#amadis mention

[the-rebel-archivist]

39 ILLARIO AND AMADIS THIS ISN'T SPIRITS

This one's for you, not-spirits, and it is glorious. It changed my whole canon and I've never been happier. While Illario languishes in the crow prison of Velabanchel, Amadis finds herself in her own prison in the fade. Their reunion is very Antivan - dramatic, violent, and passionate. The crow mating rituals are intricate.

Prompt: A kiss because time's run out

Amadis de Riva / Illario Dellamorte | 3446 words

Seven steps. That was how many it took to cross the dark, dank cell Illario had been confined in all these weeks. Nine if he took very small steps. Five if he took very large ones or if he walked to the raised wooden pallet that might be called a bed, not that he granted it the honour of that name. Once he had managed to make it in six perfect steps, heel against the starting wall, toes against the end, and had spent the next few hours replicating it. But seven, seven was comfortable.

The steps took a little longer today, weighted by the blossoming bruises over his abdomen that forced a wince from him with each movement. He had discovered very quickly that a little light treason wasn’t appreciated by the crows of Velabanchel. Still, he wouldn’t want anyone to think that he’d lost his edge while in prison and so he paced, took whatever exercise he could, and tried to keep his mind occupied the way his training had conditioned him to.

The way he’d unwittingly forced Lucanis to live for a year. Would he be as sane after his own year had passed?

Illario shook his head to clear it. That was not a useful thought. File it down.

Heavy steps thudded against the flagstones of the hall outside of his cell door and from a distance torches on the wall were lit one by one, gradually spilling warm light into the room that had previously only been lit by a narrow slit of the moon reflecting off the sea below the prison’s cliff. One set of noisy, wide-set footsteps, the night guard’s, he knew by now… and one lighter, one barely imperceptible, whispers kissing the floor, but footsteps that would rouse him from sleep even if he were dead.

He was conscious then of his stained clothing and unwashed hair that hung limply about his face, deprived as he was of his hair tie for fear that he’d use it as a makeshift garrotte. He probably would have. He smoothed his hair back as best he could and leaned as nonchalantly as his aching body would allow against one salt-brined wall, crossing his arms in front of himself.

The flame from the torchlight appearing beyond the bars of his cell door burned his eyes, now attuned to the darkness, and so his first view of the figure that haunted his dreams was glimpsed through squinted eyelids, his careful attempt at composure hindered by his need to shield his eyes with his hand.

With the sharp scrape of metal on metal the door creaked open and in she stepped, skirting around the broad-shouldered guard like liquid metal and giving him a small nod.

“Ten minutes,” the guard growled, locking the door behind her and seating the torch in its bracket in the hallway. Ten minutes in which he was at her mercy, ten in which he could speak his last words.

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Only he and his true jailor remained, his beautiful, infuriating jailor, who stood glaring daggers at him but who stood when she should have been dead.

“You’re brave to come alone again, and without bars between us this time,” he said in what would in any other situation have been a drawled implicit threat but which emerged from his mouth neutered and toothless. 

Amadis stepped toward him with those stealthy feet, those quiet killer’s footfalls that he knew too well. Anyone else with her dark hair, dark eyes, and dark leathers might have blended in to the gloom but not her, never her. Her black curls glowed in the halo of the torchlight and shadows traced her form like lovers’ hands while his own seemed suddenly empty.

“Has your ability to threaten atrophied so much already?” she asked with a sarcastic narrow of her eyebrows at his verbal gracelessness, tucking her hair behind her shoulder and exposing her neck with a dare nestled deep in the blackness of her eyes.

Oh, but the bait was tempting. Off the top of his head he could list ten different ways to crush a windpipe, all of which required his skin to make contact with hers and in which he would hold her again for a few glorious seconds as the life drained from her body.

He put his hands down at his sides and stretched them open to clear the thought.

“You left me here to die, Adi. You left me to the damp and the rats and the humiliation. I could kill you now. I should kill you now.” He took a step, biting back the grimace from the weakness of his wounded flesh, channeling it into the fire-flash of anger. “They told me you were gone,” he said accusingly, drawing himself up to his full height before her. “You were dead and it was not me who did it.”

“And that’s what matters, is it?” she asked with a scornful twist of her mouth.

“Yes!” Exasperated, he kept from resisting the offered throat and framed it with his hand, ignoring the thrill that ran down his arm from the contact point of their flesh. “Of course it matters! No matter how far I go you dog my steps, and you left me.”

“Oh, well I’m so very sorry that I inconvenienced you by not dying at your hand,” she sneered, looking up and daring him to tighten his grip. His fingers flexed; he considered, and then felt a flush of satisfaction as her eyes widened when he shifted his grip to the side of her face. The curls at the back of her neck were threaded through his fingers, her cheek cupped and held insistently.

“You don’t understand, you were dead. For weeks you were dead.” 

When she was gone from this world he had learned what it meant to live where she was not. Their last meetings had been marked by antipathy - not indifference but passion, chaos and emotion and hatred all intermingled with the knowledge that there would be a next encounter. And then there was not. There never would be. 

But she had returned from the dead. 

“What does it matter to you, Illario?” she asked bitterly, taking his hand to lift it away from her and letting go like it was some diseased, distasteful thing. “What makes this time so different from the last time you pointed a blade at my neck?”

She wiped every trace of his hand from her body as she spoke and his stomach turned that she would be so repulsed by him.

“It does matter. It did matter. I never told you.”

“Is there anything you could possibly tell me that I don’t already know?” She asked with her dagger-sharp tongue, heedless of the jagged wounds she left behind. “That you betrayed your own family to death and torture, failed and failed again no matter what traitorous heights you set your sights on? You betrayed me but I knew what you were when I took you into my bed.” 

Pausing, she looked away and felt her next words in her mouth before giving voice to them, testing the shape of them. When she spoke again the sound was raw and cracked. “I would have forgiven you for that. I won’t for Antiva. I can only be glad that you failed like you failed at everything else. You keep failing over and over.” 

“Stop it,” he said quietly, an echo of a parentless boy four feet tall and eight years old. “Stop it. They’re already ripping out my nails, isn’t that enough for you?” He gestured toward her with the left hand pinky finger that barely stung now. “They made me what I am, like they did you. The difference between us is that I am twice defeated by my House and you are the victor.”

She had no answer, only a long exhale as she broke her gaze to look away at the floor in the corner of his cell and blinked a few times in quick succession. “Your justifications will leave you bound up in knots,” she said wearily. When she looked back there was an uncertain, nearly pleading look in her eyes that he didn’t recognize. She didn’t look at him that way. She simply did not. Where his suave confidence ended, hers began, not… this. Not the questioning vulnerability that he saw now.

“If you don’t tell me we can forget I was here. We can pretend that we will never wound each other again and I will forget you,” she said, and her pleading eyes begged for silence.

“Even if you could, I could not.”

Illario took a breath in and held it for one, two, three paces-lengths. He willed the prison to open up and swallow him. To swallow them both. Then, exhaling softly, he slipped his hand to the back of her neck and leaned close to her, looking down into those deep, dark eyes that had bewitched him with their passion and spark so long before he knew how to feel. 

“Please,” he said quietly, and he could have sworn that for the briefest of seconds she leaned in to his hand before nodding, resigned to her fate.

“Amadis, I didn’t know until you were gone that a world without you in it would feel like the stars had gone out.” 

They froze in time, interlocked and unmoving for what seemed like minutes, hours, millennia. She blinked; he imitated the motion. Her chest rose and fell with a breath; his did the same. Her skin was warm to the touch, burning his damp-chilled fingers, and since she seemed to permit his hand to linger he pushed his luck and ran his thumb under her jaw. Her eyelids fluttered closed, scrunched together once, and then reopened.

“You would try to kill me and then tell me what, that you love me?” The sound of her voice came out low and scratched, edged by bitter and false amusement.

“Yes- no. I don’t know. Love is too shallow a word. Love is supposed to be kind but this rends me open and leaves me raw. They say love is patient but this is a hungry thing that wants to eat me whole. Every second I spend here I curse your name and every second I know that there is no one else I would wish to curse for an eternity.”

It was embarrassing, exposing his vitals to her when she could execute him on the spot and the other crows would thank her. He was conscious again of the dirt and dried blood on his skin, the odour of his unwashed body, and the clothing that had not stood up to the rigours of being the prison’s punching bag. He was also painfully, sharply aware that despite all of that she had not pulled away from him.

“You are three betrayals too late, mio caro,” she told him, but told him softly, nearly wistfully, as she removed his hand from her face - but allowed her fingers to rest for just a moment over his before letting go. 

A pit of lead grew in his stomach but he smiled through it; if that smile was cruel it was only to himself for allowing himself to believe even for a moment that he might be someone’s first choice. He thought he had crushed that hope long ago but she had coaxed it out of him, dug it up where it lay buried and exposed it to the light while he screamed, all without her ever knowing. If the prison collapsed into the sea at that moment it would have been a true mercy, a miracle sparing him the need to debase himself further. 

“Nothing would have changed, even if you had known,” she said. She knew him, knew his inner workings, knew him as well as she knew her own hands. And he knew that on that night in the opera house had things gone differently he would have seen her dead himself even had he known his feelings, but at least as she gasped her last it would have been his face she saw before her eyes went dark. 

“No, it wouldn’t have. You would still have chosen my cousin’s side.”

“Then how can you love me?”

“If it was possible not to, I wouldn’t,” he said with an acerbic huff through his nose. “You’re asking me how I’m able to keep my heart beating. I could sooner stop that than I could destroy this beast that wants to devour me. Did you know that when you walk into a room everything around you glows? Are you aware of the effort it takes to numb myself when you put your hand on my skin and set it on fire? I wish I didn’t know, but I do now.”

With a deftness that made his aching limbs scream he put one hand on her waist and the other around her back, slipping his fingers into the back of her waistband and searching for the hidden pocket where he was certain her dagger would sit. The guards would have taken her weapons, but that single needle-thin blade was one she would have been loath to give up - and he was right, it was there, the finely made hilt sliding easily out into his palm. 

Amadis drew back, a warning in her glance as she caught his wrist at an awkward angle, but loosened her grasp when he knelt down on the cold stone of the prison floor.

On his knees in front of her he slowly, unthreateningly, brought the dagger close. Like any assassin, he knew the exact position and depth of his heart; the little blade would be enough. He pointed the tip directly over that spot and pressed the weapon into her grip, curling his fingers over hers on the handle.

All she had to do was press down. 

“I spilled your blood once. Take mine, it’s yours.”

It had to be her. Not this place, not these people who cared nothing about his fate except to hope he suffered. Not even his cousin, the playmate and rival he’d followed after his whole life but who had never truly understood him. Not even the grandmother who’d withheld her approval to the last.

Her. The one person who looked at him and never flinched.

Amadis rolled the handle softly in her fingers, tightening and loosening her hold on it as she considered. Her face was unreadable, a conflux of emotions that he was too focused to untangle. The rhythm of his heartbeat pounded in his ears and yet he could not count them by step-lengths of breath while he waited for her answer.

She set her mouth, bit the corner of her bottom lip, and pushed the razor-sharp point forward. He inhaled sharply as his skin broke; yet another red stain spread over the threads of his shirt, fresh and bright against the old splotches of brown, and she stared down at him intensely. 

“Do not lie to me again.”

“Not to you.”

With a sharp inhale and something akin to a sob she pulled her dagger back and wiped the tip against her side before seating it back in her waistband. He said nothing and moved only to let his hands fall in front of him.

“Void take you, Illario Dellamorte,” she said as she sunk both hands into his horrible, prison-filthy hair and smoothed it behind his ears. A quick twist and his neck would crack; it wouldn’t be so bad, it would be quick. His head was tilted back, the eye contact between them unbreakable. 

“You said that I didn’t understand, but I was dead and you weren’t there. Some terrible, rotten fragment of your soul is lodged inside of mine and will not come loose.” Her eyes flashed with an intensity incongruous with the delicacy with which she brushed away the wispy hairs over his ear with her thumb and then knelt down at his level.

“One day I may yet end your life. Until then I demand all of you.”

All of… nothing. A man with no House, no family, no reputation except that of a traitor. A man battered and bruised and broken, the skills beaten into him left to fall into decay and disuse all these weeks. Not an assassin of House Dellamorte. Only a man.

“Even now, when I am this?”

“Especially now,” she said, and she kissed him and the cold, salty cell above the sea came alive with warmth. Her lips were soft where his were cracked and broken but they met hungrily, her arms curling around his neck, his hands grasping at her upper back and pulling her tightly against him.

“This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you,” she whispered in between kisses.

“Good,” he said with a wicked smile against her lips. “I haven’t forgiven you either.”

In the hall, the heavy footsteps of the guard thudded against the stones. It was twenty steps for him usually, though Illario had missed their beginning. Amadis moved away from him and began to untangle herself; it would be embarrassing, after all, to be found in such a compromising position with a would-be enemy of the state.

Naturally then, he did not let her go, no matter how she glared.

“You will be the death of me,” she huffed, but there was no bite to the words. 

“Is that a promise?” he asked, a smile growing on his face when she laughed against his mouth. 

“Yes, it is.”

Leaning forward, their foreheads met and they knelt in silence for three step-lengths, their eyes closed, their hearts beating in unison.

“Your death belongs to me, Adi.”

“And yours to me.”

They whispered; it seemed wrong to speak out loud or permit anyone else to hear such a vow. It was for them alone. The footsteps in the hallway grew louder as the guard approached nearer and nearer but neither of them could find it in them to give notice to it.

He kissed her once more, deeply, unheeding of the clatter of dense iron keys rapping at the cell door, filing the smell of her and the feel of her in his arms away deep within his mind. The rapping became more and more insistent, less easy to ignore, and Amadis broke first, loosening her hold around his neck and stroking his cheek.

“You have to let me go.”

“Oh.” It had been so easy to forget when she was in his arms that she would leave. Even the return of the guard had not quite driven it home that in a moment she would disappear and he would be left alone to his days of step counting and nights on the wooden plank he continued to refuse to call a bed, existing at the whim of his guards. 

They had allowed him a few minutes’ hope only to destroy it again as some new torture in a long string of cruel and unusual new ways to cause suffering. Frankly he would have preferred the honesty of the rack.

“Right,” he said distantly, holding his side as he brought himself to his feet and stood against the back wall, bile gathering at the back of his throat.

File it down. File it all down. Make it useful.

Useful for what? Useful for whom? Not for him, not anymore.

