#Sliver Medals

[cr7vlogbuddy]

Tekoa local Susannah Scaroni wins third Paralympic decoration with silver in 5,000-meters

https://sfl.gl/06R2HMPu

Susannah Scaroni has at last finished her rainbow of Paralympic decorations.

The Tekoa, Washington, local won silver Saturday in the T54 5,000 meters at the Stade de France in Paris, completing in a period of 10 minutes, 45.18 seconds.

Switzerland's Catherine Debrunner guaranteed gold in the occasion, completing just a little ways off of Scaroni in 10:43.62 - a Paralympic record.

https://sfl.gl/PCHeo9X

Scaroni was hoping to guard the gold she won quite a while back in Tokyo in the 5K, however she was unable to hold off Debrunner, who rushed into the lead over the last 300 meters.

Scaroni additionally won bronze in the 2021 Tokyo games in the 800, with Saturday's silver turning into her third decoration in her fourth Paralympic Games.

She could twofold that number toward the finish of the games, however, as she actually has the 1,500, 800 and long distance race occasions in which to contend.

https://sfl.gl/PCHeo9X

It is the main Paralympic decoration of the Paris games for the group of current or previous ParaSport Spokane competitors.

Susannah Scaroni, right, of Group USA, contends Saturday in the ladies' T54 5,000 meters on the third day of the 2024 Paris Summer Paralympic Games at Stade de France in Paris.

https://sfl.gl/06R2HMPu

[yandere-wishes]

Idea, what if Catgirl!Darling/Reader was called Stray at some point or something and was like Selina’s sidekick at some point, so like Damian can tell Bruce he found a stray and oh it’s just another cat- that is a human

I don’t know, I’m on cough syrup cause I’m sick rn and my thoughts are all wonky

≽^•⩊•^≼≽^•⩊•^≼≽^•⩊•^≼≽^•⩊•^≼≽^•⩊•^≼

Bruce doesn't think much of it at first, after all his son has always had a penchant for taking in lost, stray, things.

He ascribes it, to genetics, to lineal impulses, to the macabre compassion pumping in his blood.

It's all very Wayne to bring home anguished, ferocious, things. To devote slivers of your soul to every hopeless little thing prowling the Gotham streets.

Bruce doesn't think much of it at first.

Damian had said he had brought home a stray

There was nothing unusual to think about.

But then he sees her, really sees her, the mangled girl with hellfire dancing in her sunken eyes. More cat than girl, more feline than human.

He notices the limp in her leg when she lunges for Damian. Notices her shaking hands when she tries to strangle the boy who only kisses her back. Licking at her lips as his nails dig into the back of her thighs. She claws at his chest. Little kitten trying to kill the robin. So Selina in every way.

Bruce didn't think much of it at first,

He's beginning to realize that was a mistake.

Damian kisses your neck, biting into the crux, nestling your sweet flesh between his teeth, he laps at the skin as you mewl in pain, claw-like nails raking at what little skin is exposed at the base of his neck. A dark chuckle escapes Damian's mouth, it sounds like the chirping of an arrogant robin upon first snowfall. It rings bitterly in your ears. He's enjoying this, isn't he? The little assassin boy may play noble hero, but he'll never escape his roots, his love for the pain, the thrill.

You curse silently at the monstrosity born from the unholy union between the dragon's heir and the bat. Curse at the characters from the stories your mentor, your big sister, used to tell you. When did they become so real? When did fairy tales marry epics and birth horror stories? When did the bird catch the cat?

Damian has your arms pinned painfully behind you, shoulders pulled back unnaturally, bones slipping from their sockets. His lips lower to your chest, kissing, biting, marring.

"Damian, when you said 'stray' I had thought you meant a hungry kitten you found in a back ally or a limping pup from the Narrows. Not Stray, as in the cat burglar."

Damian's emerald eyes lightened in confusion "What part was not clear Father?" his inquiry all too innocent for the boy who had been knawing on your sore lips moments prior. There's a moment of silence, as Bruce looks at you, studying you like a case file, like a cold case cracked open. You wonder if he sees her inside you. The traces of your mentor linger along your body like a second skin. Has he done the same for his sons? Left traces of himself amongst their flesh and bones.

You think it funny for a second, the cartoonish vision that blooms within your mind. That of a bat harboring four little chicks under its midnight wings, atop a mighty oak tree. Whilst underneath a black cat licks her kittens, fussing over their matted fur.

"I see the chemistry brewing between you two," Bruce says his voice carrying the stern baritone of a father, yet awkward and uncertain all in the same breath. "This isn't chemistry" you squeal, voice hoarse from all the screaming, all the uncomfortable vocalizations of pain. "This is phosphorous meeting ozone!"

"That's still technically chemistry" Damian corrects, hands clasped behind his back. Perfect little soldier boy, standing in attention. Waiting for a medal from his general.

Bruce sighs, a microscopic smile dancing across his plump lips.

"I'll let Selina know you're here, she must be worried." Your face lights up in joy, she'll be here soon to rescue you. To save you from the bat's nest. But as Damian pushes you to the nearest wall, caging you between his body and the cement, you think it all too impossible to be saved.

Bruce doesn't think much of it at first.

But he sees it all now.

Damian has always had a weakness for stray things.

He gets it from his father.

I feel like I can make this just a tiny bit darker if I really wanted to...

On a lighter note, Fancy you are my bestie so Imma rant to you for a bit (please don't mind this has been on my mind FOREVER and I need an outlet!!) But lately -in between train rides to school- I've been daydreaming SO hard about a "Catwoman Family" (and a "Batwoman family" cause Kate is the love of my life, but that's irrelevant for now!!)

Like we all know Batman has 4 sons and 3 daughters (I count barbara as his first daughter) but what about Catwoman? Doesn't she deserve a family of her own? Catgirl is my running idea for her sidekick BUT when you mentioned Stray!! I was like "Why not give the woman two daughters!!".

I'm really trying to carve out some time this weekend for drawing. And just sketch out my ideas for Catwoman and Batwoman's sidekicks!!

[jaylaxies]

HARD THOUGHT !

pairing: sunghoon x fem!reader

cw: smut, unprotected sex, mentions of choking, usage of nicknames.

warning: 18+ content, minors dni

Rival skater!Sunghoon who always keeps you on your toes, never lets you sit down or relax by any means cause you can’t risk him being even one percent better than you, especiallyy with the annual competitions coming up. You hated the smirk he had on his face as he skated past you, doing his usual warm ups on the ice, and soon, it turned into the usual race between you both, and you were the winner this time, by less than a second.

“I see you’re ready to lose this time, Park,” you mocked, your smile vibrant as he scowled, stopping right in front of you, lips pink with cold, head held high despite his unofficial loss.

