thank you for reading. I had been keeping this for myself for months, thinking If I should create this account, go back to writing and maybe post this. Eventually, I decided to give this a shot. I've been out of tumblr for a while,— since I've stopped being Kpop-obssesed— so this is my comeback. If you read this so far, thanks! I hope you like it! Likes, reblogs and asks are always welcomed!

In math, “initial conditions” are the values that define the starting point of a function or equation — the moment where everything begins.

Sophia Davenport-Hartman did not believe in fate, serendipity, or anything that couldn't be backed up by a well-drawn model. She liked things she understood, things that made sense. That's why she liked math. One plus one will always equal two — and she could tell you exactly why. That's also why she had no excuse for ending up in a bar that's a 15 minute drive away from Cambridge and smelled like cheap cologne, beer, and sweat. TNo model explained that one, no matter how much she tried.

"Remind me again why we’re here?” she asked, quick steps following her shorter friend inside.

Naomi, her best friend and recent dumpee of Thomas, an asshole Harvard computer science major with commitment issues, a God complex, and the emotional depth of a teaspoon, grinned. “Because Harvard bars are infested with exes. BC is fresh territory.”

Sophia grimaced. “So is Chernobyl.”

Sophia stood at 5'8 and looked exactly like someone who color-coded her Google Calendar (she does). Blonde hair in polished waves, sharp posture, blue eyes, pale skin with rosy cheeks. She wore a sleek black satin top, high-waisted jeans, leather boots, and a black leather jacket she probably took from her older sister's closet (as she often did).

Naomi was only five feet, but like Sabrina Carpente said, she left an impression. She was all confidence and chaos. Her long, dark brown hair fell in effortless waves, framing green eyes that always looked like they were up to something. She wore a red halter top, vintage jeans, and heels that barely made a dent in her height.

Even if everything within her was screaming at her to turn around and go back home, Sophia followed Naomi anyway, walking into the chaos of the bar. It was dimly lit, overcrowded, and somehow managed to be both sticky and cold. In other words: her personal hell.

She scanned the room like a disapproving anthropologist,— maybe she had been watching too much Bones, maybe she was becoming too much like Temperance Brennan. Looking around, silently calculating how long she needed to stay before it was socially acceptable to grab Naomi, call it a night and get an Uber.

Twenty-three minutes, maybe. Thirty-five if Naomi started dancing.

Sophia sipped her tragically watered down vodka soda and leaned against a high-top table that wobbled every time someone bumped into it. And then — just as she was deciding if she could fake food poisoning — she saw him.

He was laughing with his friends. Backwards hat. Messy curls. That look—like life was a game he’d already won, and he was just hanging around to enjoy the bonus levels.

He threw his head back laughing at something one of his friends said, full-bodied and unapologetic, like someone who hadn’t had a single existential crisis in his life.

She rolled her eyes and looked away. Then, for some reason she couldn’t quite justify, she felt the urge to look back. So, she did. And he was already looking at her.

Their eyes met just long enough to register the heat of it—before she turned back to her drink, suddenly fascinated by the condensation on her glass. 

Great. Got caught staring at the hot guy like a psycho. Great work, Sophia.

She knew she shouldn't have looked. It was stupid, she knew his type. Overconfident. Underdressed. Overhyped. He was exactly the kind of chaos she avoided.

And yet—there he was, walking toward her. And before she could escape, he was standing in front of her. Tall. Athletic. Looking at her — like she was a particularly interesting variable in an unsolvable equation. Curls escaping from his backwards cap. Curiosity tucked behind sharp green eyes.

With a backwards BC hockey hat.

Of course. A hockey player.

Oh, she thought, one of those.

“Gabe,” he said, offering a hand “Figured I should introduce myself before you spend the rest of the night pretending not to look at me again.”

She blinked.

She didn’t shake hands with strangers in bars. She also didn’t find hockey players cute. Or charming. Or interesting. And yet—here she was, slipping her hand into his without hesitation.

“Sophia.”

And just like that, the equation shifted.