He hadn’t seen Amadis get up in his haze of despair but she was standing too, her clothing smoothed out and mouth wiped clean, all trace of him gone from her person. She nodded to the guard. Half of him longed to watch her disappear down the hall until she was no more, to imprint the image of her in his mind to remember in the empty days to come, while another half hoped to forget everything in the last few minutes for his own sanity.

He jumped when he heard her voice again and blinked uncomprehendingly at her where she stood facing him in the open doorway.

“I asked if you were coming.”

“Coming where?” he asked stupidly.

“To fight with us rather than against us.”

With a smile that lit the entire cell she reached out to him, her palm upturned and open. Still unsure, he glanced between her and the guard, a stolid gentleman who gave him nothing back in response to his nonverbal inquiry but who also didn’t seem inclined to stop him. Going where? It didn’t matter. It wasn’t here, and it was with her, and it was a start.

He took the outstretched hand and they stepped forward together.

[foreverisntenough]

‘Aperture’

Summary: A professional footballer with a playboy reputation finds his world reframed when he meets a talented photographer who captures the light and depth he’s never seen in himself. As their friendship develops, he finds himself illuminated by her presence—a stark contrast to the shallow spotlight he’s used to, but her guarded heart keeps her from fully trusting his intentions. Their friendship develops, like film in a darkroom, shifting into something far more intimate. But when their connection begins to blur the lines between friendship and something more, he realizes she’s the light he’s been chasing without knowing it and fights to prove he’s ready for something real. Yet, their love hangs in the balance—will the film of their story overexpose and fade, or will it develop into something vivid and timeless. Sometimes, love is about adjusting the focus, letting in the right light, and trusting the process.

Chapter Index:

Fashion Index: For all Y/N's looks! No more bad links!

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, mention of drugs, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Chapter 7- 'Everything, Something, Nothing,' | 'Aperture'

word count - 12.4k

[Shiver - Nonso Amadi ft. Tamera]

You and Trent had fallen down a rabbit hole—one filled with stolen kisses in car parks, hands roaming under oversized hoodies, breathless laughter against cold windows, and the kind of reckless, youthful sneaking around that made it all the more intoxicating. Late-night FaceTime calls muffled under your duvet, giggles stifled as your friends questioned why you always seemed to disappear. He was everywhere now—his voice in your ear, his scent on your clothes, his touch burned into your skin.

And tonight was no different.

The two of you sat across from each other at a casual restaurant, the kind of place where no one would bat an eye at two people in sweats, half-dazed from exhaustion and tangled limbs; an adjustment to original plans. You were wrapped up in one of his hoodies, drowning in the scent of him, your hair less tame from the way his hands had been in it just an hour ago. Trent, ever the master of disguise, wore a cap low over his forehead, his posture relaxed in that effortless way he had.

Your night had taken an unexpected turn, as it always seemed to with him. The plan had been dinner first, but Trent had kissed you in the doorway of his house, and somehow, that had led to your outfit for the night being completely abandoned. Now, you were here, clad in his clothes instead, warm from the inside out, watching him with impatience as he took a phone call, his fingers drumming absently against the table impatient with the other side of the line. You huffed dramatically, propping your chin on your palm, your foot nudging his under the table teasingly. His eyes flicked to you with the smallest smirk before ending the call.

“Can I have what I asked for now?” you pouted, lower lip jutting out for effect. Trent’s smirk widened, his fingers curling around his glass of water, amusement twinkling in his eyes. He said he’d give you a kiss if you let him take the call. It really wasn’t transactional as much as it was you two being melts over the other.

“You can have whatever you want,” he murmured smoothly, sliding the bill over to you in the same motion. Your lips parted slightly, your heart tripping over itself as you glanced down at the paper in front of you. You blinked, eyes darting back up to his as suspicion laced your expression. 

“What?” he shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Thought you weren’t a pay-for-sex girlie. That’s what you said.” Your jaw dropped. The sheer audacity. Taunting you with words you’d said back in Paris. Trent held his poker face for a full second before his lips twitched, and then, like a little boy caught mid-prank, he erupted into giggles, dimples deep, teeth sinking into his lower lip as if he could hold back his own amusement. “Baby…” he grinned, shaking his head, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m kidding. C’mon.” Before you could even pretend to be mad, he was already pulling the bill back, handing his card over to the waitress without a second thought. His other hand reached out for yours, fingers lacing together as if to silently reassure you that, no, he wasn’t some transactional menace—he just enjoyed winding you up. “You get the next one, yeah?” he said, voice softer now, eyes dancing with something fond and teasing all at once. He squeezed your hand gently. “I got this one.” You stared at him for a moment, your heart doing that stupid little thing where it felt too full in your chest, where the rest of the world blurred into nothing because he was looking at you like that.

“Okay,” you muttered, suddenly shy, your lips pressing together to keep from smiling too hard. Trent tilted his head, watching you with a knowing smirk. 

“Cute when you pout,” he mused. You rolled your eyes, but your hand stayed in his. And when he leaned across the table to finally give you that kiss, you let him, because, really, you’d already fallen too deep.

-

The night air wrapped around you both, crisp and laced with the lingering scent of city life—warm pavement, faint traces of someone’s cologne trailing on the wind, the distant hum of traffic blending into the chatter of late-night diners spilling onto sidewalks. A street lamp above cast a soft golden glow, flickering slightly, making Trent’s skin gleam under its light. His hands rested against your lower back, warm even through the fabric of his hoodie you were drowning in. He swayed with you, his movements lazy and unhurried, as if neither of you were quite ready to let go just yet. The neon sign from the restaurant buzzed behind him, casting shifting shadows over his face, catching the mischievous glint in his eyes as he peered down at you.

“Up to you,” he murmured, voice slow like he was savoring the moment. “I can drop you home…” Your stomach twisted, and not in a good way. The thought of the night ending here left you feeling hollow. Before you could stop yourself, your lips had already pushed into a soft pout, something Trent clearly caught onto because his smirk deepened. “Or…” he dragged out, teasing now, his fingers playing at the hem of the hoodie, toying with the fabric as he leaned in ever so slightly, “if you’re interested, I know you love a party.” Your heart sank further, disappointment pooling in your chest before you could shove it down. A party? With other people? That wasn’t what you wanted at all. You two had been happily hidden away for weeks it felt like. You bit down on your lower lip, eyes flicking away as if looking elsewhere would somehow make the feeling disappear. Trent exhaled a quiet chuckle, amused, fond, his fingers flexing against your back before he pulled you even closer. “But,” he murmured, and you felt the warmth of his breath against your forehead, “I was thinking just a little more you and me would be nice.” Your head snapped up, a greedy spark lighting up in your eyes before you could even pretend to be nonchalant. Trent caught it immediately, and his grin turned smug, dimples deepening as he let his hands slide over your waist, his thumbs rubbing lazy circles against your ribs. “Thought a film at mine could be nice,” he continued, feigning casualness, like he wasn’t paying excruciating attention to the way you softened into him. “Only if you’re interested, though. But you gotta give me a cuddle…” His lips twitched. “Non-negotiable.” Your arms slipped around his waist in answer, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweatshirt, pulling him flush against you. Resting your chin against his chest, you looked up at him with a smile that was all mischief and quiet affection. 

“I love movies.” He hummed, tilting his head like he was studying you, his lips quirking before he leaned in and kissed you. And God, it was perfect. It had been perfect every time. Slow and sweet, deep enough to leave you breathless but gentle enough to make your heart ache. The kind of kiss that lingered, that left you craving more, that made you feel like nothing in the world existed but the heat between you and the way he tasted like mint and something unmistakably Trent. He pulled back just enough to kiss your forehead, lingering there for a beat before his hands drifted lower, cupping the curve of your ass. He gave it a playful squeeze, then a light tap—his silent way of saying, let’s go. You giggled, shaking your head at him, but you didn’t let go. And neither did he.

-

The hum of the engine filled the quiet space between you as Trent drove, one hand draped lazily over the steering wheel, the other on your thigh where it rightfully belonged. You sat in the passenger seat of his blacked-out Range Rover, a seat that, in the past two weeks, had started to feel like it belonged to you. Like it had been molded to fit you, as if this was where you were always meant to be—right here, beside him. The city lights streaked past in a blur of gold and red, casting fleeting glows across his sharp features, the soft curve of his lips, the faint crease between his brows as he concentrated on the road. Then, unexpectedly, he flicked on his indicator and turned left instead of right. You blinked, turning to him in confusion. 

“T, thought you said yours?.” He only smiled, the kind that made your stomach dip, dimples pressing into his cheeks as he pulled into a quiet little car park. A row of small shops stretched in front of you, their warm lights glowing against the cool night air, and nestled in between them was the most charming little sweet shop, its window displays lined with jars of brightly colored candies. Trent shifted into park, undoing his seatbelt before looking at you with that same soft amusement. 

“You know if you’re gonna watch a film, you need proper sweets. Gotta make a stop.” Your heart melted instantly. The thoughtfulness of it, the way he didn’t just want to take you home but wanted to make the night feel whole, feel like something worth remembering. You slipped out of the car, and as soon as the door shut behind you, Trent’s arm draped over your shoulders, his lips brushing a fleeting kiss to your hair before he led you inside. 

The shop smelled like sugar and nostalgia, the scent of caramel mixing with something fruity. Rows of glass jars lined the walls, filled to the brim with pastel marshmallows, fizzy cola bottles, and chewy sweets of every shade imaginable. You turned in a slow circle, taking it all in.

“This is so cute, baby.” Your voice was soft as you reached out, cupping his cheek. But Trent wasn’t looking at you—his eyes were narrowed in concentration, scanning the shelves with purpose, as if selecting the right sweet was some kind of sacred ritual. You watched as he tapped the glass case in front of a container of brightly colored Squashies, and a teasing smile curved your lips. “Never really pegged you as a sweets guy.” That finally got his attention. He turned to you then, his expression softer, something almost wistful behind his dark eyes.

“Used to come here with me mum,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “If I had a good game, I got to pick whatever I wanted.” Your heart clenched at the sweetness of it. At the image of a young Trent, grinning up at his mum with bright eyes and sticky fingers.

“That’s also so cute,” you murmured, then, because you couldn’t help yourself, “You bring every girl here with that story?” You meant it playfully, but the moment the words left your lips, you saw the way Trent tensed, his head tilting slightly as he let out an awkward chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh, nah,” he admitted, looking anywhere but at you. “Nah, definitely not.” He confirmed as his eyes skimmed over the jars again, like he was searching for something, before he exhaled through his nose. “It’s important to me… I don’t want any bad things attached to it, so…” There was something raw in his voice, something unguarded that made your throat tighten. Trent hadn’t planned on coming here tonight. Hadn’t planned on telling you about his mum or his childhood. But you made him feel like he could. Like it wasn’t something he needed to hide. Something he wanted you to know. And that scared him a little. You swallowed, instantly feeling guilty for making the joke in the first place. 

“Oh…” You weakly muttered. You reached out, running your fingers along his wrist, grounding him. 

“I just thought you’d appreciate it. Need sweets for a movie and that.” His gaze flicked back to yours, searching, like he was hoping you wouldn’t tease him any further. Instead, you smiled, squeezing his arm. 

“I do. It’s special. Thank you for bringing me.” Relief visibly flooded his body. He gave you a small, grateful nod, watching as you reached forward and tapped on the glass, pointing to the sweets you wanted. He nodded in confirmation, silently agreeing to share them with you.

-

At the register, as the shop clerk rang up your choices, Trent cleared his throat, giving you a pointed look. 

“What?” You blinked. He arched a brow, expectant. And then it hit you. Dinner. You get the next one, yeah?

“Oh… oh, sorry. I didn’t know this one was mine.” You giggled, reaching for your purse. The total was hardly a fraction of what he’d spent earlier, but you still found yourself smiling at the way he held you to it.  Trent nodded seriously, but as soon as you paid, he snatched the bag out of your hands with lightning-fast reflexes like a little kid in a candy store.

“Excuse you—” Your jaw dropped.  He grinned, dimples deep as he gave a small nod thanking the store clerk.

“Nah, only joking. Thank you, beautiful.” His voice was smooth as ever when he spoke again. Then, as if to soften the playful theft, he kissed your temple, his lips lingering for just a beat longer than necessary.

“So greedy.” You huffed, but couldn’t keep a light giggle from following it as you wrapped your arms around him. He only chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled you tighter into his side, his arm wrapping around your waist as you both stepped back out into the night.  And as he led you back to the car, the warmth of him pressed against you, the weight of the moment settling between you, you realized something— This? This wasn’t just something. This was the kind of night you’d remember everything from.

-

And so, the night eventually came. The night you had to confess. Tell Foster, Campbell, and Delaney what had been quietly unfolding—though even you weren’t sure how to define it. What were you and Trent doing? You weren’t together, yet it felt like something undeniable. Nothing, and yet everything. You knew too much about him for it to be nothing. 

Tonight, you were all heading to a friend’s party. And Trent would be there. You knew that because, last night, tangled up in his sheets again, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back, he’d murmured it against your skin. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?’ Like it was a fact, not a question. Like he already knew you’d be there. Still, that didn’t mean you knew how he’d act around you in front of everyone else.

“Y/N, what?!” Campbell screeched, nearly knocking over Foster’s perfume bottle in her shock. “Why have you not told us?!” Her eyes were wild, bouncing between you and the mirror, trying to gauge if you were messing with her. You exhaled, trying to keep your hand steady as you lined your lips. 

“I don’t know! What was I meant to say? We’ve just been, like… linking on the low, so…” You trailed off, the words feeling so much smaller than what it actually was.

“So you’re dating T?” Delaney pressed, hopping onto the counter, legs swinging as she watched you carefully.

“No, no, it’s not like that…” You hesitated, frowning at your reflection before pressing your lips together to blend the color. “I don’t think it is at least. I don’t know what it is.” You forced a smile, but you hated saying it. The uncertainty. The limbo. “I don’t even know how he’ll be with me tonight. We hang just us, you know?”

“I knew you were fucking someone, but I didn’t know it was T!” Foster giggled, swiping a lipstick from your makeup bag. You sucked in a breath. 

“Well… I mean, for me… yeah. It’s just been T.” The admission felt bigger than you expected. He’d been it for you, but was it the same for him? You hadn’t dared to ask. It made you feel a bit silly. To you, he’d been the only one but you had no idea if you were the only one he’d been seeing. 

“Just been T,” Delaney echoed, clasping her hands together as if she were watching the best drama unfold. “Look at you! Oh my God, has it been good? Like, in bed?” The room went still, three sets of eager eyes locked onto you. You could feel their anticipation, their need for details, but you took your time, deliberately leaning into the mirror to apply a glossy sheen over your lips, dragging it out just to wind them up.