“Overconfidence is not hot, darling,” he points out. The arena was empty, minus you both—always doing the most to get even a sliver of extra practice in hopes of beating the other one.

“Don’t be a sore loser now,” you coo, and he scoffs, backing you up against the support railings, his cold finger tip on your chin making you look up at him in question, his mouth parted enough for you to get a glimpse of his sharp canines, the dim lights of the arena casting an attractive sort of shadow on his face, making you shut up automatically as you observed him.

“It’s cute that you think you’ll win tomorrow,” he started, “but that won’t happen with me being your rival,” he said, smirking and you rolled your eyes at his own display of overconfidence.

“What if I do win?” You asked, deadpanning, causing him to click his tongue, “then I won’t come close to you, ever,” he whispers, making you look up at him in surprise, “but if I win—I’ll have you as close to me as possible for the whole night,” he proposed.

“What the fuck, Park?”

“Scared you’ll lose?” He chuckles, pushing all your right buttons.

“Fine, we have a deal,” you said, looking at him one last time before skating away with your heart beating faster than ever.

There wasn’t much time to practice, granted the competition took place the very next day. You had won in your respective categories already, leaving the final round, which was the main event. All skaters were lined up for the last race, and the majority of the audience had come to watch the final rundown between you and Sunghoon, which made you want to do better.

“Good luck,” Sunghoon winked your way right before the race started.

You were determined, but Sunghoon’s determination skyrocketed, given that he had to win the bet—to have you in his arms, in his bed.

Which brings you here, right in his cozy bedroom with his gold medal resting on your chest, the cold metal juxtaposing the warmth of your skin, and his body on top of you. He kissed you all over, making you wear the medal he won—winning the bet and driving you back home with him without any delays after the award ceremony.

“You’re so pretty when you just shut up and take it like a good kitten,” he praises, snapping his hips to meet yours in a rushed thrust, making your eyes roll back with pleasure, he rolls his body fluidly as if already in sync with every movement of yours as his cock reached the deepest spots in you, making you feel good no matter how much you tried not to let it show on your face.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped out, only boosting his never ending ego with your whimpers of need, and he complied, “wasn’t planning on to,” he groaned, caressing your cheek gently before wrapping his slender fingers around your neck, fucking you hard as you arched your back and moaned for him, exactly how he wanted you to.

“So pretty,” he murmured, your cheeks heating up at his sudden compliment, paired with no other snarky remark when he pulled out, and then eased back in, his cock twitching just as your pussy clenched around him, signalling that you both were close, however, he wasn’t done with you, not yet.

Because tonight, he was the winner, and you, his reward.

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[suntoru]

─ ✰ HEARTBREAK ANNIVERSARY.

─ SYNOPSIS: rin misses you. he wonders if breaking up with you was really worth it.

─ WARNINGS: 1.2k words!! angst, regret, pining, exes, perhaps ooc rin, probably bland but!! it’s here

─ AUTHOR’S NOTE: RIN GIRLIES HERE IS UR MAN <3

— rin’s eyes anxiously dart around, scanning for your face somewhere in the stands, an unconscious habit he hasn’t been able to drop. the roar of thousands of fans cheering him on, yet strangely, the absence of satisfaction lingers within him.

it’s weird, even he knows it, that he still hopes his ex comes to his soccer matches. he’s fully aware that you are unlikely to be present, but even so, a lingering sliver of hope refuses to fade. and it’s strange, because he was the one who broke up with you to pursue his career, he was the one who broke your heart, he was the one who'd made you cry... so why does his heart feel so damn empty when you aren’t there to watch him soar?

fuck. this isn’t the time to be thinking about this. so with an annoyed huff, he pushes his feelings aside, and plays ball.

as the final whistle blows, everybody in the stadium erupts into cheers, confetti cascading down to honor the exceptional achievement. japan won nationals, rin scoring the winning goal by himself, marking tokyo's historic first-ever victory. his eyes widen with disbelief, puffing from the exertion of the intense match. the weight of the moment settles on his shoulders, and he couldn't help but look up, expecting to see the familiar sight of your proud face in the crowd, your pretty eyes catching onto his— oh. that’s right. you won’t be there anymore.

his smile falls the slightest bit. the sensation of pride and joy seems to snap almost instantly, and he doesn’t know why. this… this was his goal, his dream. the thing he wanted most in the world, in the palm of his hand. and really, he should be more happy, but he can’t seem to shake off the sinking feeling in his stomach.

his radiant smile begins to falter, a subtle shift in the atmosphere as the waves of pride and joy that had enveloped him seemed to snap abruptly. this achievement, this culmination of his dreams and aspirations, now lays within his grasp. one would expect satisfaction and happiness to course through his veins, yet an inexplicable unease settled in the pit of his stomach, casting a shadow over the moment. ignoring all his teammates’ cheers and screams, he speeds towards the locker room to get changed and go home.

his house really isn’t any better. (he questions if it’s really ‘home’ without you.) the concept of "home" now feels strangely foreign, a place that should be comforting but is instead tinged with an undeniable sense of absence. it's as if the essence of warmth has been drained away.

the once-inviting space lacks the comforting sprawl of your giant stuffed animals overtaking the bed or the mountains of your clothes taking over the closet. a peculiar emptiness lingers, a void that cannot be filled by mere physical belongings. the silence within the familiar walls is unsettling.

rin finds it quite odd not feeling your arms wrap around his torso, giving him a peck as you asked about his day. it’s strangely… quiet as well. there’s no you singing along to some laufey song completely out of tune, no alarm going off because you burnt the takoyaki, or the constant hum of the tv playing in the background. it's a quietude that, rather than offering solace, only accentuates the hollowness of the space. he’s not so sure he likes it.

he stares at the shiny, gold metal he had received. his mind, despite receiving a sparkly, golden-hued award— an emblem of achievement— stubbornly fixates his thoughts of you. he finds himself gazing at the metallic surface, a token of success that pales in comparison to the vibrant memories of your presence. he recalls your playful curiosity, imagining how you would have marveled at the gold medal, playfully testing its authenticity with an endearing chomp. he misses it. he misses you.

and he wonders what you might've changed his contact to. stupid ex, maybe? loser bitch? he deserves it. but he can't help but wonder, is there a possibility he'd still be 'rinnie', or 'my love' with a heart that never made sense because it looked more like a cheeky smile to him? (he wishes he had treasured you just a little bit more.) is he blocked? or is he just another number in your phone now? do you reread the messages he sent to you?

because he does. your contact name is still ‘loml’. he has every single photo you sent saved. he stares at the old "i love you" texts night after night after night. it's pathetic, really, but his heart aches for those moments when you'd scold him for overexerting himself, when you'd sleepily wake up at two am just to make him a hot meal when he came back late, when you'd stick those tacky hello kitty bandaids on top of the scrapes he got from soccer. he misses your good luck kisses, the ones where you'd pull his face down to your height and let out a big dramatic 'mwah!' in front of all his teammates— where he'd grumble and complain but his cheeks were undeniably a bright rosy red.

but above all, the vivid memory etched in his mind is the pain he inflicted upon you. your voice trembling, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks as you desperately clung to his arm, seeking an explanation. "what do you mean, rin? i don't understand. did i do something wrong?" your words quivered, on the verge of shattering, yet he callously shrugged you off, meeting your tear-filled eyes with a chilling glare.