“Well,” you started, pressing them together, eyes twinkling as you turned to face them. “To no one’s surprise… it’s fucking amazing. Like tears, thighs shaking, dripping, messy, amazing.” A collective scream rang through the bathroom.

“Y/N!!!” Foster shrieked, shaking your arm like she needed to ground herself.

“And out of bed?” Campbell pressed, leaning forward like she already knew the answer but needed you to say it anyway. You bit your lip, unable to stop the smile tugging at your mouth. 

“It feels… right,” you admitted softly. The words settled into the air, heavier than you expected. “Like, really right.” You saw the way their expressions shifted, the teasing giving way to something more knowing. “I’m just trying to not get my hopes up because it’s not anything right now...” You earnestly explained and they understood. This wasn’t just a casual thing for you.

“Babe, you like him!” Campbell grabbed your arm. “Let it feel right!” You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head like you could shake off the weight of it, but deep down, you knew it was true. As you all fell back into finishing your makeup, layering jewelry, and stepping into heels, your stomach fluttered with nerves. You didn’t just want to look good tonight—you wanted to impress him. To feel his eyes on you from across the room and know that, whatever this was…

It was something.

-

The bathroom was warm, filled with the soft hum of muffled music from the pre-drinks happening just beyond the door. The scent of perfume and setting spray lingered in the air, mingling with the faint traces of Foster’s expensive shampoo. The mirror was slightly fogged at the edges from the steam of a previous shower, and scattered makeup products cluttered the marble countertop—lip gloss tubes, brushes, a half-empty bottle of foundation. But despite the cozy, familiar chaos, your chest felt tight.

“Burberry is having this party to celebrate the collection launch,” you said quietly, your voice almost getting lost under the weight of the words. You traced a pattern along the cool edge of the counter, not quite meeting Campbell’s eyes. The two of you hanging back in Foster’s ensuite for a moment. You felt guilty not telling Campbell before but now worked too. “You know I’ve been working on this for almost a year… but it’s small. Just industry professionals, the designers, media. It’s not a party-party, it’s more like—” You exhaled. “It’s just… my name is attached, and I have to speak.” Saying it out loud made the anxiety creep in faster, curling around your spine. You could already imagine the way the room would quiet when you stepped up, the weight of expectations pressing down. It was exciting, monumental even, but terrifying. The kind of thing that made your skin prickle with nerves. Campbell’s eyes widened, her excitement barely contained, though she kept her voice hushed. 

“That’s huge!” she whispered, gripping your forearm like she was about to shake the nerves out of you. Then, her expression softened. “Wait… I can’t believe you didn’t tell me they were throwing you a party.” There was no anger in her voice, just quiet surprise, a little hurt she was trying to swallow. You sighed, finally looking at her properly. 

“I know. I know. I’m sorry. It's not like I'm not proud of this one, I just wanted to keep it under wraps for a bit. It’s small, and I don’t want you all to see me potentially… flop.” You winced at the word. Campbell scoffed, squeezing your arms. 

“Y/N… it’s not about me. This is about you.” Her voice was so sure, unwavering, the ultimate best friend and support system wrapped in the form of a girl who always knew how to hold you up when you felt yourself slipping. “And you’re not going to flop.” You swallowed hard, nodding, though your nerves still curled tight in your stomach.

“It’s a big deal,” you admitted, your fingers playing with the beading on your tiny little top [ref index] before glancing at her again, “and the thing is… I kind of want him there.” Campbell’s expression shifted immediately, her features softening into something warm and knowing. 

“Aw, Y/N.” She pouted, rubbing your arm gently. “If it’s small and he makes you feel better, I think that’s amazing. Bless. He’ll be good to have there.” The reassurance helped, but it didn’t erase the hesitance in your chest. 

“Like… we’re not dating,” you rushed out, nerves bubbling over, “but I think he’d go.” Campbell tilted her head, giving you that sad little smile like she knew you were scared. 

“He will,” she said simply, like it was fact. “It’s nice of you to ask him. So have you brought it up at all?”

“Well, no,” you admitted. “I don’t want to freak him out because… you know how I’ve always been really close with Daniel.” Campbell nodded immediately. She knew. The creative director of Burberry, a mentor figure in your life, the man who had always believed in your eye before you even fully did. Coincidentally, his dad and yours were friends—something that complicated things in ways you rarely talked about. You exhaled, bracing yourself for the next part. “I made the mistake of telling my parents about the work… so my dad is coming.” Campbell stiffened. You watched it happen—the slight tension in her shoulders, the way she blinked just a little too carefully. Your relationship with your dad wasn’t easy. His expectations were towering, a never-ending uphill battle. You could see her trying to measure her words, trying to make sure whatever she said next wouldn’t break you further.

“And you want T to meet him?” she asked cautiously.

“No.” Your voice was instant, sharp with quiet panic before softening into something more vulnerable. “I want him to hold my hand under the table while my dad criticizes my direction.” Campbell's bottom lip rolled as she exhaled, then pulled you into her arms, hugging you so tight you felt the reassurance seep into your bones. 

“He’ll do that for you, okay?” she whispered, squeezing you. “He will.” You nodded against her shoulder, breathing her in, letting the words sink in. “Let’s get through tonight first,” she murmured, pulling away just enough to smile at you. “Tomorrow we’ll figure it all out. Foster is gonna freak out if we don’t leave on time.” You giggled through your nerves. 

“She’s insane.” You smiled concurring that Foster’s rigid obsession with being on time was funny in an attempt to come back to the present moment.

“She’s terrifying.” Campbell teased. You pouted, feeling grateful beyond words. 

“Thanks, Cammy.” She kissed your cheek before grabbing your hand, squeezing it in reassurance as she tugged you toward the door. Whatever came next—whether it was Trent at your side, your dad’s impossible expectations, or the weight of a moment that could define your career—you felt like you weren’t going to face it alone.

-

The party was louder than you expected, the kind of noise that vibrated through the walls and sank into your bones. Music pulsed from overhead speakers, drowning out the cacophony of voices that blended into an indistinct hum. Bodies swayed and clustered in tight circles, groups forming and reforming in a constant, shifting tide. The air was thick—perfume, cologne, alcohol, something faintly smoky curling at the edges of it all. The warm glow of dim lighting reflected off the glassy sheen of half-drunk cocktails, illuminating flushed cheeks and glossy lips. Your steps faltered at the threshold, the sheer energy of the room pressing against your skin. It was more crowded than you expected, more intense. Strangers mixed with familiar faces, friends laughing too loudly over the music, the tension of expectation coiling in your stomach like a spring wound too tight. But the only thing your mind cared about—despite your best efforts—was finding him. A needle in a haystack.

Campbell squeezed your hand, a quiet anchor in the chaos, sensing your hesitation but mercifully saying nothing. She just held on for a moment longer before letting you go, giving you the space to decide how you wanted to move through this room, through this night.

Across the party, Trent was tucked into a corner, leaning against the wall with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers. He wasn’t really listening to Kieran, who had been rambling on about something Trent had stopped registering five minutes ago. His focus was elsewhere, eyes darting past moving bodies, scanning the ebb and flow of the crowd with a quiet desperation. Every time someone new walked in, his stomach clenched in anticipation.

You didn’t look for him though. You refused to. Because what if he didn’t want to be found? What if he was talking to someone else? The very thought made your stomach twist, a sharp pang of something you didn’t want to name. The party suddenly felt suffocating, the air too thick, the press of bodies too much. So instead, you grabbed a drink, the condensation damp against your fingers, and tried—tried—to stay present in the conversation with Delaney and Campbell. But your thoughts splintered. Foster had slipped off to find Leon. If Leon was here that meant Trent was here.

And when Leon had mentioned finding Foster, Trent’s pulse had kicked up a notch. Which meant you were here. Somewhere in this tangled mess of people, you existed. The realization set something restless loose in him.

You swallowed hard, the ice in your drink melting too fast, the room blurring at the edges. You felt lightheaded, untethered, and suddenly the need to escape—to ground yourself—became overwhelming.

“I need the loo,” you murmured to Campbell. She only nodded, understanding in the quiet way best friends did, and let you slip into the crowd. 

And Trent—somewhere in the haze of music and voices and expectation—was already moving too. 

-

The house pulsed around you—bass thrumming through the walls, drunken voices spilling over each other, laughter and conversation melting into one dizzying blur. You slipped between bodies, the warmth of the crowd pressing in from all sides, and yet you felt strangely detached, untethered. The air was thick, laced with perfume and something sharper—anticipation curling at the edges of your nerves. You hadn't even had a drink, but your head was light, your pulse erratic, like your body knew something was coming before your mind did.

And then— A touch. Warm. Familiar. Claiming. A strong hand slid around your waist, slow and certain, fingers pressing into the softness of your exposed skin. Your breath caught, your stomach flipping, but you didn’t turn. You didn’t need to. You knew these hands. Knew the way they felt tracing up your thighs, gripping your hips, splaying against your bare back in the dark. A gentle tug, and you were against him. Your back to his chest, his warmth seeping into you like he was melting the very air between you. He dipped his head, lips grazing just behind your ear, and you shivered.

“Can’t be looking like this and not come find me, baby.” His voice was a low murmur, rough with something unreadable, and it sent chills skittering down your spine. A slow smirk curled your lips as your hands found his arms, smoothing over the firm muscle beneath his sleeves, grounding yourself in his presence. You hummed, twisting in his hold until you were facing him, his chest rising and falling beneath your palms. His heartbeat thundered under your fingertips, and your own was a mess to match.

“Didn’t know you’d want to be found,” you teased, voice silk-soft, but your pulse was anything but steady. Trent’s hands slid from the small of your back down to your ass, pulling you into him, and your breath stuttered.

“By you?” His smirk deepened, but there was something vulnerable in the way his fingers flexed against you, like he needed you closer. “Be crazy not to want that.” And God, he was so pretty. The dim lighting caught on the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his nose, the deep brown of his eyes simmering with heat. His lips—pink and soft and slightly parted—had your mind spiraling, had you biting back the urge to just take what you wanted.

“Mmm, I’m glad you’re not crazy then.” The crowd moved around you, pushing bodies closer together, forcing your chest to his, your thigh slotting between his. Trent tensed, his breath hitching, hands gripping just a little tighter. The shift had his mind spinning—memories of how he had you when it was just the two of you crashing into the reality of now, where he couldn’t separate what he wanted from what was appropriate. Because he just wanted you. His forehead dipped toward yours, breath ghosting over your lips.

“I think you should kiss me.” His voice was hushed, teasing, but his eyes told another story—one of want, of need, of something deeper neither of you had quite put words to. Your heart stuttered.

“Yeah?” You questioned. It was a pathetic attempt at nonchalance when all you could think about was kissing him. Trent tilted his head, gaze dipping to your lips, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your hip. 

“Give me a kiss.” A dare. A test. Would you do it? Here, surrounded by strangers and friends, where there was no hiding what this was? Would you kiss him like you meant it?

-

The party raged on around you, a living, breathing thing—music thrumming through the floorboards, laughter spilling like champagne, bodies moving in dizzying waves. The air was thick, electric, but in this moment, it all faded, blurred into the background like a painting left out in the rain. Because here, in the center of it all, was him. Trent. The heat of his hands, the press of his chest against yours, the way he looked at you like you were something holy, something rare. The anticipation between you was a taut, golden thread, stretched thin, trembling, ready to snap. And then— It did. His lips met yours, soft and searching, and the world tilted. The kiss was slow, achingly so, as if time had bent to his will, as if he wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth against his. His fingers tightened at your waist, anchoring you to him, grounding you as your head spun. There was no rush. No urgency. Just warmth.

Just the steady pull of him, the taste of spearmint and something sweeter, the quiet hum in his throat when your fingers slid up the back of his neck, your nails scratching gently up the fade of his hair.  The party pulsed on—flashes of light, bursts of laughter, the bass shaking the walls—but it didn’t touch you. This was a moment outside of everything else. A stolen fragment of time where nothing mattered but the press of his lips, the slow, perfect way he kissed you—like he was savoring it, like he wanted to pour something unspoken into you. Love and lust tangled inside you, threading through your veins like fire and silk, like something dangerous and beautiful all at once. The weight of it, the enormity of how much you felt for him, made your chest ache. And when he finally pulled back, breath mingling with yours, eyes half-lidded and dark with something unreadable, you wondered— Was this just a kiss or was it a promise?

-

“Have you seen him?” Campbell asked the moment you slipped back beside her, drink in hand. Her eyes flickered over your face, searching for clues.

“Seen him…” You bit your lip, the ghost of a smirk playing on your lips before you caved, a soft giggle escaping. “Kissed him.” Campbell’s jaw slackened. 

“Oh my god!” She squealed, grabbing your arm. “Are you serious?” You just hummed, a little dizzy from the memory, from the way his hands felt on you, the way his lips moved against yours like he’d been waiting for that moment all night. “Where is he now?” Campbell spun around, scanning the crowd like she expected to spot him instantly. You tugged at her arm, flustered. 

“Stop looking for him, Cam,” you hissed, cheeks warming. “We’ll link later, I bet, but I told him I had to get back to you.” Campbell turned back to you, wide-eyed. 

“Don’t use me next time! You should’ve stayed with him!” She yelped.

“Maybe…” you hedged, swirling your drink, eyes flickering toward the part of the room where you’d left him. But he wasn’t there. “I don’t know. It’s not like he asked me to stay.” Campbell gave you a deadpan look.

“Because you said you had to leave.” You exhaled through your nose, frustrated with yourself. She wasn’t wrong.

“I know, I know,” you murmured, pressing the cold glass to your cheek, grounding yourself. “I just… I guess I’ll see if he comes back to me.” The words felt thin, lacking the confidence you wished they had. Campbell tilted her head, her gaze softening. 

“Or…” she started slowly, “you could go to him.” Your stomach twisted.

“No. Deffo not.” You shook your head, setting your glass down with more force than necessary. “I’m not gonna embarrass myself. What if—what if he’s talking to someone else?” Your voice wavered at the thought, at the brutal image of Trent’s easy charm directed at someone that wasn’t you. Campbell sighed, giving your arm a squeeze.

“He wouldn’t if you were there. Get your man.” She nudged you playfully, but you couldn’t return the sentiment. Because that was the problem, wasn’t it? If you had to be there to hold his attention, to keep him wanting you, then it wasn’t enough. You needed to be enough, even when you weren’t in front of him. So, you forced a smile, pushing the thoughts deep down where they couldn’t reach you tonight. 