"you're just a distraction. sorry, but soccer's more important to me."

he recalls the way your hand slowly fell away, the slow nod of comprehension, and the sight of your trembling bottom lip as you fought valiantly not to crumble. he was stupid. so, so stupid. he wishes he had pulled you into the shelter of his arms, confessed his foolishness, and reassured you that he didn't mean those hurtful words. or better yet, he wishes he didn’t say them at all. and he wants to ask, have you moved on? do you find your heart fluttering for somebody else, threatening to beat out of your chest like you once made him feel?

to be loved is to be seen. you saw him beyond the carefully constructed mask, piercing through the layers of the egoist the world molded him to be. in your gaze, he wasn't just the world's best striker or sae's little brother; he was itoshi rin. and that was enough for you.

oh, how utterly foolish he was to let you go. are you still as pretty as ever? (of course you are. you’ve never not looked absolutely stunning to him.) do you still smile as brightly as you once shone, his precious shooting star? he hopes you still find a reason to break into a grin every day.

but the question that is constantly on his mind like a broken record player. if he were to grovel and beg, surrendering his pride on his hands and knees, would you accept him back?

for a moment, he considers it. calling you. his finger hovers tentatively over the ‘audio’ call button, mere millimeters away from hearing you again. rin so desperately wishes to hear your sweet voice, see your angelic face, to be able to bask in your presence once more. would you be shocked? happy shocked, or enraged shocked, or maybe you wouldn’t pick up at all. would he go to voicemail? if he left one, would you listen? do you miss him as much as he has missed you all this time? (it’s been a month, but to him it felt like years.) yet, as the gravity of his past actions weighs heavily in his heart, an inexplicable hesitation ensnares him. you… don’t deserve this. you’re healing right now, he’s already chosen himself once, it would be utterly selfish to do it again. with a heavy exhale, he gingerly sets down his phone, fixing his gaze upon the ceiling above.

and suddenly, soccer doesn't feel like his passion after all. he wonders if it was really you.

his bed feels a little bit too cold now.

© KAEFFEINEE 2022-2024. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.

[wulfhalls]

stopppp sliver medal guy staying to get the audience going to support pole vaulter gold medal guy to break the world record is sooooo darling

[lazymonth]

“ Sliver medal, golden claws. Golden medal, sliver sword.”

Heyya, a little fanart here [ @aninonimosstuff-blog ] 🤲 it’s interesting how their both having some kind of Toxic relationship, but in the øpposite way

[susiekern]

7. the one with a challenge

a/n: I've been fighting with tumblr for TWO DAMN DAYS to post it, so I really hope you enjoy

warnings: swearing, suggestive ig

word count: 1.227

lyrics from: The Apparition & Jaws - Sleep Token

masterlist

previous | next

“No way.”

“Way.”

The face that Megumi makes rips a laugh from you. It was your classic evening meeting, but since the weather was tragic for the past few days, you’ve ditched the rooftop, settling in your room instead. Lying on your bed with a couple of snacks and a respectful distance between you, you’ve spent the last hour catching up. With how busy Megumi was in the past few weeks, your talks were usually short, and there were fewer of them. Somehow you only now told him about the DM from Zenin, but the amount of strength it took not to scream about it as soon as he stepped into your apartment? You deserve a medal.

“Maybe it’s some sort of ‘be kind to your lamest fan’ charity event. You know, like make a wish.” He says, and you flip him off.

“Maybe I’m just cool as fuck and someone finally appreciates that?” You counter.

“Nah, I’d bet on the charity.” Fushiguro laughs a little when you groan and shove a pillow towards him. For a moment you close your eyes and enjoy the peaceful atmosphere, something you lacked in the past days. Working on a new collaboration, streaming, and maintaining your life at the same time was a bit tiring and mostly overwhelming. That’s why you appreciate the calm evening more than usual. You and Megumi talking about the events of this week, the room illuminated just by the fairy lights, music playing in the background from your PC… it’s nice and relaxing. Very much needed for probably both of you. Mr. Guitarist was close to being done with recording the songs for his job, so he stopped spending almost every waking hour of the day in the studio. You can clearly see that he’s tired, but when you commented on it, he shrugged and said it was more important for him to create something he’d be proud of than sleep for healthy 8 hours.

“What’s with the aggression?” Sudden question silences the thoughts in your head, but you keep your eyes closed still.

“What do you mean, aggression?”

“That’s the fourth time you hit me with a pillow. I got two kicks to my shins and a mean fist in the arm.” He counts all of your attacks, and you peer at him.

“I’ll never believe that this fist hurt you in the slightest. For someone who barely eats and locks himself in the studio, your biceps are crazy. But okay, I suppose I’m a bit more aggressive than usual.” Megumi looks shocked, although you’re not sure if that’s because of your aggression or how easily you’ve admitted it. “It’s been a busy week, and I have a bit too much energy. And I haven’t gotten my normal dose of annoying you and Yuji.”

“Damn, first of all, I still train even when I’m working, thank you very much. And second... I don’t even know how to comment on that. You should just punch Yuji, not someone who spends time with you, and bring snacks.” With that statement, he lies back, with his arms behind his head. It’s not weird that you looked at his flexed muscles and a sliver of abs revealed by his shirt rolling up, right? God, this man is fine. Does he have to be so fine?

“Yuji just whines when I do that, though. You flex. Easy choice.” You sigh and close your eyes again, pretending like it was just a normal thing. Yes, you both sometimes threw a flirty comment here and there, never directly referring to your night together, but it was a little different.

When you were on the rooftop, it gave you the freedom of saying shit in an open space. Here, in your room, you are almost painfully aware of how close he is lying. You can feel the heat from his body and smell his perfume. And you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t doing things to you. But Megumi is no better. You’ve noticed how he eyed you up after coming, taking in your shorts, simple t-shirt, and messy hair. Or how his eyes lingered on your face for a little longer than they should.

“So, you like what you see, huh?” He turns on his side, leaning his head on one hand, his elbow keeping him up. If your eyes were open, you would see how his own trace your body, ending their path on your lips. He just needs to lean forward a little… “That makes sense, I’m the hot neighbor after all.”

“Huh?” That brings you to open your eyes and look at him with shock. Only now do you realize that the snack barrier between you two did close to nothing, given how close his face is to yours. And you do not miss how his gaze moves from your lips, but after another second or two. It’s a dangerous game, but neither of you seemed to care.

“I’ve seen your stream. Well, a part of it. How did you put it? ‘I can’t say he’s bad-looking." You’re blushing at this point. You had no idea he watched any of it, especially since he saw how you answered a question about him.

“Don’t let it get to your head. I was just entertaining the chat.” He smirks, knowing very well that’s a lie, and leans a little closer. Your heart seems to be beating to the rhythm of the Fallen song that’s playing in the background, your eyes peeking at his lips on their own.

‘And I'm not here to be

The saviour you long for’

“Sure.” His voice goes down to a whisper. The seconds go by, and you seem to be frozen, both calculating how bad it would be to take the next step.

“Megumi…” You’re whispering too, hypnotized by how intense his gaze is. You want to tell him you shouldn’t. You really do. But the amount of time you’ve spent thinking about him, about his kisses and touch, keeps you from doing it. Would it really be that bad? Doing this one more time?

“Tell me you don’t want it.” There’s a hint of a challenge in how he says it. And since when are you one to hide from a challenge?

You’re the one to kiss him first this time. His reaction is immediate; the hand that was lying on the mattress cups your cheek as Megumi tastes your lips, and you need to hold back a moan. How much you’ve missed that feeling. His touch is gentle, yet reassuring, when he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss. He moves to hover over your body, holding his weight on one arm.

‘Show me those pretty white jaws

Show me where the delicate stops’

“Fuck. I’ve wanted to do that ever since you stepped on that damn roof.” Whispering, he lowers his lips down to your jaw and neck, and your hands now move to his sides and back.

“You should’ve.” You whisper back. You don’t need to see his face to know he has that irritating smirk on, you can feel it on your skin. His hands make their way under your shirt, and he pulls himself from kissing your neck to look in your eyes. “Just one more time?”

“One more time.”

‘Show me what wounds you've got

Show me love’

tag list (lmk if you wanna be added!): @nytylie @fresa-luna @syrooo @zaranobiyuyu @jvpit3rr @pandabiene5115

[pixiecaps]

LETSGOOO sliver medal in skating for brazil

[just-ray]

Most unreal irish politics things. Will reblog if I find more.

-sinn féin harmonica

-simon harris wet wipes

-"ohohoh, that's a great line, but unfortunately this graph here shows you're WRONG. YOU'RE WRONG, YOU'RE WRONG, YOU'RE WRONG! LOOK at the increase in social housing since MY party came into office. You are YET AGAIN WRONG. If there- if there was- if a contest in fluency and verbosity was an Olympic sport, you would certainly win a gold medal, but it won't build houses." (Quote taken from leaders questions)

-"I don't need you to Mary-Lou-Splain to me" (Quote taken from leaders questions)

-HEALTH MINISTER (now the taoiseach) references covid 19 as "the nineteenth coronavirus" (taken from radio interview)

-apologises on twitter saying he made "an awful booboo" (taken from twitter)

-Minister falls asleep in the Dáil

-Minister speaks out against short haul flights. Takes one comically soon afterwards.

-Taoiseach explains that chocolate is better out of the fridge

-Opposition Leader makes a tiktok video about struggling to play pool

-Taoiseach makes a tiktok video saying he has "a bone to pick with Taylor Swift"

-Tánaiste slanders ticket master

-Governemnt somehow get's conned out of more than a quarter of a million for a bike shed.

-The oppositions "simonopoly" video campaigning against Fine Gael by editing the Taoiseach onto the Monopoly man

-this 🔽

-the alan Kelly rap

-"ya ain't seen nothin yet" (taken from interview)

-the fact that the opposition and government genuinely team up whenever anything goes really REALLY badly wrong (which gives me a sliver of hope for this country ngl)

-michael healy rae and the cataracts thing

-opposition leader accusing the Tánaiste of mansplaining

-Eamon ryan pulling his house rubbish out of a bag and showing it off in the dáil

-the People Before Profit leader dabbing in the Dáil

-Past Taoiseach and Hulk Hogan

-opposition leader doing the macarena on tiktok

[sapphire-mage]

FFXIV Tips for Collecting All The Yokai Watch Weapons

First, the big five:

SORT YOUR INVENTORY BEFORE YOU START FATE GRINDING! You're gonna get a lot of useless enemy drops, so sort your items so you can easily find and sell them.

Spend your seals! Little by little, you're going to amass a lot of seals. Spend them on something! Buy a ton of Ventures. Or Material Containers: Even if you get a minion you already have, you can give them to friends.

Party up! Get friends; Invite complete strangers who are doing the FATES at the same time as you; Set up a Party Finder; If someone invites you to a party, ACCEPT! Just note: Even with a party, you need to get a sliver of enmity to get credit for the FATE.

YOU DO NOT HAVE TO GET GOLD MEDAL ON THE FATE TO GET A LEGENDARY MEDAL! I've gotten so many on bronze and silver ratings.

TAKE YOUR TIME! It sounds like the event is lasting until the preparation of 7.0. You don't have to get all 17 weapons in one day. Maybe do 1-2 a day. For the sake of your sanity.

MORE STUFF BELOW

-Best classes: Blue Mage (you probably see why already), Tanks (enmity grants FATE credit), healers (same as Tank, but you can also heal party members)

-Recommended Blue Mage Abilities: Any ARR Primal Spells (instant damage, securing FATE credit), any AoE spells (cooldown or otherwise, just to get some AoE damage), Goblin Punch (instant attack, giving you sneaky FATE credit), Missile (see next tip)

-Missile is a Blue Mage spell that can reduce the HP of certain enemies by 50%, including SOME (some might be immune) FATE bosses. This is extremely handy and speeds up FATEs, but FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WAIT A SECOND! Let people do SOME DAMAGE before you rip them a new one!

-Bring healing. You never know. Healing abilities/spells, healing items, support chocobo, healing party member.

-Take note: If you have a map preference, you can just stay there and cycle between the different minions who grant you Legendary Medals there. (ie: I stayed at Western La Noscea and grinded Komasan, Komajiro, and Hovernyan back to back)

-BEST GRIND LOCATIONS:

Western La Noscea: Great teleport options, FATEs spawn RAPIDLY

Central Shroud: Crystal is in the center of the map, allows for easy teleport and travel

South Shroud: Frequent FATEs, two great teleport options

North Shroud: Same as Central Shroud

East Shroud and Middle La Noscea: Not great, but they'll be the easiest to travel for Shogunyan and USApyon

Azim Steppe: Great teleport options for Enma and Demona grinding

Dravanian Forelands: Best for Lord Anata and Zazel, cause every other HW map location is massive and a nightmare.

HAPPY GRINDING!