“It's fine. We’ll see how the night goes.” A lie. You didn’t want to see how the night went. You wanted to run back to Trent, to make him look at you again, to kiss you until you forgot why you ever walked away. But you wouldn’t. Instead, you turned in the opposite direction, letting the music swallow you whole, pretending like you didn’t care at all.

-

The music was still blaring, the party still alive, but for Trent, the night had shifted. He leaned back against the kitchen counter, a half-empty beer in hand, but he wasn’t drinking it. He was still tasting you, still feeling the ghost of your lips on his, the way your body had melted into him like you belonged there and he didn’t want to dilute those memories. It had been slow and perfect, and for a moment, he forgot where he was. But his moment was over.

“Oi, nahhh, Trentski,” a voice cut through his thoughts, dragging him back down. “You are so fucking gone for that bird you were with earlier, bro.” Trent turned his head sharply, jaw clenching at the smug face of Rico—just another boy he sort of knew, not part of his inner circle but still in the mix. He had an arm slung lazily over the back of the chair, grinning like he had just caught Trent doing something scandalous. 

“Nah, shut up, mate.” Trent scoffed, shaking his head as he brought the beer to his lips, trying to play it off. 

“C’mon, bro. Who’s the girl who got you like that,” Rico chuckled, nudging the guy next to him. “Did you see him? Kissing a bird like it meant something” He mocked, clutching his chest dramatically. A couple of the boys laughed. Trent’s grip tightened around his beer. “I’m just saying,” Rico continued, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Never seen you like that before, bruv. Looked real comfortable, had your hands all over her. Don’t tell me—” he paused, lowering his voice mockingly, “—she’s got you whipped?” That word made Trent bristle. Whipped. Like he had lost control, like he was soft, like he was—

He exhaled sharply, his jaw ticking as he tore his gaze away from you across the room. You were laughing with Foster, your head tipped back, your eyes still bright from the way he had kissed you. He felt something hot crawl up his neck, something dangerously close to pride, but then Rico laughed again, and Trent shut it down.

“It’s nothing.” Through gritted teeth, he forced out the lie. The words tasted bitter, like betrayal. Kieren beside him's gaze flicked to him with surprise.

“Yeah? Didn’t look like nothing.” Rico snickered. Trent clenched his jaw, staring down at his drink. If he went back over to you now, he knew exactly what would happen. One look at you, one smile, and that stupid smitten expression would creep back onto his face, proving them right. So instead, he stayed put. 

“Nah, only nothing.” He replied. He swallowed down whatever this feeling was—discomfort, regret, frustration, something worse—and forced himself to keep his distance. Even when his body screamed at him to move toward you, to reach for you, to chase that feeling again. But he didn’t. Instead, he stood there, jaw tight, forcing himself to pretend like he didn’t care.

-

A part of you felt stupid as the party began to wind down. Hours had passed, conversations had blurred, and drinks had been poured, yet Trent remained just out of reach. You saw him—always at a distance, never alone with a girl, but never with you either. It was a cruel sort of torture, the kind you inflicted on yourself by sneaking glances, by hoping he’d come to you, by pretending it didn’t sting that he hadn’t. And just when you convinced yourself you’d go home alone, that you’d fall asleep cursing yourself for caring too much—he found you. He couldn’t will himself to not.

“You weren’t planning on sleeping alone tonight, were you?” His voice was low, teasing, a ghost of warmth against your ear as he pulled you in by the waist of your jeans. Your breath hitched. You turned to face him, your heart pounding despite yourself. His touch was easy, familiar, but it shouldn’t have been.

“I was planning on sleeping with someone,” you quipped, forcing a smirk as if you weren’t affected, as if the hours of waiting hadn’t mattered. Trent’s lips curled in amusement, but his grip tightened, his fingers pressing into your lower back. 

“Nah,” he murmured, voice drenched in certainty. “You’re sleeping with me, beautiful. C’mon.” And just like that, you hated him. Hated that he could ignore you all night and still reel you back in with a single touch. Hated that you tensed because this felt too familiar—like Ibiza, like the night he spent hours pretending you didn’t exist only to pull you close when he was ready. Back then, you had resistance. You had an iron will to say no. But now? You’d do anything for him. You were down bad, and worse—you were embarrassed by it. Trent felt you stiffen, his brows knitting together. His lips brushed your temple, his voice dipping softer. 

“Alright, baby?” He asked.

“Mmhmm. Sorry.” You swallowed thickly, forcing a nod. His gaze lingered, searching, reading you in a way you wished he couldn’t. And then, instead of letting you slip away, he cupped your face, his thumb tracing your jaw.

“C’mere…” His lips twitched into that smug, devastating smile. “Promise I’ll make you feel good.” And fuck, you wanted to fight it. Wanted to hold onto your pride. But the way he looked at you—sincere, steady, like he already knew you’d melt for him—dismantled every wall you tried to rebuild. You exhaled shakily, a small smile betraying your resolve. 

“I’ll hold you to that promise.” You mused.

“Good girl.” He winked. And just like that, he had you again.

-

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, Trent had you pinned. His hands found your ribs, thumbs dipping beneath the hem of your tiny top swiping under your boobs as he walked you back toward the bed. You weren’t sure who kissed who first—all you knew was that the second his lips met yours, the world outside ceased to exist. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a slow burn, a perfect sync, the kind that made your knees weak and your fingers greedy. Your hands skimmed up his chest, nails grazing the ridges of muscle, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt. Trent exhaled sharply against your lips, and God, you loved the sound.

“Missed these lips all night,” he murmured between kisses, the words slipping out like a confession. Your heart clenched.

“Yeah?” you whispered back, breathless. “Didn’t seem like it.” That had him smirking, but his eyes softened, like he knew exactly what you meant. Like he regretted the hours spent apart, too. Instead of answering, he tilted your chin up, pressing a kiss beneath your jaw, then lower, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. You shivered.  “T…” You attempted to have some composure.

“Mmm?” He hummed kissing your skin, completely immersed in you.

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes with a breathy giggle, not even at him but at how he unraveled you. It was just so annoying how he had you so figured out. He laughed, deep and low, before kissing your lips again—this time with purpose. His hands dipped lower, gripping your thighs, and before you could think, he was lifting you effortlessly. You squeaked, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bed.

“Not laughing now, are you?” he teased, dropping you onto the mattress with ease.

“So annoying.” You glared playfully.

“Eh, think you like it.” He was right– sort of. You did. But it wasn’t a like, it was a love. You loved the way he looked at you, like he couldn’t get enough. Loved how, even when he was teasing, there was an undercurrent of something more—something real. You loved when you got his attention. He hovered over you, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips before shifting lower, his fingers tracing the waistband of your jeans. 

“Looked so good tonight. Ass looked so good in these jeans,” he murmured, glancing up at you with those deep brown eyes, full of mischief. “But they’re in my way.” Your stomach flipped. 

“So do something about it.” You cheekily smirked

“Say less, baby.” His smirk deepened. And when his hands started to work, slow and deliberate, when he kissed every inch of newly exposed skin like he had all the time in the world—you knew. This wasn’t just about wanting you. It was about you. Because Trent never rushed with you. He made you feel like the only girl in the world. And as much as you wanted him, as much as heat curled low in your belly, you couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling of right. Of clicking into place, exactly where you were meant to be.

-

[Feel It - Jacquees]

The air between you was thick, charged with something electric, something unspoken yet deafening. All the layers had been stripped away, discarded onto the floor like forgotten inhibitions, leaving nothing but bare skin and the raw heat between you. His mouth was everywhere—along the curve of your neck, across your collarbone, down the valley of your tits—each kiss a brand, a silent declaration that you were his to worship. His hands traced the lines of your body with reverence, mapping every inch as if committing you to memory. And you? You could do nothing but melt, surrendering to the way he touched you like he’d been starving for you.

"Wanted you all night." His voice was thick, laced with hunger, lips brushing against your pulse before his teeth grazed over the sensitive skin. The vibration of his words seeped into your bones, setting every nerve alight.

"You should’ve come and gotten me then," you whispered, but it came out as a breathless plea. Whatever remnants of insecurity had lingered earlier had been eclipsed by sheer, unfiltered need. You needed more of him—needed him to take and take and take until there was nothing left of you but the echoes of his name.  "Do you remember what you told me on the yacht?" You pressed, your voice barely above a whisper, laced with anticipation. Trent stilled for a moment, his grip on your waist tightening as his mind replayed your words. And then—it clicked. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face.

"Mmm, want me to fuck you from behind, baby?" he mused, his voice dark, sinful, as his hands slid lower, fingers pressing into the dip of your waist. His grip was possessive, claiming. "I remember telling you how badly I wanted to grip this waist… watch you arch your back for me… turn your head, face me while I fuck you slow." A whimper escaped you, your entire body tightening at his words, heat pooling deep in your stomach. “Watch those eyes shut… those lips pout…” His gaze flickered to your mouth, his own lips parting slightly as he couldn’t wait to see it all. Like he’d finally won the game. And Trent loved to win especially with you. Then—without warning—he flipped you over. You gasped, a desperate moan spilling from your lips as he settled behind you. The moment you felt the slick, aching drag of his cock teasing against you, your knees nearly gave out. Your back arched like a cat. He was everywhere. The warmth of his chest pressing against your back, the slow, torturous way he slid his tip through your soaked folds, dragging over your clit just enough to make you tremble.

"Uh huh… please." The plea fell from your lips before you could stop it, involuntary, desperate.  He lined himself up with your entrance, the air in the room going thick as you pushed your ass back impatiently. A deep groan rumbled in his chest as he sheathed himself inside you, stretching you inch by inch, slow, deliberate—like he wanted you to feel every part of him. And you did. God, you did. You gasped, your lips parting as he filled you completely, stealing the very breath from your lungs. Your fingers curled into the sheets, gripping them like they could anchor you, but nothing could ground you in this moment—nothing except him.

"Such a good girl for me." His voice was wrecked, thick with need, his hands spreading your ass apart to watch the way you took him. He cursed under his breath, his restraint hanging by a thread. "Fuck, you’re so fucking tight f’me." A sharp cry tore from your throat as he began to move, slow at first, the roll of his hips deep and unrelenting. “Alright?” He asked and you were but you could only nod as he deliciously stretched you. Every thrust pushed you higher, spiraling, your body a livewire under his hands. You clenched around him, and he felt it all—every flutter, every pulse, every way your body welcomed him. "Look at you," he groaned with a slap to your ass. His voice dripping with adoration and possession alike. You felt drunk on him, dizzy from the way he moved, the way he owned you. And when his hand slid to you, tilting your chin so you could meet his eyes just like he said—watch me while I fuck you slow—you knew, without a doubt, that this wasn’t just desire. This was something deeper. Something neither of you could outrun.

"T, please…” Your voice was a breathless plea, breaking apart between the rhythm of his thrusts. You barely recognized the sound of yourself, wrecked and desperate, your body giving into him completely. He exhaled a low, satisfied hum, his grip tightening as he leaned down, warm breath ghosting over your skin. Then, with slow precision, his fingers brushed your lips before slipping them past them, pressing against your tongue. You obeyed without hesitation, wrapping your lips around them, dragging your tongue greedily over the pads of his fingers, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth. It was filthy. It was intimate. It was everything. His movements slowed, teasing, deliberate, sending a frustrated whimper from your throat. He pulled his fingers from your lips and dragged them down your spine, settling behind you on his knees again. You tried to push back against him, but he held your hips still with his other hand, savoring your helpless need for more. And then—a cool droplet landed on the curve of your ass. His spit. The stark contrast against the burning heat of your skin made you shiver, anticipation curling in your stomach. His fingers followed, slick with your own saliva as they trailed lower, circling that untouched, sensitive place. He barely applied pressure, only ghosting his touch over the tight entrance, but it was enough to make your body jolt, your lips parting in a soft, broken moan.

"You like that, baby?” His voice was like velvet—dark, dripping with satisfaction as he continued to fuck you.

"Yeah… fuck." You were trembling, teetering dangerously close to the edge, your body so strung out with pleasure that it felt like your very bones were dissolving. His fingers tightened around your waist, grounding you. Holding you right where he wanted you.

"Cum f’me." It wasn’t a request. It was a command. And your body obeyed. Your orgasm crashed through you, white-hot and consuming. Your walls clenched tight around him, your entire being unraveling, drowning in the pleasure he so expertly gave you. The sound you made—half sob, half moan—was something you’d never let anyone else hear, but with him, it felt safe, like he already knew every unguarded part of you. Trent groaned—a deep, guttural sound as he buried himself one last time, his body shuddering, breaking apart right along with you.

"Fuck, you’re so sexy, baby." His voice was raw, thick with something deeper than just lust. Then, silence. A heavy, breathless stillness before he moved again. His hands—no longer rough, no longer demanding—shifted to your hair, his lips pressing soft kisses to the back of your shoulder. A stark contrast to the way he’d just taken you, but that was Trent—giving as much as he took. "C’mere. You okay?” The words were quiet, laced with a tenderness that sent warmth blooming in your chest. You nodded, your body still tingling, your mind lost in the aftershocks of him. He pulled you close, his arms strong and certain as he curled himself around you, as if he needed you near just as much as you needed him. His fingers traced slow, lazy circles down your back, his lips pressing against your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—soft, reverent kisses like silent confessions. Something he never did before, but seemed to do every time with you. "So good for me," he murmured against your skin, voice dipped in adoration. You smiled, nestling further into him, breathing him in. "Looked so beautiful tonight," he whispered, and for a moment, his voice held something unguarded. Something vulnerable. It made your heart clench. The party, the noise, the entire world outside his bedroom—it didn’t exist anymore. It was just him. Just this. “That for me?” He mused but there was something incredible earnest about the question like he wanted to know if you dressed up for him, as if there was a sliver of insecurity in him. You nodded kissing his chest slowly in confirmation. He lips curled into that same stupid smitten smirk as he kissed your hair. And as you lay in the quiet, wrapped in the warmth of his body, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek, you knew—this was more than just passion. More than just heat. It was dangerously close to love. And God, you prayed he felt it too.

-

[Fade Into You - Blonde Maze]

The room was thick with heat, the golden morning light spilling through the curtains, painting everything in warm, honeyed hues. The air smelled of sex and sweat in the best way, the remnants of last night still clinging to the sheets, the pillows, the very space between your bodies. The bed was a wreck—sheets twisted, pillows displaced, the evidence of your indulgence written into the fabric itself. Trent woke before you, his body heavy with the kind of exhaustion that only came from sex like you had last night. Yet, as his sleepy eyes landed on you, a silly, boyish smile tugged at his lips—soft, unguarded. You were tangled around him, limbs draped across his body like you belonged there. And God, he wanted you there. His fingers traced absentminded circles over your bare skin, his touch featherlight, reverent. The warmth stirred you, a contented sigh slipping past your lips as you nuzzled closer.