[rikeijo]

Today’s translation #822

Animage 2016/12, Toyonaga Toshiyuki x Uchiyama Kouki interview

Part 5.

-- I see! Yuuri's got a very good score at Chugoku-Shikoku-Kyushu Regional Championships and then, as his short program during China Cup, he showed us a performance that was so good that it was deemed to be 'the best he every did'.

Uchiyama: But the competition in Canada that Yurio participated in, was only mentioned in narration like, 'JJ (Jean-Jacques Leroy) won the competition' (laugh).

Toyonaga: (laugh)

-- But actually, the competition in Canada was Yurio's first competition in senior division, and it surely was a gorgeous debut, as all of sudden, Yurio's got a sliver medal?

Uchiyama: That's right! He even placed on the podium, so it was a very good result! But after all that happened, he didn't see Victor or Yuuri even once.

Toyonaga: It doesn't seem like the two of them think a lot about how Yurio's doing either.

Uchiyama: Of course, they probably focus on what is in front of their own eyes - the next competition they are going to participate in.

Toyonaga: And so, Yurio is in this state, that even though he's far far away, he gets agitated when he sees news about Yuuri once in a while, like 'Just wait there! You pig bastard!' (laugh).

Uchiyama: Yeah, that's how it feels. It's a very lonely story....

[volchitsa-of-winterfell]

i'm a simple woman; all i desire is for rino matsuike to medal here win 4cc and then come to boston worlds and have the skates of her life right in front of me, winning a world medal and also forever changing my life by showing me true beauty on par with a sliver of the divine. is that so much to ask

[bobcatmoran]

Ok, good job, NBC, with the trivia about how each medal will have a tiny sliver of the Eiffel Tower from recent refurbs. More of that, please.

Oh wow, the bells of Notre Dame, ringing out again for the first time since the fire.

[jmagnabo92]

First Prince Week 2024 - Day 2 - New Year's Gold

@thebrownstone

Prompt - Silver/Gold

***

“Do you think I could win a gold medal in dick sucking?”

Henry nearly chokes on his drink that he’s holding in his free hand (tea to warm him up) while he’s holding hands with Alex on their walk.

or

A conversation about dick sucking leads to the happiest New Years, yet.

AO3

***

“Do you think I could win a gold medal in dick sucking?”

Henry nearly chokes on his drink that he’s holding in his free hand (tea to warm him up) while he’s holding hands with Alex on their walk. 

Despite being with Alex for five years, the man still manages to surprise him with the way his brain works.  They been out on perfectly normal date, and walking home in the brisk winter air, chatting about Alex’s desire to stay home rather than go out and party tonight (they had completely forgone the White House Trio’s New Year’s Eve party the same year that they’d been forced out because Alex hadn’t wanted any more attention and it stuck for Ellen’s second term).  Still, they’d been invited to Pez’s party (he’s promised that he would take on the attention just to have his best mate and Alex there), but they hadn’t decided if they were attending as of dinner tonight.

“How… how did that thought arrive from our discussion on if we’re going to the party tonight or not?”

Alex hums.  “Well, I was thinking… you’ve had a lot of men suck your dick, and I was just wondering if I’ve gone from adequate to gold medalist?”

He’s still uncertain about how that thought had come up in his head from discussion about a party in which none of the men Henry’s shagged would be invited, but he does note that his teasing about being adequate the first time he’d even blown someone is clearly on his mind.

“Alex, dear, I may have had many a man suck my dick, but none of them could ever compare to you,” he says, sincerely as they reach their front door and he pulls out their keys.

“See now, you had a chance to say something like ‘of course you’re a gold medalist, sweetheart’, and then, I would say that I’d rather be sliver because then I’d match your ring and then –”

“Ring?” Henry asks, suddenly turning back to Alex so see him down on one knee.  There’s a ring box open in his gloved hands with a gorgeous silver ring inside… clearly an engagement ring. 

“I’ve been trying to ask you all night, but I couldn’t think of the best way to do it –”

“– so you thought bringing up your dick sucking abilities would be an excellent lead-in?”

“I mean – yeah.  I’ll be sucking your dick forever if you say yes, baby.”

Henry chuckles, barely keeping himself from nodding yes, and manages, “You haven’t asked yet.”

Alex grins.  “Henry, baby, you changed my life for the better five years ago with a magical kiss in the snow on New Year’s Ever, well, technically five minutes into New Year’s Day, I love you so much and I wanna change your life for the better, too.  So will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

“Absolutely, yes!”

Henry lets his thermos fall to the ground as he pulls Alex to his feet and kisses him passionately. 

A magical kiss in the snow on New Year’s Eve is definitely everything he needed tonight. 

He pulls back slightly as Alex pulls off his glove to place the ring on his finger.  It looks perfect. 

Henry smiles and pulls a box out of his coat.  “I, too, have been plotting to propose, but you just had to go and beat me.”

“Of course, baby,” Alex says, grinning. 

“So, not to be outdone…”  Henry kneels on the stoop of their home, the home that he never believed that he would ever get to have with the man of his dreams and opens the box.  “… Alex, while I do happen to think you have gold-medalist dick sucking abilities that I would enjoy for the rest of my life, I love you for so many other reasons, including that you have given me the courage to be out and proud and do something with my life that I could be proud of and happy with, rather than something I would look back on and regret.  You’ve been a light in my life that I never knew I needed, and I would definitely want nothing more for you to make me the happiest man alive by marrying me.  Will you marry me, love?”

“Yes.  Yes, absolutely, yes,” Alex says, excitedly.  Repeating Henry’s actions of pulling Henry to his feet and kissing him passionately. 

This kiss takes a little bit longer break apart and they’re panting a little. 

Henry pulls off Alex’s left glove and slips the ring onto his finger.  He’s lucky he chose silver as well since their rings actually match. 

“Perfect, right where it belongs.”

They both smile down at their rings for a second before the wind picks up around them.

“Well, love, I don’t know about you, but I’d like to go inside and celebrate with my gold-medal in dick sucking fiancé and skip the party tonight, just celebrate me and you.”

Alex is grinning.  “Absolutely, agree.”

***

It’s hours later when the clock strikes midnight.  Henry and Alex are all cuddled up in bed, legs tangled together, admiring each other and their rings.  Kissing lazily when admiring isn’t enough, and if he’s honest, Henry can’t believe that he’s going into 2024 with a male fiancé and someone he actually loves rather than some woman that his Gran wanted… but here he is, happy and in love with the man of his dreams. 

“I love you so much, sweetheart,” Henry hums against his lips.

“Love you, too, baby, now and forever.  Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year.”

[goldenfreddys]

september '04, cont.—lucky number 5

It was dark, now, beyond the kitchen window- pitch black slivers peeking through the half-open blinds. Jeremy blinked, then looked at the sink. There was something he was in the kitchen to do, but he'd completely forgotten in the time it took to walk there.