"Hi." Your voice was quiet, still thick with sleep, but when your eyes fluttered open and found his, they were smitten, shining in the golden light.

"Morning, baby." His voice was a low murmur, lips pressing against your hair as he tightened his hold on you. Then, softer—almost like a confession, "Look so beautiful right now." It wasn’t just the way you looked—it was the way you felt against him, the way the world outside didn’t exist in this moment. The way the quiet between you wasn’t empty, but full.  It was like everytime he said it, he was chipping away at this wall you had built up. He meant it, he really did and that scared you. 

"Stop… I don’t."  You made a sound of protest, shaking your head as you buried yourself against his chest, warm and bashful. 

"Nah, so serious." His lips curved, his voice carrying that stubborn sincerity that made your heart clench. His fingers toyed with a loose strand of your hair before he asked, "You bring that little camera with you last night?" You hummed, pressing a lazy kiss to his chest in confirmation. "You always take pictures of everyone else. Let me take one of you. See how beautiful you look right now." His voice was light, teasing, but laced with something deeper—something tender. You only hummed again in response, still lost in the haze of sleep, not thinking much of it. But then Trent shifted beneath you, and you whined in protest, tightening your hold on him. He chuckled, pressing another kiss to your temple before slipping away, leaving your skin suddenly cold without his warmth. Your brows furrowed as you sat up, pulling the comforter higher to shield your bare skin.

"What are you doing?" Your voice sleepy and soft. He didn’t answer right away, just went for your bag. He paused before opening it, glancing back at you for approval. You held his gaze for a moment before giving him a small nod. He pulled out your little Contax camera, fingers brushing over its frame with a soft smile. And then he looked back at you—the way the sunlight kissed your skin, the way you sat wrapped in his sheets, hair tousled from his hands the night before.

"Yeah," he murmured, more to himself than to you, "you need to see what I see."

-

The bed was still warm, the morning light soft as it stretched across the room, catching the dust in the air, painting everything in lazy, honeyed hues. Trent was propped up on one elbow, his other hand curiously turning the small Contax camera over in his fingers, studying it like it was some kind of puzzle. You watched him with an amused smile, tucked beneath the comforter, knees pulled to your chest as you leaned against the pillows.

"And just using your phone isn’t the same? How do I–” he asked, brows furrowing in concentration. 

"No, not the same at all.” You giggled, shifting closer so your bare legs tangled with his beneath the sheets. “Here, let me, baby." You reached for the camera, your fingers brushing his as you adjusted it in his grip. He watched you with rapt attention, but you could feel his eyes flicker from the camera to your face, studying you just as much as he was the dials and settings.

"So this," you murmured, guiding his fingers to the focus ring, "is how you adjust the focus. See? Turn it slowly until everything looks sharp." He did as you said, moving the ring with deliberate slowness, but his focus wasn’t on the viewfinder—it was on you. His lips twitched when he caught the way you bit your bottom lip in concentration, completely unaware of how intently he was watching you. "And then just like a regular button—" you continued, pointing to the shutter, "But you have to make sure—" Click. Your breath hitched in surprise, eyes widening as Trent grinned down at the camera. "Did you just—?"

"Mmhmm," he hummed. You rolled your eyes, shoving at his chest playfully, but your stomach was warm, your heart thudding just a little harder.

"You can’t just take pictures of me without warning!" you scolded through your giggles.

"Why not? I told you that’s what I was doing." His smile was slow, teasing. "Like seeing you like this. All soft." Your breath caught at his words, your cheeks heating. But before you could protest, he brought the camera up again, sitting himself up more. "Get rid of this."  He commanded pulling on the duvet covering you gently. 

"What?" Your eyes widened with shyness and intrigue.

"Wanna see all of you." His voice was gentle, coaxing, but there was something in his gaze—something tender, something deep. "Let me see you how you are right now. Just for me." Your lips parted, your heart stuttering in your chest. Rarely were you ever the subject. You felt nervous but there was no expectation in his eyes, no demand—only quiet admiration, only reverence. And maybe it was the way he looked at you, or maybe it was the way the morning wrapped you both in golden light, but you found yourself loosening your grip on the comforter, letting the sheets slip down your bare skin. Trent’s breath hitched. His fingers tightened slightly around the camera, his jaw tensing like he had to steady himself.

"Honestly," he whispered.

"T—" You shivered under his gaze, nerves bubbling in your stomach. 

"Stay just like that," he murmured, his voice softer now, his thumb brushing over the shutter button. Click. 

You felt vulnerable, exposed—but not in a way that scared you. Not when he was looking at you like this, like you were something to be cherished, like he wanted to capture this moment forever. He moved to straddle your body to be directly above you.

"You’re so fucking gorgeous," he murmured, almost to himself, as he adjusted the focus. Click. A giggle bubbled in your throat, flustered under his gaze. You weren’t used to any of this. Being in front of the camera, having someone say that to you so earnestly and yet it all felt terrifyingly comfortable. 

"Baby, stop—" You hid your face in your hands, shaking your head. 

"Nah, nah, nah," he grinned, lowering the camera just enough to meet your eyes. "You gotta take photos of the things you never want to forget, hmm?” And the way he said it—so easy, so sure—made your heart ache. You let your hands fall, biting your lip, your cheeks warm as you nodded in agreement. You adjusted your posture in the bed and Trent puffed out some air with a roll of his head in disbelief at your body on full display beneath him. “Baby, you are… wow, lucky me…” He smirked.

"You’re so annoying." You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop smiling. And neither could he.

"Mmhmm.” Click.

-

The morning air had rolled into something thick with a quiet that wasn’t peaceful anymore. It was the kind of silence that clung to the walls, wrapping around your words, making everything feel heavier than it should. The house was still, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards as Trent shifted his weight. You stood behind him, your arms draped around his waist, your cheek pressed against his bare back. He was warm beneath your touch, familiar. But even that comfort couldn’t quiet the nerves rolling in your stomach.

"T, can I ask you something?" Your voice was softer than usual, uncertain, like you were already bracing for disappointment. His hands ran lazily over your arms, his touch instinctive, natural. 

"Mmhm, what’s up, baby?" You hesitated for a beat, your fingers gripping his skin just a little tighter. 

"Do you have plans Thursday night?" It was such a simple question, but you felt exposed asking it. Like you were peeling back a layer of yourself you weren’t sure you wanted him to see.

"Was meant to go to a dinner for my brother’s friend’s birthday." He answered easily, casually, not realizing what you were really asking. Not yet. You felt the sting of it before you could stop yourself. It wasn’t rejection. It wasn’t even a no. But still, something in you recoiled, your arms slipping from around him as you murmured something small. 

"Oh." And that’s when he caught up.

"Hey, hey, what’s up? You want to do something?" He turned to face you, his fingers immediately finding your hip, grounding you in place before you could shrink away completely. You weren’t sure why he made you feel like this. So desperate for him. You should’ve just said it. Told him exactly what you wanted, told him that this wasn’t just something, that it was actually really important to you. But instead, you folded. 

"I just have this silly event. It’s nothing, just for work, but thought you— it’s dumb." You shook your head, feeling stupid, feeling small. Trent frowned, his grip tightening slightly. 

"Is it in Manchester? I’ll be in the city that night, you know." He offered, like he was trying to meet you halfway, trying to make this easier. He even smiled a little, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

"Yeah, but you don’t have to, T. Sorry, it was silly." You exhaled, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. Trent tilted your chin up then, forcing you to meet his gaze. And that’s when it happened. That little flicker in his eyes, the shift in his expression. Like something inside him was suddenly alert, like he was realizing this wasn’t just an event, wasn’t just a question. It was something else. And that scared him. He didn’t like the foreign feeling of his heart pounding like this outside the bedroom. That he didn’t need you to be naked to connect with you, that he felt vulnerable when he was clothed in the comfort of his home.

"You want me to come?" His voice was quieter now, his brows slightly furrowed. You felt yourself freeze. This was the part you hated. The vulnerability of wanting something, of asking for something, of letting him see that you wanted it. Because if he saw it, he could deny it. So instead, you gave him the worst answer imaginable. 

"If you want." And there it was. The thick, awkward pause that neither of you knew how to fill. Trent held your stare for a second longer before nodding, his throat bobbing like he was swallowing down something complicated. 

"Alright. Just text me, yeah?" And just like that, the moment ended. But the weight of it lingered. You both knew this wasn’t just about Thursday night. It was about what it meant. About what showing up actually meant. And neither of you were sure you were ready for that answer.

-

[Lovely - Billie Eilish + Khalid]

This was supposed to be a night of celebration. A night where you finally let yourself be seen—not just through your lens, but in the way people spoke about your work, the way they admired it, the way they felt it. And yet, you’d never felt smaller. The room buzzed with quiet prestige, a soft hum of conversation mixing with the clinking of glasses, high fashion, the murmured praise, the undercurrent of approval. And still, none of it touched you. Because while your photographs for Burberry’s newest campaign projected on the walls, bathed in warm light, the one person you’d wanted to see them most was nowhere to be found. You tried to push it down, the tightening in your chest, the prickle of tears at the back of your eyes. But the more you checked your phone, the harder it became. 8 PM. Then 9. Now pushing 10. And nothing. Not a single text. Not even an excuse.

You and Trent had texted about the event but there was an uneasiness around it that you both could feel. Like you both knew you wanted it but you wouldn’t let yourself have it. And so as a lively club pulsed around Trent he kept checking his phone just the same as you had. 8 pm then 9… and as it approached 10 the guilt started to creep in. He hadn’t texted you… No, not even a word. He said he’d try to come but you were sitting at a table of industry professionals feeling like you were about to cry. It was confirmation to you that he wasn’t someone you could trust with your heart because right now, hidden beneath your Burberry clothes was a heart shattering into a million tiny pieces, the blood leaking from you matching the red threads in your Burberry check. [ref index] 

You’d spent the night stealing glances at the door, searching for a familiar figure in the sea of strangers, a part of you still hoping, still believing, even as that belief cracked with every passing minute. You tried to tell yourself it was fine. He’d never promised he’d come. He only said he’d try. And maybe that was the worst part—because you let yourself believe that trying meant he would. 

"If you’re going to be celebrated, you have to be present in the celebrations." Your dad’s voice cut through the thick fog of disappointment, pulling you back into the moment with sharp precision. The words stung more than they should have because he was right. And yet, you could barely hear him over the sound of your own heartbreak. Your sweater suddenly feeling too tight around your neck making it hard to speak.

"I am, I am. Sorry…" You muttered, lifting your wine glass to your lips, as if the alcohol could wash away the ache sitting in your chest. Your dad leaned in, his voice dropping into that familiar, pointed tone. 

"Daniel was nice enough to offer you the project." The words felt like another blow. Because of course, even now, even on a night where you’d accomplished something real, something entirely your own, he still managed to make it about someone else.

"Yeah, well… and my work merited the project. But I know… Daniel and I work well together." Your voice came out tight, your frustration curling around the edges. But it wasn’t just about him. It was about the fact that you were sitting here alone. That you had to deal with this alone. That no matter how much you wanted to believe Trent would be different, would show up for you… he didn’t. And maybe you’d been stupid for thinking he would.

-

The bass thumped through his chest, the air thick with sweat, smoke, and the cloying sweetness of spilled liquor. Bodies moved in a dizzying blur—hands grasping, mouths laughing, eyes heavy with want—but none of it touched him. Not really. Trent sat slouched against the leather booth, one hand wrapped around a glass he had no real interest in drinking, the other drumming idly against his thigh. A birthday party of Marcel’s friend rolled into a shitty night at a club he was desperately trying to commit to, but he couldn’t shake you. Being around all the boys sent his mind into a spiral. Why did he not want to be there? Why did he want to be with you instead? If you wanted him to come you would've explicitly said and he didn't like the way he was feeling about this. He needed to fix things, focus, get back to his old self. 

"What’s with you tonight?" Marcel’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and observant, as always.

"What d’you mean?" Trent shot back, too quick, too defensive.

"Dunno, just—" Marcel leaned in, eyes narrowing. "You’re here, but you’re not here." Trent exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face.  Trent didn’t know what happened or why. It was like he was glued to his seat despite every fiber of him feeling like he needed to be across town.

"I’m fine. Just distracted." He tried to convince his brother. Marcel hummed, unconvinced. 

"This about—" Marcel attempted to ask. 

"No." Trent cut him off before he could even finish, before he could say your name, because he didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want it lingering in the air between them, didn’t want the weight of it pressing down on his already burdened chest. He didn’t want it in the club with him. "It’s nothing." Nothing. That’s what he called it. What he called you. So why did it taste so bitter in his mouth? Still, the moment the words left his lips, he felt the instinctual pull toward old habits, the desperate scramble for distraction. His eyes roamed the room, scanning, searching—something, someone, anyone. But the girls weren’t as pretty. Not nearly. Their bodies weren’t as familiar, their clothes didn’t sit the right way, their perfume too strong, their voices too shrill. Their laughter didn’t make his chest tighten, their smiles didn’t curve the way yours did—lazy, teasing, meant just for him. And yet, he forced himself to keep looking. Because if he admitted that no one compared to you, he’d have to admit that this wasn’t nothing. And Trent wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

-

The night lived in echoes—laughter trailing in the air, glasses clinking, your father’s voice still threading itself through your thoughts. His words, sharp as ever, dissecting your work, finding the flaws before the beauty. But before he left, he softened, pressing a kiss to your hair, murmuring, ‘You looked beautiful tonight. Proud of you,’ And it was that—just that—that made you feel like a child again. Like you were small. Like you were waiting for something, someone. So you did. Stupidly, you sat outside after the event, fingers fidgeting in your lap, legs swinging idly off the edge of the bench. Waiting. Thinking maybe—maybe—he’d still come. Maybe he’d walk up with that half-smile, hands stuffed in his pockets, murmuring some excuse about how the night got away from him, but he’s here now. He wasn’t.

The cold gnawed at your skin, creeping up your bare legs, biting at your fingertips, but it didn’t sting the way your heart did. The kind of ache that wasn't fresh, wasn't shocking—just dull, predictable, expected. You swallowed hard as your phone flickered to 12:00 AM.

"So stupid." You muttered, barely above a whisper, as you stood. Tugging your shorts down instinctively, as if you could shield yourself from the chill in the impossibly small fabric. But then—"Fuck." The weight of your camera slipping from your grasp, the hollow clunk as it hit the pavement, the delicate back popping open with a sickening ease.  A single roll of film spilling out, unraveling, its fragile existence caught under the unforgiving glow of the streetlamp. Your stomach twisted. You hadn’t taken any pictures tonight. Not of the crowd, not of your work, not of the way you had looked standing in that room—alone. But this roll? This roll was him. That morning, the softness of golden sheets tangled around your body, the gentle press of his lips against your temple, the way his voice had curled around the words, ‘Let me see you.’ And now—ruined. The light bled into the film, overexposing everything, washing out the colors, erasing the details. Stripping away the depth until all that remained was something pale, distant, and incomplete. Just like this. Just like him.

Maybe that was always the truth of it—it was never real to him. Just a moment. Just a body in his bed, a fleeting distraction, something easily lost. You stared at the ruined roll by your feet, feeling something sharp catch in your throat. You shouldn’t be surprised. But somehow, that didn’t make it hurt any less. Your vision blurred before you even felt the first tear slip down your cheek. It wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t gasping or heaving—just silent, slow, like a leak you couldn’t quite plug. You swallowed hard, tilting your chin up to blink it away, but the moment you did, another tear spilled over, tracing the curve of your nose, slipping past your lips, salty and bitter. You hated this. Hated the way you were standing there, pathetic and alone, crying on some empty pavement over a boy who didn’t care enough to show up. Hated the way your chest ached like you’d been holding your breath all night, waiting, waiting, waiting for someone who was never coming. Waiting for someone you didn’t ask to come. 

"Fuck." You whispered again, this time shakier, as you crouched down, hands fumbling uselessly at the roll of film, like somehow—somehow—you could fix it. As if rolling it back up, tucking it away, could undo what had already been done. But it was ruined. Just like tonight. Just like you. Your hands trembled as you picked up the camera, cradling it against your chest, as if that could stop the quiet sobs bubbling up, the ones you tried to swallow down before anyone could see. The street was empty, the event long over, and yet you still felt exposed. Embarrassment burned at your cheeks. It didn’t matter that no one was watching—you were watching. You were the one witnessing your own heartbreak in real time, standing under the harsh glow of street lamps, looking as fragile and foolish as you felt. You swiped at your damp cheeks, sniffing hard, forcing yourself to breathe.

"It was nothing," You muttered, voice barely steady. But no matter how many times you wiped your tears, no matter how much you told yourself this was stupid, that it shouldn’t hurt this much— 

It did.

•

Thank you for reading! Welcome to my new fic 'Aperture' I really hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to what's ahead!

PLEASE PLEASE Please like, comment, or message what you think!!!

Next part - Chapter 8 - Penitentiary

📷 🪩 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

[dalishious]

Last Flight: A Summary

This novel switches between 9:41-9:42 Dragon and 5:12-5:24 Exalted. I will note the time switches.

—————

9:41 DRAGON

With the Mage-Templar Conflict in full swing, the Grey Wardens of Weisshaupt make an offer to the Hossberg Circle: Any mage who volunteers to join the Order will be protected from the Templars using the Right of Conscription. Valya, a young elven mage, and four others take up the offer.

They are greeted by an elf warden named Caronel, who explains that they will not be undergoing the Joining right away; instead, they will be put to work in Weisshaupt's libraries. Caronel makes mention that the Chamberlain of the Grey requires their assistance researching blood magic – specifically, cases of wardens acting strangely, and Awakened darkspawn. Caronel takes the mages to the archives and tells them to start with records from the Fourth Blight.

In the library, Valya pours herself over old battle maps, and notices a hint of lyrium on the parchment. Valya uses her magic to reveal new words: “Lathbora viran”, translated as “the path to a place of lost love”. She remembers it from a poem she learned growing up, and uses this as a clue to find a hidden journal – Isseya’s journal. Valya begins to read it in secret.

5:12 EXALTED

Isseya and her brother Garahel, having joined the Grey Wardens a mere year before and still fresh in training, are thrust into battle prematurely when the Blight hits Antiva. So, they are among those sent to Antiva City to meet with the royals. King Elaudio and Queen Giuvana refuse to take the Grey Wardens advice to evacuate the city though, instead saying they will “think on it”.

While waiting for the King’s response, Isseya and Garahel are taken to be paired with a griffon. It’s explained that griffons choose their riders, and that bond is formed for as long as both are alive. Isseya bonds with a griffon named Revas (elven for “Freedom”). Garahel bestows a new name on his griffon: Crookytail.

When the darkspawn hit the city, the Antivan people decide to revolt against the King for his refusal to evacuate. The king and queen are killed, but the Wardens rescue and escape with Amadis Vael who was visiting from Starkhaven, and Calien d’Evaliste, a mysterious mage. In their escape, Isseya witnesses Calien use blood magic that proves very effective against the archdemon, even if they didn’t succeed in killing it.

9:41 DRAGON

It’s been two months since Valya and the others came to Weisshaupt. Valya is scared that without undergoing the Joining, the Wardens will kick them out. Caronel explains that they won’t be undergoing the Joining until there is an immediate need for it, since they may die in the process. Caronel also explains that he became a Grey Warden during the Fifth Blight; after humans attacked his alienage in Ferelden, he took to the Wardens for safety. So, he understands Valya’s situation and promises to defend her against any Templar threat.

Despite this assurance, when five Templars come to Weisshaupt seeking to join, Valya is terrified of ulterior motives.

5:12 EXALTED

In Wycome, the Warden-Commander orders the party of Isseya, Garahel, Amadis and Calien to accompany her back to Starkhaven, and then later they are to go to the Anderfels to rally support. Isseya questions why not Orlais or Tevinter, and the Warden-Commander reminds her that in Orlais and Tevinter, she and her brother won’t make much headway because they’re elves. But in the Anderfels, they will be more respected because of being Wardens.

Isseya joins her brother, Amadis, and Calien at a tavern. There, it’s revealed that Amadis is a princess of Starkhaven, as well as the captain of the influential mercenary company, the Ruby Drakes. Calien shares that he is an Antivan Crow. While they talk, Isseya comes up with a way to evacuate Wycome using magic makeshift aravels.

While Isseya takes the lead with the aravels, Garahel is sent flying letters across Thedas and told to charm his way into convincing various lords and ladies to helping the cause. Isseya laments that she hates the political game required of Wardens, but is glad that Garahel proves mostly successful.

The plan with the aravels mostly works, and Wycome’s citizens are largely evacuated to Starkhaven.

9:41 DRAGON

Valya asks the Chamberlain of the Grey what happened to the griffons. The Chamberlain simply says they died, without explaining how.

Valya is then invited by one of the templars, Reimas, to talk. Reimas says she is not there to harm Valya or the others, and is only interested in peace. Reimas also claims that she only ever wanted to protect mages, though Valya remains disapproving.

5:19 EXALTED

Hossberg in the Anderfels has been fighting the Blight off for the last seven years now, with mostly success. Isseya participates in air-drops of supplies using griffons, and an idea occurs to her: Calien, using blood magic, could get inside the head of a darkspawn scout and they could follow it back to where they are emerging from underground. That way, they could seal off the entrances and slow down the horde significantly. Calien agrees, and following the success of this plan, Isseya asks Calien to teach her.

Calien shares the story of how he learned blood magic himself: he took on a Crow contract to kill a woman, who was in fact an abomination. The demon bargained that in exchange for healing from the wounds inflicted on the attack, it would give Calien blood magic knowledge. Calien agreed, healed the demon only slightly, and then completed the contract. Isseya is not bothered by any of this, seeing blood magic as a practical tool against the Blight. So, Calien agrees to teach her everything he knows.

The next morning, Isseya leads the Grey Wardens to the entrance she and Calien found, and they are ultimately successful in sealing it. However, one of the griffons, Shrike, is mortally infected with the Blight in the assault. Isseya offers a way to make the Joining potentially work on the griffon, using blood magic. (The Joining does not work on the griffons otherwise; it drives them mad to the point that they tear themselves apart.) Shrike’s rider agrees to attempt this, and it saves the griffon’s life.

Queen Mariwen of the Anderfels approaches Isseya and not-so-subtly says that if the Wardens want the crown’s continued cooperation, then they will make Garahel have sex with her.

It’s discovered that the griffon, Shrike, now has incredible vigour and acute senses in battle, because of the Joining. Isseya is disturbed by this unexpected change, and vows not to use the spell she performed to make the Joining work on Shrike ever again. (Oh, my dear girl…)

9:41 DRAGON

Valya asks Reimas if she’s ever encountered a blood mage before, and if it’s really as evil as the Chantry teaches. This conversation prompts Valya to share with Reimas that she found Isseya’s diary. And Reimas admits that maybe it is possible to do good using blood magic.

5:20 EXALTED

Since things have calmed down in the Anderfels since closing the darkspawn entrances, Garahel suggests they shift their focus to the Free Marches. He also tells the group that he plans on refusing to sleep with Queen Mariwen, but Amadis convinces him she’s okay with it because it’s for the greater good. Amadis makes a request though: her own griffon, even though she is not a Warden.

Queen Mariwen throws a party, and Garahel spends the night with her, so she grants the Grey Wardens use of her soldiers. This enables Isseya and many other Wardens to go to Fortress Haine in the Vimmark Mountains, to be used as a safeguard against the Blight in the Free Marches. But the situation becomes dire very quickly, and Garahel delivers Isseya an unfortunate command from the First Warden: Put the griffons of Fortress Haine through the Joining.

Isseya cries the whole time through her modified ritual, but she puts all the griffons except Revas through the Joining. Then in the following battle, Isseya is forced to use further blood magic to possess the griffons in order to make them go along with the plan, because they can no longer be reasoned with. It causes a great strain, and Calien offers to help next time, but Isseya is still emotionally shattered.

9:42 DRAGON

Valya approaches Caronel for help getting to Red Bride’s Grave in the Wandering Hills. Caronel says the last time he was there, it was full of demon-possessed corpses, but Valya convinces him to take her and a group of recruits.

5:24 EXALTED

In the four years that have passed, Isseya has grown increasingly blighted and depressed, but Garahel has become a beacon of shining hope, and a prominent figure in the war against the darkspawn. Even things that Isseya herself accomplished she let go credited to her brother to help build this glory and inspire people. Isseya holds onto her griffon, Revas, who she still refused to taint despite almost all the others undergoing it at this point. Isseya has grown increasingly depressed and blighted, with the constant rituals taking a toll on her: “She looked like she’d been serving as a Warden for twenty years longer than her brother.” The other wardens are wary of her, seeing her as a monster, but a necessary one.

Garahel shares his plan to launch an assault into Antiva, where the Archdemon is. He fully admits that he does not expect many to survive the attempt, but draws an army of supporters for his plan anyways.

The next day, the Wardens and supporters fly into Antiva, where they take to aerial combat with the Archdemon. The tainted griffons fight with such ferocity that they are able to deeply wound it. With Isseya and Garahel being the last two wardens capable of reaching it, Isseya prepares to commit to the sacrifice of its defeat—but Garahel stops her. His last words are “Isseya, be kind to yourself,” before Isseya watches him and Crookytail swoop in on the dragon. Crookytail is killed, but Garahel lands on the Archdemon and is able to strike the final blow.

Garahel is given a hero’s funeral – the grandest to ever be given to an elf.

A month later, Isseya is called back to Weisshaupt. There, she is horrified to discover that the griffons are dying out from the taint; even those that were not put through the Joining have been corrupted through breeding and proximity.

Three months after this, the First Warden orders all griffons who show any signs of “irredeemable viciousness” to be put down, and Isseya predicts this will be their extinction. She is wracked with horrible grief, blaming herself. She tirelessly searches for answers to understand the disease she created, but comes up empty-handed. So, Isseya turns to Starkhaven and finds Amadis. There, she discovers that Amadis’s griffon is sick as well, and explains to Amadis that while she can’t save her griffon, she might be able to save the newly-laid eggs. Isseya then tells Amadis that she does not plan to be alive to see if it will even work, but asks that Amadis keep the eggs a secret – she does not believe the wardens or anyone else of her time deserve the griffons after what they did to them.

Isseya kills Amadis’s griffon and takes the eggs to a secret place in the Anderfels. There, she draws the taint from the eggs into herself, purifying them before freezing them in a magical stasis. She hides her diaries in Weisshaupt under a series of enchantments that none but an elf would be likely to unlock. Isseya wants the Grey Wardens of the future to be the ones to uncover the eggs, but wants it to be someone who would understand the value of freedom.

Isseya then takes Revas for one last flight, off to her Calling, as she no longer wants to live.

9:42 DRAGON

On the way to Red Bride’s Grave, Valya shares with the group her theory that they will find griffon eggs there. They fight their way through corpses, and eventually find the eggs, perfectly preserved. Upon uncovering them, the eggs begin to hatch, and Valya watches as one emerges who looks exactly like Crookytail was described. (Baby Assan!)

The group agrees to take the griffons home to Weisshaupt.

[foibles-fables]

Something I feel like too few people talk about is that Talanah's gift she leaves in The Base™ is flowers. Like top 1 romantic gestures the goddamn nerd. I'm so sorry 'Lanah that Aloy is a dumbass that don't realize when people are serious about their flirting

not only are they flowers, but they are PURPLE flowers—either violets or forget-me-nots

so like, either way, COME THE HELL ON.

Not to mention that she leaves them directly outside of Aloy’s bedroom door—they’re the first thing she sees when she leaves her room

I legitimately cannot handle them. It’s sickening. Downright foul

(Also shove off with the idea that Amadis gave Talanah the flower she’s holding at Barren Light as a parting gift. Doesn’t even make sense. Talanah picked that flower for Aloy, then one of the same for herself. Use brains.)

[georgieenkoom]

I've seen several people believing that Sasuke is fodder (some go as far as to say below Lage level) without his Sharingan. Much like how I did with Obito in the past, I'll use a Quora answer to free many from such delusions :

This answer isn't here to convince you to like Sasuke if you aren't fond of him, but rather to remind people of how truly versatile he is as a fighter and how he easily remains in the Kage-level bracket and even beyond even in base form. I was also kind enough not to mention his (late) Rinnegan either for the sake of a fairer analysis.

Keep in mind, I'm not denying that Sasuke's ocular techniques are a vital element of his fighting stule, but he's still an otherworldly beast in combat even without it.