He took a glance at his watch out of instinct, then lowered his wrist without looking at the time. He took a breath and tried to focus- it was dark out, which meant he had to get ready for work. He had his pants on, which seemed to be a solid start. Wandering to the bedroom, he started sorting out what was left of the ‘getting ready for work’ routine. He had a pair of socks on Nadia’s bed. His purple button-up (courtesy of Fazbear Entertainment) was hanging on the knob of a dresser drawer. He leaned in to smell it, then pulled back and grimaced. Right.

He heard Nadia throw open the front door, then checked his watch again. 11:39 pm.

“Sorry, babe! The wildest thing happened earlier- I'll tell you in the car! Come on, come on, come on!”

Over the course of the short drive to Freddy’s, Jeremy remembered about seven different things he'd forgotten. His water, a fresh nicotine patch, his keys and wallet… There wasn't time to go back. Instead, he tried to stay dialed in on Nadia as she chattered about her day.

“... I can't believe I fell for the ghost hitchhiker thing! I'm supposed to be smarter than that, but they were kids and I- like, I didn't want, like, some fuckin’ weirdo picking ‘em up instead, right?”

Jeremy hummed, “I dunno, maybe you’re friends now.”

He recalled the various reported hauntings he'd researched. In particular, a spirit called the Bell Witch had supposedly plucked a boy from the cave crevice he’d gotten stuck in, then lectured him for being reckless. Her origin, of course, was something about an Indian burial ground—those sorts of explanations always fell apart in Plymouth. His mom said the whole damn county was a mass grave.

“Dude, I hope.” Nadia huffed as she adjusted her grip on the steering wheel.

Mike stood at the doors of the Pizzeria with his arms crossed, glaring as Jeremy approached.

“The fuck took so long, kid? Get in here.” Mike grabbed his shoulder and pushed him inside.

Jeremy found himself speaking before he had time to structure his thoughts, “Woah hey, dial it back, asshole.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said um, d-uh, dial it back? Sorry, I-I just… Don't do that.”

Mike went quiet for a second as they speed walked to the office and he felt a dull pang of impending doom trying to surface. Despite the overwhelming certainty that something very bad was about to happen, Jeremy felt oddly distant, almost calm.

“Kid, are you… Alright?”

“Yeah, I'm fine. Kinda like a babbling brook,” he nodded, trying not to look too disoriented, “like, with a dead body in it.”

Bodies decomposed quickly in forests and waterways, he thought. People disappeared lots along the highways, hikers who crawled into caves and got injured. It was important to keep the boring truth in mind about that kind of thing.

“Fuck me, you're high, aren't you?” Mike’s voice pulled Jeremy from his thoughts, along with a bright light being waved in his eyes. Mike had sat him down in the office chair while he was pondering decomposition. He heard him flick the flashlight off and sigh.

“Alright, fine. Just… Keep the bear head on, stay quiet and watch the music box.”

Wordlessly, Jeremy did as he was told. Though it still smelled awful, it seemed to ground him in the present. The image of Bonnie’s faceless head flickered in the back of his mind. He swallowed, blinking a few times in an attempt to regain his bearings.

“... How are they still functional? The- the old ones.”

“Look, I know it's crazy, but they're genuinely haunted. It’s the only explanation I’ve got.”

Mike reached over to flip the security feed to the stage, then lit up one of the vents.

“Oh no, that sucks.” Jeremy tried to sound serious, though he felt like he'd just won a gold medal at the Olympics— Haunted!

Some of the dread eased off his chest as he mulled over the concept.

“Like, the ghosts wanna kill everyone?” Jeremy asked, “Uh, h-how many other people have worked nights? Just you?”

Mike tensed, barking back, “You don’t know what you're talking about. These-these things– ghosts or whatever, they’ve changed over the years. Sure, maybe I do deserve to rot in hell, but the distinction between me and whoever sits at this desk doesn't seem to—”

Heavy footsteps.

An animatronic began speaking at the end of the hall. Mike shone the flashlight down to get a look, though the light hardly seemed to reach it.

“Uh oh! Looks like someone had a boo-boo!”

Toy Freddy stood facing to one side of the hall. Mike shifted the beam of light to where the bear fixed his gaze, though it looked to be empty space.

“Hello? MR. LECLAIR, are you here?” Toy Freddy asked, suddenly much closer to the office, “Let’s see here… LECLAIR, THOMAS is no longer an employee at Fazbear Entertainment. Overnight Security is now the duty of FITZGERALD, JEREMIAH.”

Mike had donned the Foxy head, like the night before. He was still, almost statuesque if not for his shallow, whistling breaths.

Toy Freddy stepped into the office, stiffly rotating his head from side to side.

“Uh oh! Not here! Let’s keep looking, okay kiddo?”

The animatronic stomped off again, offering to play a ‘patented jingle’ for his unseen companion.

Mike shuddered once the coast was clear, again.

“Any more questions?” he asked, bitterly.

Jeremy let his gaze fall to his hands. He started idly fidgeting with his fingers as he pieced his thoughts together— Mike seemed defensive about whatever was haunting the animatronics, almost guilty.

It was hard to breathe. The animatronic head was heavy, rank and hot. Jeremy felt a lump in his throat.

“So what’s your game, Michael? Where are you in this?” Jeremy started, voice even and quiet, “People clock in, n’ nobody ever sees them again. Tell scary stories, get antsy when pressed for details.”

Mike took a long moment to breathe and swallow nervously before continuing, “I swear to god, I'm not fucking around with this. Back in ‘95, some kids went missing-”

“In ‘94.”

The office fell eerily silent. Jeremy stood, slowly backing away from the desk. The lights flickered and pulsed above them, casting Mike in harsh shadows that drowned out his features under the Foxy mask. He took a few shallow breaths, watching Mike rise from the chair with the cadence of a beat-up ventriloquist's dummy. His thin, bruised fingers curled around the flashlight, with his other hand slowly coming to rest on a taser holster.

Jeremy turned, ripping off the Freddy head and throwing it at Mike before he scrambled away. Cacophony erupted through the overhead speakers as he ran— the tinny notes of Pop Goes the Weasel blared, almost barely audible over a chorus of static and distortion. He skidded around the corner, towards the main party room. Too many tables and chairs to make a clean break to the exit, given his current coordination abilities were barely keeping him on his feet. He glanced back at the flashlight beam grazing the far wall as Mike pursued him.

Jeremy found himself sprinting towards the stage, towards the heavy velvet curtains concealing the wing. He spotted the new Bonnie animatronic on stage in the corner of his eye. Immediately, the beat of a familiar disco track joined the deafening noise as he scrambled for a place to hide backstage.

Mike’s footfalls came to a halt in the distance, followed by a mumbled string of particularly creative expletives. Despite the adrenaline, Jeremy still felt distant and spacy. Almost as though watching a found-footage indie horror movie, rather than participating in one. Towards the stage, some stairs led up to what seemed to be a dressing room. In the opposite direction, warm light spilled from a door, left slightly ajar.

“If we’re not back by the time your mom’s here, just go.” Cassidy told him, quietly. Where Gabriel was concerned with finding the younger kids out of a natural sense of responsibility, Cass seemed really serious. Almost final.

“... Kay, Sammy? I mean it. We’ll catch up later, I promise.”

The parts and service room. Jeremy recognized it from the camera feed, though now it was fully lit. The battered old iterations of Freddy, Bonnie, Chica and Foxy were standing expectantly in a loose half-circle around an empty suit. They didn’t respond to his presence. Their gaze remained fixed on the door.

“No, no, no, no! Fuck!” Mike spat, thrashing vainly as the puppet dragged him inside by the ankle. It spun him around, holding him up over the empty suit like a pissed off cat. Jeremy’s focus started slipping again. He wobbled in place, watching as Mike stopped thrashing and went slack in the puppets arms. The man’s gaze flitted over to Jeremy. He scanned the room. Strange, unintelligible music. Various animals bathed in yellow light. Lithe, spindly creature dangling something aloft. The light flickered and dimmed, spotlighting Mike as he hung limply in the puppet’s grasp.

Jeremy took a breath and announced in a deep voice, “Simbaaa…”

The puppet quirked its head to the side to look at Jeremy as he burst out laughing at his own joke. It lowered Mike to the ground beside the suit and glanced quizzically between the two guards.

Foxy’s jaw fell open, then whipped his head back as his speakers crackled out a laugh of his own, while Bonnie put their hand on their hip and bowed their head exasperatedly.

“Sorry, sorry. It's uh… It's super late though, innet?” Jeremy yawned and gestured to Foxy and Chica, “Not to be a buzzkill but ‘m pretty sure it's way past bedtime for you two.”

Freddy placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, nodding in agreement. Jeremy closed his eyes and rubbed his nose, then hummed. God, he was tired.

“... Kid?”

Jeremy kept his eyes shut, once again wavering while he stood as he started to drift off.

“Jeremy?!” Mike snapped with a bit more urgency.

He flinched and opened his eyes, “What?”

Mike had gotten to his feet and backed up to the wall beside the door, “My father. Did— I've seen you with him. Shit, I should've known. Ain’t that fuckin’ dandy– you got me, kid! Showtime’s over… Now tell me who the hell you think you are.”

Good question, Jeremy thought. Mike looked to have the patience of a rabid dog with nowhere to run, and giving another of his classic non-answers wasn't gonna help. Grimacing, he groggily recalled a certain piece of prose- an interlude, maybe. A slow melody looping grimly beneath the singer’s monologue, one that had always made him feel sick to his stomach. More often than not, he listened to it anyway; at three in the morning on a school night, blasting through his broken headphones on loop, scratching that itch in his brain raw.

He swore he saw little outlines in the shadows cast across the floor, now. A little girl with braided pigtails peeked, shyly, from behind Chica’s silhouette.

“… Cassidy Zhang, the birthday girl…”

Bonnie’s rusted joints squealed as they turned to stare at him. Their stature seemed to soften with something akin to relief.

“Fritz and Susie Sullivan, the two youngest.”

Foxy struck a heroic pose while Chica bowed in the best approximation of a curtsy her battered chassis would allow.

“Gabriel Carter-Reed! Best known for his sunny smile…”

Finally, the bear’s eyes lit up with a soft thunk.

“So I guess that makes me… Lucky… Number… Five.”

Jeremy’s head swam as he tried to get the last few words out. He distantly felt himself lose balance, ears ringing with a thousand chimes as he crashed to the floor.

[roseromeroredranger]

Shattered Bonds

The room was dimly lit, heavy with the weight of defeat. Shubman Gill, disheveled and lost, found solace in the corner of his room, his anguish palpable. Silent tears streamed down his face as he replayed the moment of his dismissal in his mind, the four runs that felt like an insurmountable mountain of failure.

The post-match ceremony, usually filled with jubilant cheers and celebrations, now stood in stark contrast — a somber affair where the clinking of medals felt like a distant echo. Shubman, curled up, his phone switched off to shut out the outside world, was drowning in the depths of his own despair.

"Hum match mere vajhse hare hai..." he whispered to himself, the weight of responsibility pressing on him like an unbearable burden. The room echoed with the haunting silence of his thoughts.

Amidst the heavy atmosphere, the door creaked open, casting a sliver of light into the room. A shadowy figure entered, and the air shifted. Ishan Kishan, recognizing the depth of Shubman's pain, sat down in front of him, his presence both comforting and understanding.

"Shub," Ishan's voice, deep and soothing, cut through the silence. Shubman looked up, his eyes red and puffy, mirroring the emotions that lay beneath the surface.

"Ishan...hum haar gye," Shubman uttered, the words catching in his throat. The admission hung heavy in the room, a shared understanding of the collective agony that enveloped them.

In that moment of vulnerability, Ishan reached out, placing a hand on Shubman's shoulder. No words were spoken, but the touch conveyed a silent promise of support and shared pain. The room, though still heavy with defeat, now held a glimmer of connection.

As they sat in the dimly lit room, the silence between them became a bridge for unspoken emotions. It was a moment of shared grief, an acknowledgment that victories and losses were woven into the fabric of their journey. And in that shared vulnerability, the seeds of resilience and camaraderie were sown, promising a way forward from the darkness of defeat.

The room echoed with the intensity of Shubman's emotions, as Ishan's comforting touch failed to immediately quell the storm raging within him. Shubman, still raw from the loss and consumed by his own self-doubt, pushed Ishan's hand away.

"Ishan, you won't understand. You weren't out there on the field," Shubman's voice quivered with a mixture of frustration and pain. His eyes bore into Ishan's, searching for a comprehension that felt elusive.

Ishan, undeterred, maintained his gaze, a silent invitation for Shubman to share his burden. "Shub, I might not have played in the eleven, but that doesn't mean I can't understand what it's like to yearn for victory," Ishan spoke with a calm determination, his empathy unyielding.

But Shubman, caught in the grip of his own turmoil, erupted in a burst of pent-up emotions. "You don't know what it's like to carry the weight of a million expectations, to be in the playing eleven and still fall short. You weren't there when I needed you the most," Shubman's words cut through the air, carrying the sharp sting of bitterness.

Ishan, sensing the escalating tension, chose his words carefully. "Shub, I might not have been on the field with you, but I've seen the sacrifices, the hard work. We're in this together."