[forbiddenwestern]

ppl have prolly already said this but my thoughts: the thing is I think Amadis is a cool character, I think his lore is v interesting and I CAN believe he WAS “one of the good ones” (as much as u COULD be I mean), I just wish he was his own sidequest character u find at camp nowhere (or even u locate the tunnel with HIM bc he missed the Oseram expedition, then once u clear the other side, he goes to camp nowhere, and Talanah isn’t involved) either way he mentions going to the rot to find someone from his past and Aloy’s like “sounds dangerous, if I’m over there I’ll check up on him” but he’s not connected to Talanah. ik this would require trashing the comics completely but I think those shouldve had a BRIEF cameo of Amadis to get people interested in his edgy enigmatic vibe for his later sidequest, NOT make them besties and he tells her everything. they shouldve been about HER and her sidequest shouldve as well, I just find him interesting enough on his own. also, tf happened to the long hair.

[children-of-the-red-queen]

Oh, if you ever see me mentioning "Heirs' Era"? That's me referring to events taking place after Chronicles of the Red King: Leopards' Gold, specifically anything involving the lives of Timoken's 10 kids and their own children. I've used it when referring to things like all the children's relationships and marriages, from Borlath and Shushilla or Amadis and Elin, all the way to Amoret and Otus and his family, the ending of the Castle of Mirrors (the building), Guanhamara's daughters or Owain's sons. Technically, stories involving the Lilith Badlock family would be in this era too!

[thetruearchmagos]

The Commonwealth Calls

An Excerpt: Disciplinary Measures

This idea's been sitting in my notes for a while now, but I've finally gotten it done! This won't be the last time you see these new names...

Tagging @theprissythumbelina @caxycreations @hessdalen-globe @bureaumantic @sleepyowlwrites @kckramer @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling

Sergeant Amadi poked his head through the door at a quarter to twelve.

"They're here, sir."

"Right," Gustav replied, setting down the papers on his desk. "Let 'em in and let's get this sorted."

Nodding, the hulking man turned out again, and shouted down the hall.

"You three, come on in!"

He stepped inside and held the door ajar, and the sound of heavy footsteps was followed by three infanteers in their full service dress filing in through and forming a line in front of Gustav's desk. To the last, their heads were turned to the floor, hands firmly held behind their backs.

Amadi closed the door shut with a thud like a closing crypt, and took his position standing to his lieutenant's right. Their eyes looked over the three before them with grim faces, and they, too, were resplendent in their mud brown uniforms. Such circumstances called for the formality.

"Sir, these are Lance Corporal Georgiou, Private Inamdar, and Private Pietsch," Amadi presented, raising an outstretched arm to each in turn.

"Good evening, soldiers. Do sit down." They did exactly that, their every movement as awkward as a scolded child.

Well, no one ever said being an officer was easy.

"Well then, I imagine you all know exactly why you're here right now," he spoke, drawing out every word. The two privates, young men who's proximity in age to his own was something Gustav routinely tried to ignore, barely reacted, but Lance Corporal Georgiou deigned to nod in agreement.

"So, would you care to fill me in on last night's... events?"

It wasn't a question Gustav needed an answer to, of course, thanks to the report he'd just read through, but it was an important part of the ceremony nonetheless.

They kept their lips sealed.

"No?" he asked, no longer meaning it. "Well then, why don't I tell you what I've read here, and you can listen and see if it jogs your memory a little."

"After dinner last night, a patrol of Provos came upon the three of you in a private motorcar — yours I presume, Corporal? — on the road between here and Uchikimbo. They called out to you, and Lance Corporal Georgiou exited the vehicle and hailed their attention. Upon closer inspection, they found the two of you" he gestured at the privates "unconscious, and bottles of alcohol on the floor of the vehicle."

"The military police then proceeded to wake the two of you up, and note here that you offered no resistance when they escorted you and the vehicle back to base," he finished. "Upon questioning, Georgiou, you confessed to having consumed alcohol prior to starting to drive, and during it, before pulling to the side of the road when you realised how inebriated you were. Does that sound about right?"

"Yes, sir," answered Georgiou, raising to meet his eyes with a carefully set. Gustav got the message that she'd probably try speaking for all three of them, if he let her.

"And the two of you?"

"Yes, sir," they replied.

"Good to have the facts in order, then," he carried on, nodding to himself.

"Now, I've had a talk with Captain Soucek this morning---" and at the mention of the company commander's name there was a sharp intake of breath, and their faces turned pale "--- and he and I are in agreement on a few details regarding what, precisely, we are going to be doing with you."

"Firstly," he began in a gravelly voice, and raised his index finger, "he thought that I should make it clear to you, in no uncertain terms, that the Army, our Corps, and this battalion most certainly do not condone driving under the effect of any substance." He spat the last word out like something bitter.

"Secondly," Gustav continued, raising a second finger, "we have agreed, in light of the lack of any material damage as a result of your actions, and considering Lance Corporal Georgiou's decision not to continue with your little expedition, that we will not be bringing up last night's events with the Colonel or base commander in any... formal, sense."

"That's to say," Amadi offered, breaking his silent looming, "that your rank idiocy won't earn you a court martial. This time."

"Indeed, sergeant," Gustav agreed, allowing the beginnings of a smirk to creep across his face. Relief seemed to wash over the three of them, but whatever positive feelings they may have acquired were wisely kept to themselves. "And you can count your lucky stars none of you are track drivers."

"Nonetheless," he continued, "we have no intention of letting such conduct go without consequence." Time for the other shoe to drop, though every soul in the room knew that whatever it was, it could have been much worse.

"Your pay for the month will be docked, and Georgiou, your driving privileges will be revoked for the next twelve months. Finally, as far as anything written down is concerned, all three of you are restricted to the garrison for the next three months, barring me or the captain's personal authorisation."

Gustav paused to catch his breath, and when he spoke again it was in a different, warmer voice.

"I know we take our friendships seriously here, folks, and I'd be the last fellow to get in the way of that. And corporal," he turned to Georgiou now, "I hope you take this as a lesson on how to conduct yourself within your sub-section."

"Absolutely, sir," she quickly replied, a faint blush creeping into her face.

"Thank you, corporal," he smiled.

"Now, before you three leave," Gustav suddenly began, and this time he didn't bother hiding the smirk on his face. "Me and Sarge had a chat before we asked you to arrive, and we've decided that additional instruction was in order to make sure that you've all learned the importance of respecting the Army and its reputation."

The three young soldiers wore looks of terror, but of a far less mortal variety than when they'd entered.

"Sarge?" he said, turning to his right.

"You three," Amadi barked, glaring daggers. "Get into your fatigues, and meet me outside the motorpool in fifteen minutes with a toothbrush you're not too fond of. Move it!"

The three of them ran out of the room without another word.

"Well, sir," Amadi turned to him. "All in all, not a bad show for your first hearing." His voice shed lost all its hard edges, and he nodded in satisfaction.

"Thank you kindly, sergeant," Gustav replied. "But I'll keep hoping I won't have to do too many more."

[slecnaztemnot]

hi!! just reading through your dragon age leaks compilation (bless you btw), you mention "Companion 3 might be black elf who appeared in some concept art." -- can you point me toward the concept art by chance?? I've been trying to track it down but I'm striking out

Hi,

the concept art was in one of the "making of" videos produced by Bioware.

Here is the link:

I also compiled the most important pics here in my speculation about the companion line-up:

The black elf is the one who appears in several concept arts and has been mentioned by 2 different (?) alleged leakers. In the Behind the scenes video, there is a black voice actor called Ike Amadi, who is voicing character named "Darvin".

At this point I am pretty sure he is our companion. I think he will be a warrior, though mage is also possible. Most likely Grey Warden, since in the video, the character shouts "For the Wardens!"

Hope this helped!

[nathanialhowe]

ALSO LIKE

siege of weisshaupt was a banger quest and overall interesting. however what the fuck.

the missed potential here and not just because bioware no longer gives a fuck abt the wardens of yesteryear we have vested interest in but because this game is so bad at creating tension and atmosphere. LIKE really excellent conceit (every warden in Thedas hearing the call at the same time) that they did not lean into for long enough even with Darvin. what! and the fakeout when they have genuine stakes--wardens having to die to fully kill an archdemon and putting a bandaid on it with "well maybe they've changed the rules". like maybe they HAVE bro but its like the game toes around rammies.

also like. lets be for real here. having like seventeen nameless grey wardens when you couldve had the ones we have emotional investment in. and that would have made. narrative sense to be there. the gap is just enormous and from a game dev stance i "get" it, I guess, but it's so glaring. imagine the little dudes we actually know abt giving their last stand at weisshaupt after all this time. lmao i might have cried. i DID cry--not because of things that happened in the quest--but because of brainworms i have for the wardens and the missed potential with the first warden LMAOO. imagine ur hof or loghain or alistair biting the bullet w the archdemon for real that time. man i wouldve gone probably insane. thinking abt ricky "i escaped my fate by doing dubious blood magic and bringing an unassuming child into the world for self-preservation rather than desire for a son" cousland actually having to face consequences and die a real warden's death against ghil's archdemon was like. man. overwhelming. would've been so neat to see it. would've really mattered. but here we are.

obviously i knewwww the hof or any of the prior wardens couldn't/wouldn't be there ever again. but it's so glaring it's impossible to look past. like who are these people. oh. "grey warden #1" "grey warden #2"...okay. at weisshaupt? yeah.

at leat the justice mention was cool! i guess.

also i miss having like 5 quests in the entire game but they each take like 3 hours to complete. this one just feels so overstuffed. like. BOOM BOOM BOOOM okay lore drop. can't think about it. who cares about the red lyrium idol! BOOM CRASH BANG more STUFF Is HAPPENING ITS THE END OF THE WORLD!!! BOOM BANG. EPIC CINEMATIC MOMENT WITH THIS RANDO ROOK. okay let's all talk about our feelings for a second in a hammy way. okay back to it. BOOM. BANG. CRASH.

anyway at least Davrin's stuff was pretty well written and ike amadi gives such a great performance.

[holodaxy]

Okay so stay with me as I've been having thought...mostly Hawk and Thrush Thoughts...sort of...

Is there a fic (and there isn’t because I’m about to get oddly specific – maybe this is more of a cry to write this because I won’t) where somebody has inadvertently gotten close to Beta (on purpose seems a bit cruel and horrible) as an Aloy replacement?

In my head it’s Talanah – in some way this seems wrong and a touch out of character, but you know those oddly specific details? Well yeah, she works for those oddly specific details so stick with me here…

So Talanah crosses paths with Erend and naturally they get on about Aloy and he mentions that she’s spending a lot of time helping reunite the Quen Fleet and rather innocently makes a joke about how Aloy is more interested in spending time with a Quen Marine than reuniting the fleet (because of course the GAIA Gang have been gossiping about Aloy and Seyka – not to mention they’ve got an inside source! Alva is right there!) Talanah isn’t impressed by this information, though doesn’t know why (Erend has a good idea, but he’s already opened his big mouth once so he’s not doing that again).

How Talanah makes her way to the base I’m not sure (I can’t work it all out!) and cue an awkward first meeting with Beta because of course Aloy didn’t mention that there’s this anxious identical ‘twin’ wandering around. So Talanah is about to leave (because this wasn’t on her ‘Life with Aloy’ bingo card) when she discovers Beta doesn’t know how to use any weapons and really, how could Aloy be so careless as to leave her twin sister all alone in the base with no way to defend herself? Anybody could walk in! As evident by the fact Talanah had just walked in – that’s her argument and she’s sticking to it, she won’t hear any objection from Beta about how the base security was likely programmed by Aloy to let Talanah in because she's been there once before.

So Talanah sticks around to show Beta how to use a bow (or any weapon really) and Beta totally isn’t her Thrush because that would just be weird (not that the whole situation isn’t weird to either of them, but its just a little nice for Beta to have company and for Talanah to be away from the stress of the Hunters Lodge). And I can totally see Beta being the one to tell Talanah everything – about Nemesis, about Zero Dawn and Elisabet Sobeck, about how she and Aloy are clones (again, none of this was on Talanah’s ‘Life With Aloy’ bingo card). She’d also give her a Focus (because Beta doesn’t understand why Aloy isn’t handing these out like sweets to people!) and shows Talanah how to use the Focus and oh look! They’ve taught each other things and that’s nice.

So one day they decide to venture out of the base (again, I don’t know, I really don’t know why) and who do they stumble across? Well Amadis of course (because every story needs a villain – that was harsh, he’s not actually going to do anything wrong this time). He doesn’t get a close look at Beta and just thinks Aloy has drastically cut her hair and changed her clothes (she did it like three time the last time he met her, where is she hiding those armour sets???) and he passes comment about how both he and Talanah were using each other to get over other people the whole time. Talanah has an ‘oh fuck’ moment and Amadis goes on his way again not realising he's caused total turmoil again.

So Talanah’s ‘oh fuck’ moment hits home that she’s drawn to Beta because of Aloy and she’s done exactly what she never wanted to be and made somebody her second choice. And deep down I think no matter how close the two of them were getting, Beta knows she’s an Aloy replacement and her self esteem is so far in the ground that she’s just pretty much ‘that’s just it for me, I’ll never be anything other than the inferior copy’ (and my poor baby Beta, I want to hug her) so she’s just kind of clung to somebody being nice to her even if it’s possibly (keep possibly in your mind) not meant for her in the first place.

I didn’t say this wasn’t angst – I mean, my opening summary of this didn’t indicate there wasn’t angst!

How this ends I’m not sure – I have two options, again…stick with me…

Aloy returns to the base right in the aftermath of the ‘oh fuck’ moment and is totally confused about what Talanah is doing there, but she’s kind of grateful that Talanah was looking after Beta. Then she finds out how close the two have gotten and is not impressed because how dare Talanah go near Beta! And Aloy totally won’t admit to being jealous and what Quen Marine? She’s be reuniting the Quen Fleet!

The two then have a long overdue heart to heart and all their feelings laid bare, happily ever after Hawk and Thrush. This ending seems a bit harsh on Beta who I don’t think deserves that so from stage right enter some unseen original character who has never, ever laid eyes on Aloy and knows nothing about her so they can like Beta for being Beta.

Option 2 goes totally the opposite way, enters rare pare mode and Talanah realises Beta is a totally different person to Aloy and while the original reason she spent time with Beta was Aloy (and was totally wrong) she’s actually rather drawn to Beta’s totally different personality and quirks. Cue Aloy returning to the base with Seyka and being totally confused about what’s going on – and has Beta just stolen her moment? She was about to introduce her girlfriend to the gang and now Beta and Talanah are a thing and…well…typical sibling bickering.

Of course there’s hidden option 3 which is everybody is miserable and unhappy, but that seems a bit bleak even for me.

Well thanks for sticking with me for this long…whatever this is – I don’t know what this is. I’m going back under my rock now, I’ll keep these wild idea to myself as this got out of hand 😁

[nursingwriter]

Healthcare Costs Healthcare Issues The healthcare industry is in turmoil. Ironically, there are many sides and perspectives to the argument because healthcare in this country is and always was a major part of all aspects of life. We cannot just say 'let's fix the doctors' and all the problems go away. Every single man, woman and child as well as every single private and business decision in one way or another is affected by the existing healthcare cost situation. Most people do not consider that even the price of milk in their grocer's store or the overall cost of their automobile has in some way been affected by the crisis in healthcare. Consider a simple business decision like hiring a new employee in any business sector. This relatively mandatory decision comes with all types of hidden healthcare related concerns. In the private sector, consider a family member deciding to go to college. Health insurance has become a mandatory necessity of our educational system so every student has to be covered by some type of insurance -- whether it is mom's or if the school pays for that coverage, obviously the overall cost of that education has been altered. Who really thinks about these things in those ways? In the same sense, healthcare costs and reforms from a medical and healthcare industry perspective is also directly affected by healthcare costs. The industry is at a critical level in regard to recruiting and maintaining adequate staffing of nurses, doctors and even janitors not to mention the bureaucratic process for billing. Healthcare reform is at the heart of all these hiring decisions because the nurse's salary has to be taken care of by somebody. Our Medicare trust fund is almost completely broke at a time when our nation's population continues to grow older and is in need of even more medical attention. So do people over 65 have to get there medicines from Canada because the United States' pharmaceutical companies continue to lobby Congress for less reform and increased pricing on their multi-colored pills? These concerns and millions of others are only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to discussing healthcare reform. Fox News says that President Obama is a socialist at heart because he has the nerve to try to deal with this nightmare of an issue, but the truth of the matter is that he has simply adopted a huge mess that has been in the works for a long time. Unless we all stop doing what has clearly not been working, this current healthcare crisis is going to force this country to implode. In Favor of Controlling Costs Through Staffing One aspect of the healthcare crisis that can instantly produce cost reform is staffing. The healthcare staffing shortages have become a serious concern in the industry because of the associated costs related to overtime, increased stress on existing workers in regard to medication errors, poor wait times in emergency rooms and even blatant bad care in areas like nursing homes and disability centers. Shortages in staffing are a direct cause of low morale and high turnover, but the industry tries to minimize the problems. It is more than obvious that there are some huge staffing gaps to fill. "Studies have tried to elicit and predict reasons for high staff turnover in order to limit cost and adverse effects on morale, enthusiasm and organizational reputation." (Joshua-Amadi) As the problem of recruitment and retention grow, it would seem obvious that the industry's management would do more to increase morale or motivation of the existing workforce. There is far more that can be done. "Analysis identified that organizational commitment is most related to personal factors, opportunities for learning, job satisfaction, plan for retirement, monetary benefits, patient care, coworkers, cultural factors, and job security, in that order. Lack of organizational commitment is most related to conflict with personal needs. However, lack of learning, lack of appreciation and fairness, inadequate monetary benefits, patient care situations, poor relations with coworkers, career developmental stage, and lack of job security are also discussed." (McNeese-Smith) The problem seems to be growing and the overall cost is a hidden bomb shell. Over the next few years, there will be an ever greater demand for nurses and skilled healthcare employees. The demand will grow in proportion to the aging American workforce. As the workforce shrinks due to aging, it will also directly reduce the supply of potential workers to fill the ever increasing needs of the industry. Some factors that President Obama and the healthcare industry must face are never going to be mentioned in the Congressional debates regarding if there is or is not going to be a public insurer to compete with private insurers or if a regular citizen will get the same coverage as his or her Congressman. Although never mentioned in the U.S.A. today or on CNN, these factors will be just as relevant if not more so as any conversation on the public insurance option. As discussed, the age of the nation's population continues to increase so it will directly affect the existing worker pool that the healthcare industry needs to handle the day-to-day health related concerns of the country. Hospitals and clinics are going to find it very difficult to replenish facilities with needed doctors, nurses, techs, and assistants, or even desk personnel. Forecast predictions of existing staffs, mainly in the area of nursing, show that the industry will have to fill these positions somehow as current workers near their own retirement. The costs associated with re-staffing and the related costs of the understaffing problems will be astronomical. "As administrators consider the enormous costs of turnover and a limited supply of nurses, they should create effective strategies for retaining long-term affective commitment of skilled nurses."(McNeese-Smith) The overall healthcare system, and in turn our nation as a whole, will feel the brunt of these out of control new costs. Controlling Costs Through Morale Another factor the president and the healthcare administration will have to address if they are to directly affect the cost of healthcare is industry employee morale. Not being able to find adequate numbers to fill vacant posts is one problem, not being able to hire employees because people do not like available options is a completely different issue. It is complete misconception that healthcare employees such as nurses or radiologists are paid well. "Motivators can be extrinsic and tangible. Examples include pay, job security, safety, promotion, pensions, employee friendly policies and favorable working conditions. Or they can be intrinsic and intangible, with examples including opportunity to perform, challenge, sense of achievement, personal growth, positive recognition, and being appreciated, valued and treated with respect, care and consideration. These form part of the unwritten psychological contracts between employees and organizations -- contracts that are at the heart of motivation and organizational effectiveness. Their fulfillment ensures employee loyalty, trust and commitment." (Joshua-Amadi) The industry's moral has suffered because of concerns that may or may not be able to be corrected through legislation. The industry faces real challenges because of issues like large numbers of expected retirements in critical areas, poor work ethics related to tenure scenarios and employment shortages, union mismanagement of shortage situations, hazardous working conditions, and a lack of managerial experience and as always, low pay options. Just like the automobile industry or any other industry, the healthcare system has been forced to do more with less income. The healthcare system is being squeezed and new legislation is not guaranteed to make things better, in fact, it may make things worse. The healthcare industry has been forced to work on less because insurance companies, Health Management Organizations (HMO's), Medicare and Medicaid all have reduced financial output. New reforms will continue to do so because President Obama has regularly pointed out that the existing system is far too expensive. This implies fixing the system can only be done by paying it less. To save itself and to save the nation, the healthcare industry's income has to either go up or their costs have to come dramatically down. Industry employee morale will be directly affected which means the end consumer, you and I, will be directly affected. Another Approach to Healthcare Reform -- Stop Fraud An area where President Obama and the congress can use legislation to make a greater difference in regard to healthcare reform is in the area of fraud-based costs. A major aspect of the associated costs of healthcare comes in the form of direct and intentional fraudulent claims. There are many private and business entities attempting to rip off the system by submitting obviously false and fraudulent claims to Medicare, Medicaid and to private insurers. Some of these unauthorized reimbursements https://www.paperdue.com/customer/paper/controlling-health-care-costs-18313#:~:text=Logout-,ControllingHealthCareCosts,-Length5pages   Read the full article

[the-rebel-archivist]

for the Rook flower ask: snapdragon, rosemary, holly, violet? 💐

A whole bouquet, for me? You shouldn't have! Thanks so much :)

Snapdragon: I would argue that most of their relationship with Viago is pretty self centered, Amadis is so often only thinking about herself and his impact on her rather than extending understanding to him, but since this is about a particular instance… I’d have to say putting Illario to sleep with poison and then slipping away. She made sure he didn’t follow her because she was sure he was up to something she didn’t want to be caught up in, but maybe if she’d not made it about herself so much he might have been more inclined to communicate with her instead of going to Zara.

Honourable mention to when he complained about his cousin being favoured over him and she joked “kill him” and then corrected herself to say no, that’s in bad form within the same house, get someone else to. But she didn’t mean that. That’s less her most selfish act and more the one that keeps her up at night though

Rosemary: Amadis’s earliest memory is only a fragment, really. Impressions of being small, sitting on her mother’s lap and feeling the embroidery around the edge of her satin robe under her fingers. It was so rough in comparison to the shiny fabric and to her mother herself, who was so soft and beautiful. Whenever she thinks about when she was young, she always pictures a hazy sort of love-halo around her mother

Holly: I don’t know if either Amadis or Illario truly know how to do chores. Amadis knows more but they’re both so disconnected from how normal people live and despite her humble beginnings Amadis is in a very cushy spot in House de Riva now. I’m not sure how much they truly need to do chores on their own. What I do know, though, is that they’re probably both atrocious cooks and that Illario would keep the bathroom countertop rigorously clean

Violet: Amadis is very comfortable with her own nudity as long as it’s her own choice. Bodies are just bodies, but being a crow she has limited autonomy over her own and the trials it was put through in her training have left their mark. She’s prepared to be tortured and no amount of aftercare can help her to forget that or that she had no choice but to go through it because her body was not her own.

She doesn’t mind her scars, or people seeing them. She’s happy with the shape of her body and the curves of her muscles and enjoys flaunting them. Sometimes she even goes on a strip wicked grace losing streak as a bluff. But it’s always, always her choice

[foibles-fables]

For the fic ask game: 10, 11, and 18. Have an amazing day my lovely, keep up the FAB writing!!! ❤️

omg you are SO SWEET and of course!!

10. Do you read your own fics for fun?

answered here!!

11. What's an idea for a fic you've had that you'll probably never write?

HMM let me think of another! proooobaby an unironic attempt at constructing an Avad/Amadis childhood friends to lovers narrative. I still kinda am itching to, but. Alas.

18. Is there some headcanon you've included in more than one fic?

I totally mention peaches as Aloy's favorite food in a number of fics <3 <3

fic asks

[thedinanshiral]

Starting next week...

As mentioned here i'll be doing a little something as we approach release date, just for fun, and after much deliberation i've decided to reveal my Rooks for the countdown grouping them by faction, starting with the more familiar factions and going up to the newer, more mysterious ones. The schedule is as follows and i'll be updating the list with links to each post as they come out:

GREY WARDENS

Oct.14th - Duncan

Oct.15th - Favian

ANTIVAN CROWS*

Oct.16th - Chiara Victoria aka Vica

MOURN WATCH

Oct.17th - Viatrix Lorena Véritas Amadis Liberia

Oct.18th - Katari

LORDS OF FORTUNE

Oct.21st - Athima

Oct.22nd - Shokra

Oct.23rd - Meraad

SHADOW DRAGONS

Oct.24th - Revas

Oct.25th - Renan

VEIL JUMPERS

Oct.28th - Dante

Oct.29th - Sethena Theneras

*I have another Crow in the works but i decided to cut this at an even number, Luriel de Riva will see the light at a much later date.

I'll keep things short and simple, just a mini mood board with key visuals, a couple of keywords and a short introduction.

[dbmrzeenews]

Multiple Hereditary Exostosis Market Size, Share, Trends, Opportunities, Key Drivers and Growth Prospectus

"Multiple Hereditary Exostosis Market Research report document include several details that are very useful to the reader to understand the context of the information that is presented. Following type of information will help the reader in knowing how to interpret the results. The types of respondents: customers, prospects, or the general public, the size of the sample: big, small, or medium, method to collect the data, the time at which research is conducted and more.

Global Multiple Hereditary Exostosis Market, By Treatment (Surgical Excision, Palovarotene, Others), Diagnosis (X-ray, Computed Tomography (CT) Scan, Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI), Others), Symptoms (Pressure on the tendons, nerves and vessels, Soreness, Angular Deformities, Limb Lengthen Differences, Others), End-Users (Clinic, Hospital, Others), Distribution Channel (Hospital Pharmacy, Retail Pharmacy, Online Pharmacy), Country (U.S., Canada, Mexico, Brazil, Argentina, Peru, Rest of South America, Germany, France, U.K., Netherlands, Switzerland, Belgium, Russia, Italy, Spain, Turkey, Hungary, Lithuania, Austria, Ireland, Norway, Poland, Rest of Europe, China, Japan, India, South Korea, Singapore, Malaysia, Australia, Thailand, Indonesia, Philippines, Vietnam, Rest of Asia-Pacific, Saudi Arabia, U.A.E, Egypt, Israel, Kuwait, South Africa, Rest of Middle East and Africa) Industry Trends and Forecast to 2028.

Access Full 350 Pages PDF Report @

Multiple hereditary exostosis market is expected to gain market growth in the forecast period of 2021-2028. Data Bridge Market Research analyses the market to account to grow at a CAGR of 5.4% in the above mentioned forecast period.

Market Players Covered:

The major players covered in the multiple hereditary exostosis market report are Ipsen Pharma, Amadis Chemical Company Limited, ATK Chemical co.,ltd., Shenzhen Polymeri Biochemical Technology Co., Ltd., DAYANG CHEM (HANGZHOU) CO., LTD., Medical Isotopes, Inc., Suzhou Rovathin Foreign Trade Co.,Ltd., DC Chemicals, and ApexBio Technology, among other domestic and global players.  Market share data is available for Global, North America, Europe, Asia-Pacific (APAC), Middle East and Africa (MEA) and South America separately. DBMR analysts understand competitive strengths and provide competitive analysis for each competitor separately.

Global Multiple Hereditary Exostosis Market survey report analyses the general market conditions such as product price, profit, capacity, production, supply, demand, and market growth rate which supports businesses on deciding upon several strategies. Furthermore, big sample sizes have been utilized for the data collection in this business report which suits the necessities of small, medium as well as large size of businesses. The report explains the moves of top market players and brands that range from developments, products launches, acquisitions, mergers, joint ventures, trending innovation and business policies.

Highlights of TOC:

Chapter 1: Market overview

Chapter 2: Global Multiple Hereditary Exostosis Market

Chapter 3: Regional analysis of the Global Multiple Hereditary Exostosis Market industry

Chapter 4: Multiple Hereditary Exostosis Market segmentation based on types and applications

Chapter 5: Revenue analysis based on types and applications

Chapter 6: Market share

Chapter 7: Competitive Landscape

Chapter 8: Drivers, Restraints, Challenges, and Opportunities

Chapter 9: Gross Margin and Price Analysis

The report provides insights on the following pointers:

Market Penetration: Comprehensive information on the product portfolios of the top players in the Multiple Hereditary Exostosis Market.

Product Development/Innovation: Detailed insights on the upcoming technologies, R&D activities, and product launches in the market.

Competitive Assessment: In-depth assessment of the market strategies, geographic and business segments of the leading players in the market.

Market Development: Comprehensive information about emerging markets. This report analyzes the market for various segments across geographies.

Market Diversification: Exhaustive information about new products, untapped geographies, recent developments, and investments in the Multiple Hereditary Exostosis Market.

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