The argument unfolded like a tempest, the air thick with charged emotions. Shubman's frustration collided with Ishan's attempt at understanding, creating a volatile atmosphere. Voices rose, each word a weapon in the battlefield of emotions.

"I don't need your sympathy, Ishan! I needed a win!" Shubman's voice reverberated, the echo of unfulfilled dreams resonating in the room.

In the heat of the moment, Ishan's patience reached its limit. "You think you're the only one who wanted to win? We all did! But blaming each other won't change the outcome. We have to rise above this together."

The room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a battleground. The heated exchange continued, the echoes of frustration bouncing off the walls. Yet, within the clash of words, there lingered a desperate plea for understanding, a shared pain that bridged the gap between them.

As the argument reached its crescendo, a heavy silence settled, leaving both players breathless. In that quiet aftermath, they stood on the precipice of reconciliation, the emotional tempest subsiding, paving the way for a deeper understanding to emerge.

The room crackled with tension as Shubman's frustration reached a boiling point. "Ishan, just leave me alone! You don't get it. I blame you for this. Your presence, or lack thereof, affected my performance out there," Shubman's accusation hung heavily in the charged atmosphere.

Ishan's expression hardened, hurt flickering in his eyes. "Blame me? Shub, don't act like I'm the reason for your struggles. You were out there on the field, not me. Own up to your mistakes instead of pointing fingers."

Shubman's eyes flashed with anger. "Own up? You don't understand the pressure of being in the playing eleven. You were sitting comfortably on the bench, while I faced the heat. Your absence on the field felt like a void I couldn't fill."

Ishan, feeling the weight of Shubman's words, shot back, "And you think I don't feel the weight of not being there when the team needed me? You're not the only one who wanted to win. We all did, and we all feel the sting of defeat."

The verbal sparring intensified, each word a sharp arrow aimed at the other's vulnerabilities. The room, once a refuge, became an arena for their heated exchange.

"You're quick to blame, Shub, but maybe if you had performed better in the final, we wouldn't be having this conversation!" Ishan's retort cut through the air, the accusation hanging between them like a heavy fog.

Shubman, his face contorted with a mix of anger and hurt, shot back, "Oh, like you're the epitome of success! Your absence didn't make a difference in the final, and your presence wouldn't have changed the result. We lost, and we all played a part in it."

The words hung in the air, a bitter acknowledgment of shared failure. The room, now a battleground of conflicting emotions, echoed with the residue of their heated exchange. In that moment, the friendship that had weathered triumphs and defeats teetered on the edge, caught in the crossfire of blame and frustration.

The tension in the room was palpable as Shubman's frustration boiled over, his emotions spilling out in a torrent of hurtful words. "Ishan, you're my bad luck," he lashed out, his voice tinged with bitterness and resentment. "I hate you!"

Ishan's heart plummeted at Shubman's words, his breath catching in his throat as if he had been physically struck. His eyes widened in disbelief, betraying the pain that welled up inside him. For a moment, he stood frozen, the weight of Shubman's accusation crushing him with its cruel honesty.

Shubman watched Ishan's reaction with a pang of regret, his own anger dissipating in the face of his friend's visible anguish. But before he could retract his words, Ishan turned away, his shoulders hunched in defeat. With each step he took towards the door, the distance between them widened, an unspoken chasm of hurt and betrayal.

Alone in the wake of Ishan's departure, Shubman's resolve crumbled, replaced by a flood of remorse. Tears welled up in his eyes as he sank to the floor, the weight of his own harsh words crushing him with their brutal truth. "Ishan, wait," he choked out, his voice thick with unshed tears, but it was too late.

Outside, Ishan walked with purpose, his steps echoing in the empty corridor like a dirge for their shattered friendship. Tears streamed down his cheeks unchecked, his emotions laid bare for the world to see. The pain of Shubman's betrayal cut deep, leaving behind a raw wound that throbbed with every beat of his broken heart.

Back in their room, Shubman's sobs filled the silence, a haunting lament for the friendship he had so callously discarded. "I'm sorry, Ishan," he whispered into the empty space, his voice choked with regret. But the words fell on deaf ears, lost in the vast expanse of their fractured bond.

As Shubman's harsh words echoed in the room, Ishan felt a surge of pain that seemed to emanate from the very core of his being. His eyes, once filled with warmth and camaraderie, now reflected a profound hurt as he turned away, the weight of Shubman's accusations sinking deep into his soul.

With measured steps, Ishan walked out of the room, his expression a mask of emotional numbness. The corridor seemed endless, stretching before him like an abyss of unanswered questions. As he made his way to the terrace, he whispered to himself, a voice barely audible above the echoes of their shattered friendship.

"I can't hate you, Shubie," Ishan murmured, his voice filled with a mix of anguish and resignation. Each step felt heavy, burdened not just by the weight of Shubman's accusations, but also by the unspoken truth that lingered between them. He couldn't bring himself to hate the one person he had held close to his heart.

On the terrace, Ishan stood alone, the city lights below flickering like distant stars. The emotional turmoil within him finally broke through the stoic facade. Tears streamed down his face as he wrestled with the conflicting emotions of love and betrayal.

"I can't hate you," Ishan repeated, his voice breaking with the weight of his unspoken feelings. "Not when I love you, Shubie." The admission hung in the air, a fragile echo of the love he had kept hidden for so long.

As the night sky witnessed Ishan's silent turmoil, the tears continued to flow. Love and hurt entwined in a complex dance, and the terrace became a sanctuary for a heartbroken soul, grappling with the pain of shattered expectations and the silent ache of unrequited love

As tears streamed down Shubman's cheeks, he felt the weight of his own words crushing him with an unbearable heaviness. The realization of what he had done, the pain he had inflicted on the person he cherished most, cut him to the core. His chest tightened with the agony of regret as he sank to the floor, the sobs wracking his body.

"I've hurt him," Shubman whispered to himself, his voice choked with emotion. Each syllable felt like a jagged shard of glass tearing at his already shattered heart. He had wounded not just a friend, but the person he loved more deeply than he had ever dared to admit.

The memory of Ishan's hurt expression haunted him, a ghostly reminder of his own betrayal. How could he have been so blind, so reckless with the feelings of the one person who meant everything to him? The tears continued to flow unabated, a silent plea for forgiveness that echoed in the empty room.

"I'm sorry, Ishan," Shubman cried out, his voice trembling with anguish. But the words felt hollow, insufficient to mend the rift he had created between them. He had let his own insecurities and frustrations drive a wedge between them, and now, he was paying the price.

As the weight of his remorse bore down upon him, Shubman longed for the chance to make things right, to bridge the chasm that had opened up between them. But deep down, he knew that some wounds ran too deep to be healed with mere words. All he could do was pray that Ishan would find it in his heart to forgive him, and that their bond would prove strong enough to withstand the storm.